He then said that there were Camps for girls, like Plattsburg only more Femanine, and that they were bully. (This was his word. I do not use slang.)
“You see,” he said, “they take a lot of over-indulged society girls and make them over into real People.”
Ye gods! Over-indulged!
“Why don’t you go to one?” he then asked.
“Evadently,” I said, “I am not a real Person.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. But there isn’t much left of the way God made a girl, by the time she’s been curled and dressed and governessed for years, is there? They can’t even walk, but they talk about helping in the War. It makes me sick!”
I now saw that I had made a mistake, and began reading a Magazine, so he went back to his seat and we were as strangers again. As I was very angry I again opened my window, and he got a cinder in his eye and had to have the Porter get it out.
He got out soon after, and he had the impertinance to stop beside me and say:
“I hate to disapoint you, but I find I have a clean coller in my bag after all.” He then smiled at me, although I gave him no encouragment whatever, and said: “You’re sitting up much better, you know. And if you would take off those heals I’ll venture to say you could walk with any one.”
I detested him with feirceness at that time. But since then I have pondered over what he said. For it is my Nature to be fair and to consider things from every angel. I therfore said this to myself: