conspicuous young woman about town."

"If you saw her in somebody's drawing-room you'd merely think her
beautiful and well-bred."

"Clive! Will you please awake from that silly dream?"

"That's the truth, mother. And if she spoke it would merely confirm
the impression. You won't believe it but it's true."

"That's absurd, Clive! She may not be uneducated but she certainly
cannot be either cultivated or well-bred."

"She is cultivating herself."

"Then for goodness' sake let her do it! It's praiseworthy and
commendable for a working girl to try to better herself. But it
doesn't concern you."

"Why not? If a business girl does better herself and fit herself for a
better social environment, it seems to me her labour is in vain if
people within the desired environment snub her."

"What kind of argument is that? Socialistic? I merely know it is
unbaked. What theory is it, dear?"

[Illustration: "Beside her, eager, happy, flattered, walked C. Bailey,
Jr., very conscious that he was being envied."]

"I don't know what it is. It seems reasonable to me, mother."

"Clive, are you trying to make yourself sentimentalise over that
Greensleeve woman?"

"I told you that I am not in love with her; nor is she with me. It's
an agreeable and happy comradeship; that's all."

"People think it something more," retorted his mother, curtly.

"That's their fault, not Athalie's and not mine."

"Then, why do you go about with her? _Why?_ You know girls enough,
don't you?"

"Plenty. They resemble one another to the verge of monotony."

"Is that the way you regard the charming, well-born, well-bred,
clever, cultivated girls of your own circle, whose parents were the
friends of your parents?"

"Oh, mother, I like them of course.... But there's something about a
business girl--a girl in the making--that is more amusing, more
companionable, more interesting. A business girl seems to wear better.
She's better worth talking to, listening to,--it's better fun to go
about with her, see things with her, discuss things--"

"What on earth are you talking about! It's perfect babble; it's
nonsense! If you really believe you have a penchant for sturdy and
rather grubby worthiness unadorned you are mistaken. The inclination
you have is merely for a pretty face and figure. I know you. If I
don't, who does! You're rather a fastidious young man, even finicky,
and very, very much accustomed to the best and only the best. Don't
talk to me ab