You will never be able to deny yourselves giving us our
'privilege.' I hate being waited on. I'd rather do things for myself."
She was so earnest in her satire, so full of scorn and so serious in her
meaning, and there was such a contrast between what she said and her
person; she looked so preeminently the pretty marquise, all silks and
softness, the little exquisite, so essentially to be waited on and helped,
to have cloaks thrown over the dampness for her to tread upon, to be run
about for--he could see half a dozen youths rushing about for her ices,
for her carriage, for her chaperone, for her wrap, at dances--that to save
his life he could not repress a chuckle. He managed to make it inaudible,
however; and it was as well that he did.
"I understand your love of newspaper work," she went on, less vehemently,
but not less earnestly. "I have always wanted to do it myself, wanted to
immensely. I can't think of any more fascinating way of earning one's
living. And I know I could do it. Why don't you make the 'Herald' a
daily?"
To hear her speak of "earning one's living" was too much for him. She gave
the impression of riches, not only for the fine texture and fashioning of
her garments, but one felt that luxuries had wrapped her from her birth.
He had not had much time to wonder what she did in Plattville; it had
occurred to him that it was a little odd that she could plan to spend any
extent of time there, even if she had liked Minnie Briscoe at school.
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