"My dear Alys," she said, "my husband has told you that he is too busy a man to give your affairs his personal attention. He can only advise you and turn the executive side over to another. His experience does not extend to the stock market or to real estate. It is an imposition to throw your burdens upon him. If you derive benefits from ownership, you must educate yourself to accept your duty to society."
"Indeed!" flared Alys, furious at this public arraignment. "May I ask if you intend to continue this insulting attitude?" "If you mean, do I expect hereafter to be a live woman and not a parasite—I do."
Mrs. Brewster-Smith turned on her heel and walked away, teetering over the ruts and holes of the path.
Genevieve looked distressed. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "I'm ashamed, but it had to come out. I—I couldn't stand it any longer. I—beg everybody's pardon. I'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. Oh, dear—" she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal toward Mrs. Brewster-Smith's slowly retreating back, moved as if to follow.
"I wouldn't go after her," said E. Eliot. "Of course, you haven't had experience. You don't know how much self-restraint you've got to build up, but you're here now, and I'm sure Mr. Glass understands. He's got to come up against all sorts of exasperations on his job, too. He won't take any stock in Mrs. Brewster-Smith's trying to tie your husband up to these wretched conditions.
"He's looking forward to seeing an honest, public-spirited district attorney get into office—even if your husband doesn't yet see that women have anything to say about it. They may heckle him in order to force him to come out on his intentions about the graft, and the eight-hour day, and the enforcement of the law, but they don't doubt his honesty. When he know's what's what, I guess the public can trust him to do the right thing. Only he's got to be shown."
As she talked, giving Geneviève time to recover from her upheaval, the three investigators were plowing their way up and down byways equally depressing and insanitary. Silence ensued. Occasionally an expression of commiseration or condemnation escaped one or another of the party.
Suddenly a raucous whistle tore the air, followed by another and another, declaring the armistice of the noon hour. Iron gates in the surrounding wall were opened, a stream of men and women poured out, grimed, sweat-streaked and voluble. The two women and their escort paused and watched the oncoming swarm of humanity.
Around the corner, just ahead, strode a giant of a man, followed by a red-faced, unkempt, familiar figure—the man in charge of the renting office. The giant came forward threateningly.
"What youse doing?" he growled. He jerked his jersey, displaying a brass badge, P. A. Guard.