"Good girl!" commented Pendleton. "You're not a snob—like the most of the new-rich."
"I try not to be, at all events."
"What do you try not to be, Miss Emerson?" Burgoyne asked, breaking into the talk.
"A snob!" she smiled.
Burgoyne raised his eyebrows.
"Every one is more or less a snob, Miss Emerson; don't you want to be in the fashion?"
"I don't like the fashion," she returned.
"Consider," he said. "Is there a man in this Club-house who doesn't think himself a little better than his fellows by reason of more money, more social position, more popularity, more athletic ability, more brains, more something?"
"I can't answer for the men!" she laughed; "but if you ask me as to the women, I'm afraid I'll have to plead guilty. We are all snobs, on that basis, Mr. Burgoyne. It's only a matter of degree."
"Everything is a matter of degree," Burgoyne answered, "from the powder on your face to a municipal councilman's venality."