"But there are lots of places where you could have gone, religious and
philanthropic institutions I think they call themselves, where they
would have listened to what you had to say, and done their best to help
you."

Carrie looked dubious.

"Are there?" said she. "Well, there may be, of course. But I think not.
Plenty of institutions of one sort and another there are, of course. But
those for women are generally for one class--a class I don't belong to."

Max shuddered. This matter-of-fact tone jarred upon him. It was not
immodest, but it revealed a mind accustomed to view the facts of life,
not one nourished on pretty fancies, like those of his sisters.

"And even if," she went on, "there were a home, an institution, a girl
like me could go to and obtain employment, it wouldn't be a life one
would care for; it would be a sort of workhouse at the best, wouldn't
it?"

"Wouldn't it be better than--this?"

"I don't even know that. Granny's fond of me in her way. That's the one
thing no sort of institution can give you, the feeling that you belong
to some one, that you're not just a number."

"Well, but you're well educated--and--"

He was going to say "pretty," but her look stopped him.