The Conflict [63]
neatness and cleanliness, and she used to try to keep me looking decent. But it was of no use. Ten minutes after she had smoothed me down I was flying every which way again.''
``You were brought up in a tenement?'' said Miss Clearwater. Several of the girls within hearing were blushing for Selma and were feeling how distressed Jane Hastings must be.
``I had a wonderfully happy childhood,'' replied Selma. ``Until I was old enough to understand and to suffer. I've lived in tenements all my life--among very poor people. I'd not feel at home anywhere else.''
``When I was born,'' said Miss Clearwater, ``we lived in a log cabin up in the mining district of Michigan.''
Selma showed the astonishment the other girls were feeling. But while their astonishment was in part at a girl of Ellen Clearwater's position making such a degrading confession, hers had none of that element in it. ``You don't in the least suggest a log cabin or poverty of any kind,'' said she. ``I supposed you had always been rich and beautifully dressed.''
``No, indeed,'' replied Ellen. She gazed calmly round at the other girls who were listening. ``I doubt if any of us here was born to what you see. Of course we-- some of us--make pretenses--all sorts of silly pretenses. But as a matter of fact there isn't one of us who hasn't near relatives in the cabins or the tenements at this very moment.''
There was a hasty turning away from this dangerous conversation. Jane came back from ordering the rearrangement of her luncheon table. Said Selma:
``I'd like to wash my hands, and smooth my hair a little.''
``You take her up, Ellen,'' said Jane. ``And hurry. We'll be in the dining-room when you come down.''
Selma's eyes were wide and roving as she and Ellen went through the drawing-room, the hall, up stairs and into the very prettily furnished suite which Ellen was occupying. ``I never saw anything like this before!'' exclaimed Selma. ``It's the first time I was ever in a grand house. This is a grand house, isn't it?''
``No--it's only comfortable,'' replied Ellen. ``Mr. Hastings--and Jane, too, don't go in for grandeur.''
``How beautiful everything is--and how convenient!'' exclaimed Selma. ``I haven't felt this way since the first time I went to the circus.'' She pointed to a rack from which were suspended thin silk dressing gowns of various rather gay patterns. ``What are those?'' she inquired.
``Dressing gowns,'' said Ellen. ``Just to wear round while one is dressing or undressing.''
Selma advanced and felt and examined them. ``But why so many?'' she inquired.
``Oh, foolishness,'' said Ellen. ``Indulgence! To suit different moods.''
``Lovely,'' murmured Selma. ``Lovely!''
``I suspect you of a secret fondness for luxury,'' said Ellen slyly.
Selma laughed. ``What would I do with such things?'' she inquired. ``Why, I'd have no time to wear them. I'd never dare put on anything so delicate.''
She roamed through dressing-room, bedroom, bath- room, marveling, inquiring, admiring. ``I'm so glad I came,'' said she. ``This will give me a fresh point of view. I can understand the people of your class better, and be more tolerant about them. I understand now why they are so hard and so indifferent. They're quite removed from the common lot. They don't realize; they can't. How narrow it must make one to have one's life filled with these pretty little things for luxury and show. Why, if I lived this life, I'd cease to be human after a short time.''
Ellen was silent.
``I didn't mean to say anything rude or offensive,'' said Selma, sensitive to the faintest impressions. ``I was speaking my thoughts aloud. . . . Do you know David Hull?''
``The young reformer?'' said Ellen with a queer little smile. ``Yes--quite well.''
``Does he live like this?''
``Rather more grandly,'' said Ellen.
Selma shook her head. A depressed expression settled upon her features. ``It's useless,'' she said. ``He couldn't possibly become a man.''
Ellen laughed. ``You must hurry,'' she said.
``You were brought up in a tenement?'' said Miss Clearwater. Several of the girls within hearing were blushing for Selma and were feeling how distressed Jane Hastings must be.
``I had a wonderfully happy childhood,'' replied Selma. ``Until I was old enough to understand and to suffer. I've lived in tenements all my life--among very poor people. I'd not feel at home anywhere else.''
``When I was born,'' said Miss Clearwater, ``we lived in a log cabin up in the mining district of Michigan.''
Selma showed the astonishment the other girls were feeling. But while their astonishment was in part at a girl of Ellen Clearwater's position making such a degrading confession, hers had none of that element in it. ``You don't in the least suggest a log cabin or poverty of any kind,'' said she. ``I supposed you had always been rich and beautifully dressed.''
``No, indeed,'' replied Ellen. She gazed calmly round at the other girls who were listening. ``I doubt if any of us here was born to what you see. Of course we-- some of us--make pretenses--all sorts of silly pretenses. But as a matter of fact there isn't one of us who hasn't near relatives in the cabins or the tenements at this very moment.''
There was a hasty turning away from this dangerous conversation. Jane came back from ordering the rearrangement of her luncheon table. Said Selma:
``I'd like to wash my hands, and smooth my hair a little.''
``You take her up, Ellen,'' said Jane. ``And hurry. We'll be in the dining-room when you come down.''
Selma's eyes were wide and roving as she and Ellen went through the drawing-room, the hall, up stairs and into the very prettily furnished suite which Ellen was occupying. ``I never saw anything like this before!'' exclaimed Selma. ``It's the first time I was ever in a grand house. This is a grand house, isn't it?''
``No--it's only comfortable,'' replied Ellen. ``Mr. Hastings--and Jane, too, don't go in for grandeur.''
``How beautiful everything is--and how convenient!'' exclaimed Selma. ``I haven't felt this way since the first time I went to the circus.'' She pointed to a rack from which were suspended thin silk dressing gowns of various rather gay patterns. ``What are those?'' she inquired.
``Dressing gowns,'' said Ellen. ``Just to wear round while one is dressing or undressing.''
Selma advanced and felt and examined them. ``But why so many?'' she inquired.
``Oh, foolishness,'' said Ellen. ``Indulgence! To suit different moods.''
``Lovely,'' murmured Selma. ``Lovely!''
``I suspect you of a secret fondness for luxury,'' said Ellen slyly.
Selma laughed. ``What would I do with such things?'' she inquired. ``Why, I'd have no time to wear them. I'd never dare put on anything so delicate.''
She roamed through dressing-room, bedroom, bath- room, marveling, inquiring, admiring. ``I'm so glad I came,'' said she. ``This will give me a fresh point of view. I can understand the people of your class better, and be more tolerant about them. I understand now why they are so hard and so indifferent. They're quite removed from the common lot. They don't realize; they can't. How narrow it must make one to have one's life filled with these pretty little things for luxury and show. Why, if I lived this life, I'd cease to be human after a short time.''
Ellen was silent.
``I didn't mean to say anything rude or offensive,'' said Selma, sensitive to the faintest impressions. ``I was speaking my thoughts aloud. . . . Do you know David Hull?''
``The young reformer?'' said Ellen with a queer little smile. ``Yes--quite well.''
``Does he live like this?''
``Rather more grandly,'' said Ellen.
Selma shook her head. A depressed expression settled upon her features. ``It's useless,'' she said. ``He couldn't possibly become a man.''
Ellen laughed. ``You must hurry,'' she said.