“But, Gertie,” pleaded poor, tired Serena, “I can't go everywhere.”
“You must. If this vice-presidency is worth all the world to you, as you say it is, you must sacrifice everything else to get it.”
“But, I can't! I'm almost worn out. I—I—oh, sometimes I feel almost willing to give it all up and go back to—to—almost anywhere, even Trumet, if I could rest there.”
“You don't mean that, Mother.”
“No; no, of course I don't.”
“Because if you do, why—well, that is different. If you WANT to go back to dead and alive old Trumet—”
“I don't. I—I wouldn't for anything. I shouldn't think you, of all people, would hint at such a thing. You! When I have climbed so high already; when our social position has become what it is. You! talking of going back to Trumet.”
“I'm not. You mentioned it; I didn't. I'm having a beautiful time. I just love our social position. The Blacks and the Kellys and—er—that Miss Dusante! Oh, I adore them. I wouldn't leave such cultured people for anything. And you enjoy it so, Mother. You look so happy.”
Was there a trace of sarcasm in this outburst? Serena was, for the moment, suspicious. She tried her hardest to look very happy indeed.
“I am happy, of course,” she declared.