Cally, sitting and rubbing cold cream (or whatever it was) had suddenly given a long sigh. At her friend's question, she turned half round, but did not cease the rubbing.
"Mats, don't you ever get sick and tired of all these things we do to ourselves to make us look pretty and attractive and--desirable?"
Mattie, looking rather shocked, said: "Why, what things do you mean?"
"Oh, these things!... Massage and manicure and primp!--hot baths and lotions and primp!--sleep and a little exercise to make pink cheeks and primp some more. Hours and hours every day just to coddling our little bodies! Isn't it all rather sickening, when you really stop to think?"
"I must say," answered Mattie, quite stiffly, "I can see nothing sickening about it. I think it's a woman's duty to look just as well as she can."
Carlisle rested her arm on her chair-back, and went on rubbing.
"Duty?--I wonder. Duty to whom, do you mean?"
"To everybody, to the world, to society."
"I was just trying to think," said Cally, "and it's quite fun. I believe I'll do it at least once a week after this.--What would we think of a man who spent four hours a day decorating himself, everlastingly working at himself to look pretty?"
Mattie opened her wide eyes yet wider. She was now plaiting her well-brushed hair, and looked very sweet and girlish.