Grace smiled. The girl’s phrase fastened itself in her memory. “What’s the difference, lady?” It was susceptible of many interpretations and applications not related to suits that sold for $19.50.
She left the store elated, feeling herself already an essential unit of Shipley’s. The great lower room seemed larger than when she had entered. She went into the book department and idled over the counters, opening volumes that roused her interest. She had no intention of relinquishing her interest in bookish things. She would test life, probe into the heart of things, but she would hold fast to all that she had gained in her two years at the university. She had been impressed by what the worldly-wise Irene had said of the value of a little learning in getting on. She meant to propose to her friend that they attack French together; and there were many lines of reading she intended to pursue with a view to covering the more important cultural courses which she had been obliged to abandon. Grace rejoiced in her sense of freedom; she was tremendously sure of herself.
When she reached home her mother was leaving for the first fall meeting of the West End Literary Club which had held together for years in spite of the deterioration of the neighborhood. Mrs. Durland made much of her loyalty to the organization, of which she had been the founder. While her old friends had dropped out when they moved away she thought it her duty to fill up the membership with new arrivals in the neighborhood. Women needed the inspiration of just such a society. She had enrolled a number of young married women, some of them hardly more than transients domiciled in boarding houses, with a view to keeping them in touch with the best thought of the world. Ethel, sharing her mother’s interest in all movements and devices for uplift, had acted as her scout in discovering these recruits.
“Well, Grace, I hope—” Mrs. Durland began, gathering up a number of magazines she was carrying to the meeting.
“I’ve done gone and done it, mother! I go to work at Shipley’s Monday morning.”
“I was afraid you would,” said Mrs. Durland with a sigh. “You’re so headstrong, Grace. With a little patience we’d have found something more suitable—more in keeping——”
“Well, I may not like it. If I don’t I’ll change to something else, so please don’t worry about it.”
Mrs. Durland had mislaid a glove; the loss of it overshadowed immediately her daughter’s grievous error in accepting employment in a department store. Grace found the glove and held the magazines while her mother drew it on.
“The old security, the reticences and decencies of life have passed,” said Mrs. Durland. Grace suspected that her mother was quoting from a magazine article or a club paper. She declined an urgent invitation to go to the meeting; she wanted to look over her clothes, she said.
“I hope you’ll not give up your interest in literature now that you’re going to work. You should save a little time every day for self-culture. There are some new books on that line I want you to read. I sometimes think the poorer we are the more we lean on the things of the spirit.”