"She is a rare soul," said Mabel. Then descending to earth, "I wish you could see the rooms they live in. You never did see such lovely things. And she has a maid, and a Chinese house-servant, and her father is a perfect dear and sent us up a big box of candy."
"A rare soul, is she?" said Mrs. Brewster. "How do you mean?"
"Oh, I can't explain," said Mabel. "She is so understanding, and we seemed to think and feel just alike on so many subjects. I expect to see a great deal of her. We have so much in common."
"Does she object to dusting and making beds and things of that sort?" asked Mrs. Brewster in a mild tone.
"I don't know," said Mabel, flushing.
"Ummm," said Mrs. Brewster. To Mabel the smile was maddening,—infuriating.
"I don't see why you take it like that," she burst out harshly. "Just because I have a mind above the average and want to live my own life and set my soul free! I am reading every little while about some girl who does it. But I never get a chance. Nothing for me but school and practice and that old dusting and helping around the house!"
Mrs. Brewster sat down and looked quizzically at her excited elder child. She was in no hurry to break the silence, while Mabel stared out of the window and drummed on the pane with nervous finger tips. Finally she said gently, "Just what do you think you would like to do?"
"Oh, I want to break away, and have a chance to expand! I feel choked the way things go now. I read about one girl about my age who left home and took an apartment and lived her own life. It was wonderful. She went to work too, and made lots and lots of money."
"Lucky girl," said Mrs. Brewster. "What a help she must have been to her family! Oh, I forgot; the trick was that she didn't help her family at all, did she? Was she a rare soul too?"