“For the land sakes! What is this; a catalogue you're givin' us? Stop it! Serena, you tell her to stop.”
But Gertrude would not stop. She ignored her father utterly.
“Think what it would mean,” she protested. “Think of your social position, Mother, the position we have worked so hard to attain.”
Serena shook her head. “I don't care,” she said firmly. “Our social position was good enough in Trumet.”
“WHAT! Why, Mother! how often I have heard you say—”
“Never mind what I said. I have said a lot of foolish things, and done a lot, too. But I'm through. I'm sick and disgusted with it all. I'm going to be simple and comfortable and happy—yes, happy. Oh, Gertie, DON'T talk to me about society! There isn't a real, sincere person in it, not in the set we have been in. I hate Scarford and I hate society.”
“Mother! how can you! And opportunity and advancement—”
“I hate them, too.”
Gertrude gasped. “Why, Mother!” she exclaimed. “And it was you who first showed me the way. Who showed me how common and dull and unambitious I had been all my life? Think what leaving here would mean to me. What would Miss Dusante think? I had almost arranged to take dancing lessons of her. Think of Mr. Holway. Is there a young man like him in Trumet? Think of Cousin Percy!”
That was quite enough. Serena rose, her eyes flashing.