've been doing such interesting things--motoring and
adventuring--you must have met some terrible people along the way,"
fished Mrs. Betz.

"Yes, everybody does seem to feel that way. But I'm afraid I found them
terribly nice," flared Claire.

"I always say that common people can be most agreeable," Mrs. Corey
patronized. Before Claire could kill her--there wasn't any homicidal
weapon in sight except a silver tea-strainer--Mrs. Corey had pirouetted
on, "Though I do think that we're much too kind to workmen and all--the
labor situation is getting to be abominable here in the West, and upon
my word, to keep a maid nowadays, you have to treat her as though she
were a countess."

"Why shouldn't maids be like countesses? They're much more important,"
said Claire sweetly.

It cannot be stated that Claire had spent any large part of her time in
reading Karl Marx, leading syndicalist demonstrations, or hemming red
internationalist flags, but at this instant she was a complete
revolutionist. She could have executed Mrs. Corey and pretty Mrs. Betz
with zeal; she disliked the entire bourgeoisie; she looked around for a
Jap boy to call "comrade" and she again thought about the possibilities
of the tea-strainer for use in assassination. She stolidly wore through
the combined and exclamatory explanations of Mrs. Corey, Mrs. Betz, Mrs.
Gilson, and Mr. Johnny Martin about the inherent viciousness of all
maids, and when the storm was over, she said in a manner of honey and
syrup:

"You were speaking of the Dudenants, weren't you, Mrs. Corey? I do
remember them now. Poor Don Dudenant, isn't it a pity he's such a fool?
His father is really a very decent old bore."

"I," observed Mrs. Corey, in prim horror, "regard the Dudenants as
extremely delightful people. I fancy we must be thinking of different
families. I mean the Manhattan Dudenants, not the Brooklyn family."

"Oh, yes, I meant the Manhattan family, too--the one that made its
fortune selling shoddy woolens in the Civil War," caressed Claire.

Right there, her welcome by Mrs. Corey and Mrs. Betz ceased; and without
any of the unhappiness which the thought would have caused her three
months before, Claire reflected, "How they hate me!"

The Gilsons had a number of thoughts upon the subject of tact to express
to Claire on the way home. But she, who had always smiled, who had been
the obedient guest, shrugged and snapped, "They're idiots, those young
women. They're impertine