had no monopoly of the white slave traffic; it flourished equally well
on fashionable Fifth Avenue, where its countless victims, for the
honor of the system, managed to conceal their tears from the world.
What did bridge-playing mothers care about their daughters' happiness
so long as they were able to procure for them rich men who could give
them fine houses, servants, and automobiles? It was all hideous and
ghastly, when viewed thus sanely, and Virginia shuddered as she
thought of it. To such degradation as this she would never sink. Never
would she marry a man whom she did not truly love. If it came to the
worst she would go as domestic servant or even starve rather than
surrender her self-respect.

Graduation day was almost at hand, but the dress was still unfinished.
There was considerable work yet to be done on it. The nearer came the
important event, the more nervous and exhausted Mrs. Blaine showed
herself. She had already had several fainting spells and on one
occasion the girls were so alarmed that they thought the end had come,
peacefully and suddenly. But the widow rallied and, in spite of her
daughter's protests, insisted on continuing with her work. Marvelling
at her determination, touched by this pathetic exhibition of maternal
devotion, Virginia would sit silently for hours, her eyes filled with
tears, watching the dear, tired fingers swiftly and skillfully plying
the needle.

One evening the little family was assembled in the stuffy parlor back
of the store. Mrs. Blaine, tired after a long day's toil, had sunk
back in her armchair, dozing. Her head had fallen forward on her
breast, a piece of hemming on her knee. In order not to disturb her,
the girls conversed in low tones. Virginia was reading, her favorite
occupation, while her elder sister, engaged perhaps more usefully, was