"My brother."
There was a defiant tremor in her voice. Ever since her slip with Kathleen she had made up her mind that her past life should include a brother.
"Oh, if you've got a brother," turning on her abruptly, "why don't he take care of you?"
"He's too young; but anyway I wouldn't let him. I mean to support myself."
"Oh, I say, Miss Hertha, don't feel like that! Don't get like these modern girls up here who won't even let a man pick up a handkerchief for 'em. That isn't the kind of girl a man likes."
"Isn't it?"
"No. A man likes a girl he can help over places, whether they're out walking together just for the day or for life."
"I suppose you think a man never wants to be helped."
"Yes, he does, lots of ways. They're no end of ways a woman helps a man, to keep him straight and all that." He reddened a little. "But he ought to do the hard work, all the dirty jobs, and it's a dirty job going out to earn your living. And if it isn't dirty, it's too hard. Women ought not to have long hours like men. I bet your brother's reckoning on caring for you when he gets old enough."
Hertha was silent.