"Now, to make it plain, I will confide to you in strictest confidence that Gregory and I aren't yet really in any set. We are trying to get a footing and are holding on by our teeth to the fringe of the social merry-go-round. I wouldn't admit it to any one but you; but as you are a stranger like myself and in the same block, I am glad to initiate you into the customs of this part of the country," Flossy gave a merry toss to her head which set her ringlets bobbing, and rose to go.
"And in what set are your cousins?" asked Selma.
"If you wish to hear about them, I shall have to sit down again. The Morton-Prices belong to the ultra-conservative, solid, stupid, aristocratic set—the most dignified and august of all. They are almost as sacred as Hindoo gods, and some people would walk over red-hot coals to gain admission to their house. And really, it's quite just in one way that incense should be burnt before them. You mustn't look so disgusted, because there's some sense in it all. As Gregory says, it's best to look things squarely in the face. Most of the people in these different sets are somebodies because either their grandfathers or they have done something well—better than other people, and made money as a consequence. And when a family has made money or won distinction by its brains and then has brushed its teeth twice a day religiously for two generations, the members of it, even though dull, are entitled to respect, don't you think so?"
Selma, who brushed her teeth but once a day, looked a little sharp at Flossy.
"It makes money of too much importance and it establishes class distinctions. I don't approve of such a condition of affairs at all."
Flossy shrugged her shoulders. "I have never thought whether I approve of it or not. I am only telling you what exists. I don't deny that money counts for a great deal, for, as Gregory says, money is the measure of success. But money isn't everything. Brains count and refinement, and nice honorable ways of looking at things. Of course, I'm only telling you what my ambition is. People have different kinds of bees in their bonnets. Some men have the presidential bee; I have the social bee. I should like to be recognized as a prominent member of the charmed circle on my own merits and show my cousins that I am really worthy of their attention. There are a few who are able to be superior to that sort of thing, who go on living their own lives attractively and finely, without thinking of society, and who suddenly wake up some day to find themselves socially famous—to find that they have been taken up. That's the best way, but one requires to be the right sort of person and to have a lot of moral courage. I can imagine it happening to you and your husband. But it would never happen to Gregory and me. We shall have to make money and cut a dash in order to attract attention, and by-and-by, if we are persistent and clever enough, we may be recognized as somebodies, provided there is something original or interesting about us. There! I have told you my secret and shocked you into the bargain. I really must be going. But I'll tell you another secret first: It'll be a pleasure to me to see you, if I may, because you look at things differently and haven't a social bee. I wish I were like that—really like it. But then, as Gregory would say, I shouldn't be myself, and not to be one's self is worse than anything else after all, isn't it? You and your husband must come and dine with us soon."
After Mrs. Williams had gone, Selma fell into a brown study. She had listened to sentiments of which she thoroughly disapproved, and which were at variance with all her theories and conceptions. What her friendly, frivolous visitor had told her with engaging frankness offended her conscience and patriotism. She did not choose to admit the existence of these class-distinctions, and she knew that even if they did exist, they could not possibly concern Wilbur and herself. Even Mrs. Williams had appreciated that Wilbur and her literary superiority put them above and beyond the application of any snobbish, artificial, social measuring-tape. And yet Selma's brow was clouded. Her thought reverted to the row of stately houses on either side of Fifth Avenue, into none of which she had the right of free access, in spite of the fact that she was leading her life attractively and finely, without regard to society. She thought instinctively of Sodom and Gomorrah, and she saw righteously with her mind's eye for a moment an angel with a flaming sword consigning to destruction these offending mansions and their owners as symbols of mammon and contraband to God.
That evening she told Wilbur of Mrs. Williams's visit. "She's a bright, amusing person, and quite pretty. We took a fancy to each other. But what do you suppose she said? She intimated that we haven't any social position."
"Very kind of her, I'm sure. She must be a woman of discrimination—likewise something of a character."
"She's smart. So you think it's true?"