It happened one afternoon that the two girls were having tea and muffins in their own sitting-room. It was just before Easter, that week when the tide of suburban entertaining lulls a little, and the two were sitting by a blazing fire in big wicker chairs drawn close up to the fender, the low Moorish tea-table conveniently placed between them.
“Maudie,” said Julia, suddenly, “I think we shall have to pull up.”
“Pull up! why?” Maudie’s tone was blank, for she herself had a particular reason for not wanting to pull up in any shape or form just then.
“We’re getting too cheap,” said Julia.
“Cheap! and we’ve spent nearly all our dress allowance!” Maudie exclaimed.
“I don’t mean cheap in that way. No, we’re getting cheap socially. Anybody thinks they can come to our days and bring anyone they like, and we do half the entertaining of the Park for people who do nothing for us.”
“It makes us popular,” said Maudie, helping herself to another piece of muffin.
“Yes, yes, but is such popularity worth it?”
“I don’t know.”