“And now?� Mark questioned.
“And now I am not tired of the other life. O, no. I enjoy it truly, only I think part of the people one meets in society life are often very silly and flat, as—as—� she hesitated for a comparison, then gave the familiar one of her childhood,—“as dishwater.�
“Isn’t that the trouble with a part of the people everywhere? After all, it’s a great thing to be to the manner born,� said Mark, setting his large hat farther back upon his head, and looking the bright sun in the face.
“Ain’t it? There is an ease, a consciousness of power, a—a something which the very rich have which one may covet. Perhaps it is the consciousness of always being well-dressed. I think that was what I used to covet. As to birth, I had nothing to envy in any of them. My mother was a Devereaux, my great uncle an earl.� Tibby lifted her chin with conscious pride. Mark saw that the girl was still smarting from affronts received when she was only Mrs. Wylie’s servant.
“Even in this democratic America we still are proud of what we please to call blue blood, are we? Well, it may be foolish, but I reckon it won’t hurt us,� said Mark. “I hope many of us are better men than our ancestors of feudal times, however. Our women are certainly more intelligent, if we may believe history.�
“Yes?� Tibby was looking out into the expanse dreamily, her eyes narrowed and yellow in the sunlight.
“What do you call the restraints of society life?� questioned Mark suddenly.
“The necessity of putting on war paint and feathers. The necessity of hiding behind a mask of conventionality and pleasant phrases, of fine clothes and fine speeches. I enjoy it immensely—immensely.� Tibby shut her lips tightly to emphasize her words. “But after all, it is artificial, and the only fun is seeing through it all. It’s really more fun to be a spectator than an actor in a comedy. The actors see all the tinsel and making up.�
“But you have been an actor?�
“Yes, in the minor roles.�