job."

"What do you do when--when a customer annoys you?"

"I!" Miss Hinkle laughed with some embarrassment. "Oh, I do
the best I can." A swift glance of the cynical, laughing,
"fast" eyes at Susan and away. "The best I can--for the
house--and for myself. . . . I talk to you because I know
you're a lady and because I don't want to see you thrown down.
A woman that's living quietly at home--like a lady--she can be
squeamish. But out in the world a woman can't afford to
be--no, nor a man, neither. You don't find this set down in the
books, and they don't preach it in the churches--leastways they
didn't when I used to go to church. But it's true, all the same."

They were a few minutes early; so Miss Hinkle continued the
conversation while they waited for the opening of the room
where Susan would be outfitted for her work. "I called you
Miss Sackville," said she, "but you've been married--haven't you?"

"Yes."

"I can always tell--or at least I can see whether a woman's had
experience or not. Well, I've never been regularly married,
and I don't expect to, unless something pretty good offers.
Think I'd marry one of these rotten little clerks?" Miss Hinkle
answered her own question with a scornful sniff. "They can
hardly make a living for themselves. And a man who amounts to
anything, he wants a refined lady to help him on up, not a
working girl. Of course, there're exceptions. But as a rule
a girl in our position either has to stay single or marry
beneath her--marry some mechanic or such like. Well, I ain't
so lazy, or so crazy about being supported, that I'd sink to be
cook and slop-carrier--and worse--for a carpenter or a
bricklayer. Going out with the buyers--the gentlemanly
ones--has spoiled my taste. I can't stand a coarse man--coarse
dress and hands and manners. Can you?"

Susan turned hastily away, so that her face was hidden from
Miss Hinkle.

"I'll bet you wasn't married to a coarse man."

"I'd rather not talk about myself," said Susan with an effort.
"It's not pleasant."

Her manner of checking Miss Hinkle's friendly curiosity did not
give offense; it excited the experienced working woman's
sympathy. She went on:

"Well, I feel sorry for any woman that has to work. Of course
most women do--and at worse than anything in the stores and
factories. As between being a drudge to some dirty common
laborer like most women are, and working in a factory even,
give me the factory. Y