"It doesn't impress me as an interesting life for a girl of your age,"
he suggested.

"Oh, I'm not unhappy. And at home, of evenings and Sundays, I'm happy."

"Doing what?"

"Reading and talking with father and--doing the housework--and all the
rest of it."

What a monotonous narrow little life! He wanted to pity her, but somehow
he could not. There was no suggestion in her manner that she was an
object of pity. "What did Miss Burroughs say to you--if I may ask?"

"Certainly. You sent me, and I'm much obliged to you. I realize it was
an opportunity--for another sort of girl. I half tried to accept because
I knew refusing was only my--queerness." She smiled charmingly. "You are
not offended because I couldn't make myself take it?"

"Not in the least." And all at once he felt that it was true. This girl
would have been out of place in service. "What was the offer?"

Suddenly before him there appeared a clever, willful child, full of the
childish passion for imitation and mockery. And she proceeded to "take
off" the grand Miss Burroughs--enough like Josephine to give the satire
point and barb. He could see Josephine resolved to be affable and equal,
to make this doubtless bedazzled stray from the "lower classes" feel
comfortable in those palatial surroundings. She imitated Josephine's
walk, her way of looking, her voice for the menials--gracious and
condescending. The exhibition was clever, free from malice, redolent of