"
Mr. Brott protested.
"I am not even," he declared, "moderately advanced in my views as
regards matters of your sex. To tell you the truth, I do not like
women to work at all outside their homes."
Lady Carey laughed.
"My dear," she said to Lucille, "you and I may as well retire in
despair. Can't you see the sort of woman Mr. Brott admires? She
isn't like us a bit. She is probably a healthy, ruddy-cheeked
young person who lives in the country, gets up to breakfast to pour
out the coffee for some sort of a male relative, goes round the
garden snipping off roses in big gloves and a huge basket, interviews
the cook, orders the dinner, makes fancy waistcoats for her husband,
and failing a sewing maid, does the mending for the family. You
and I, Lucille, are not like that."
"Well, you have mentioned nothing which I couldn't do, if it seemed
worth while," Lucille objected. "It sounds very primitive and
delightful. I am sure we are all too luxurious and too lazy. I
think we ought to turn over a new leaf."
"For you, dear Lucille," Lady Carey said with suave and deadly
satire, "what improvement is possible? You have all that you could
desire. It is much less fortunate persons, such as myself, to whom
Utopia must seem such a delightful place."
A frock-coated and altogether immaculate young man approached their
table and accosted Mr.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242