Her eyes met mine with a penetrating flash.
“No, they are not the same,” I said; “you would not wish the world to stand still, would you? Girls have progressed since your day!”
She nodded gravely.
“Yes? Tell me how!”
“Well, for instance—” and I sought about desperately in my mind for examples of woman’s progress—“for instance, they enjoy greater freedom. They get more open-air exercise. They play tennis and golf and hockey with the men—”
The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl gave a slight, a very slight and not unmusical giggle.
“Yes! I have seen them at it, and very ugly they look. But their sports do develop muscle—very unbecomingly in the neck!—and they do induce the growth—of horribly large hands and feet! Oh yes! Let’s have some more Progress!”
A trifle disconcerted, I went on.
“Then they cycle—”
Here the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl put up her fan again.