“That is,” said Florence, “because we know our friends will forgive us.”
“Yes,” I answered, “and it is a poor reason, for finally we will not have any to forgive us.”
“I know a girl,” said Marian, “who has ever so many acquaintances, and no friends.”
“When I think of society,” Virginia said, “in the large sense of all people, the only class I don’t think of as belonging to society, are just the society girls.”
“That,” I answered, “is foolish; for they do belong to it, and can be a very important part of it, if they wish.”
Marian looked puzzled. “It is all right,” she asked, “isn’t it, for girls to go into society?”
“Surely,” I answered; “not only all right, but very good, if they do it in the best way. But I think it a terrible waste for girls to do nothing but go into society, to live only for that, and rest only for that, and care only for the superficial show of it, for luxury and money-spending.”
We spoke of luncheons and parties, and all sorts of festivities where decoration and show count, and tried to put decoration in its subordinate place. “People are apt,” I said, “to lose the real thing in the glamor, to care to outdo each other only in expensiveness and show, instead of remembering that pleasant surroundings are merely surroundings. Like the woman who would spend all her time on her household, and waste herself to make it beautiful, instead of remembering that its beauty could count only as a setting for herself and her greater work. It’s a pity to waste good art on poor subjects.”
“One must be all-sided,” said Marian, “you told us so. I know a girl who did college and society and housekeeping all at once.”
“And all well?” I asked.