"Perhaps so. It's society at large. But certain classes have leagued
together and excluded themselves from their fellows, admitting only
those of their own ilk. The people didn't put them on their
pedestals--they put themselves there. Yet the people bow down and
worship these social gods and seem glad to have them. The newspapers
print their pictures and the color of their gowns and how they do their
hair and what they eat and what they do, and the poor washwomen and
shop-girls and their like read these accounts more religiously than they
do their bibles. My maid Mary's a good girl, but she grabs the society
sheet of the Sunday paper and reads it from top to bottom. I never look
at it myself."

Diana's cheeks were burning. She naturally resented such ridicule,
having been born to regard social distinction with awe and reverence.
Inwardly resolving to make Miss Patricia Doyle regret the speech she hid
all annoyance under her admirable self-control and answered with smooth
complacency:

"Your estimate of society, my dear Miss Doyle, is superficial."

"Don't I know it, then?" exclaimed Patsy. "Culture and breeding,
similarity of taste and intellectual pursuits will always attract
certain people and band them together in those cliques which are called
'social sets,' They are not secret societies; they have no rules of
exclusion; congenial minds are ever welcome to their ranks. This is a
natural coalition, in no way artificial. Can you not appreciate that,
Miss Doyle?"

"Yes, indeed," admitted Patsy, promptly. "You're quite right, and I'm
just one of those stupid creatures who criticise the sun because there's