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.Iunderstand 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 Ilived 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.``We're keeping everyone waiting.''
As Selma was making a few passes at her rebellious thick hair--passes the like of which Miss Clearwater had never before seen--she explained:
``I've been somewhat interested in David Hull of late--have been hoping he could graduate from a fake reformer into a useful citizen.But--'' She looked round expressively at the luxury surrounding them-- ``one might as well try to grow wheat in sand.''
``Davy is a fine fraud,'' said Ellen.``Fine--because he doesn't in the least realize that he's a fraud.''
``I'm afraid he is a fraud,'' said Selma setting on her hat again.``What a pity? He might have been a man, if he'd been brought up properly.'' She gazed at Ellen with sad, shining eyes.``How many men and women luxury blights!'' she cried.
``It certainly has done for Davy,'' said Ellen lightly.``He'll never be anything but a respectable fraud.''
``Why do YOU think so?'' Selma inquired.
``My father is a public man,'' Miss Clearwater explained.``And I've seen a great deal of these reformers.They're the ordinary human variety of politician plus a more or less conscious hypocrisy.Usually they're men who fancy themselves superior to the common run in birth and breeding.My father has taught me to size them up.''
They went down, and Selma, seated between Jane and Miss Clearwater, amused both with her frank comments on the scene so strange to her--the beautiful table, the costly service, the variety and profusion of elaborate food.In fact, Jane, reaching out after the effects got easily in Europe and almost as easily in the East, but overtaxed the resources of the household which she was only beginning to get into what she regarded as satisfactory order.The luncheon, therefore, was a creditable and promising attempt rather than a success, from the standpoint of fashion.Jane was a little ashamed, and at times extremely nervous-- this when she saw signs of her staff falling into disorder that might end in rout.But Selma saw none of the defects.She was delighted with the dazzling spectacle--for two or three courses.Then she lapsed into quiet and could not be roused to speak.
Jane and Ellen thought she was overwhelmed and had been seized of shyness in this company so superior to any in which she had ever found herself.Ellen tried to induce her to eat, and, failing, decided that her refraining was not so much firmness in the two meals-a-day system as fear of making a ``break.'' She felt genuinely sorry for the silent girl growing moment by moment more ill-at-ease.When the luncheon was about half over Selma said abruptly to Jane:
``I must go now.I've stayed longer than I should.''
``Go?'' cried Jane.``Why, we haven't begun to talk yet.''
``Another time,'' said Selma, pushing back her chair.``No, don't rise.'' And up she darted, smiling gayly round at the company.``Don't anybody disturb herself,'' she pleaded.
``It'll be useless, for I'll be gone.''
And she was as good as her word.Before any one quite realized what she was about, she had escaped from the dining-room and from the house.She almost ran across the lawn and into the woods.
There she drew a long breath noisily.
``Free!'' she cried, flinging out her arms.``Oh--but it was DREADFUL!''
Miss Hastings and Miss Clearwater had not been so penetrating as they fancied.Embarrassment had nothing to do with the silence that had taken possession of the associate editor of the New Day.
She was never self-conscious enough to be really shy.She hastened to the office, meeting Victor Dorn in the street doorway.She cried:
``Such an experience!''
``What now?'' said Victor.He was used to that phrase from the ardent and impressionable Selma.For her, with her wide-open eyes and ears, her vivid imagination and her thirsty mind, life was one closely packed series of adventures.
``I had an hour to spare,'' she proceeded to explain.``Ithought it was a chance to further a little scheme I've got for marrying Jane Hastings and David Hull.''
``Um!'' said Victor with a quick change of expression --which, however, Selma happened not to observe.
``And,'' she went on, ``I blundered into a luncheon party Jane was giving.You never saw--you never dreamed of such style--such dresses and dishes and flowers and hats! And I was sitting there with them, enjoying it all as if it were a circus or a ballet, when-- Oh, Victor, what a silly, what a pitiful waste of time and money! So much to do in the world--so much that is thrillingly interesting and useful--and those intelligent young people dawdling there at nonsense a child would weary of! I had to run away.If I had stayed another minute I should have burst out crying-- or denouncing them--or pleading with them to behave themselves.''
``What else can they do?'' said Victor.``They don't know any better.They've never been taught.How's the article?''
