Mrs. Evringham gave an ejaculation of impatience. "And do all our own
work and live like pigs!" she returned petulantly.

Eloise shrugged her shoulders. "I may flatter myself, but I fancy I
should keep it rather clean."

"You wouldn't mind your hands then." Mrs. Evringham regarded the hands
worthy to be imitated by a sculptor's art, and the girl raised them
and inspected the rose-tints of their tips. "I've read something about
rubber gloves," she returned vaguely.

"You'd better read something else then. How do you suppose you would get
on without a carriage?" asked her mother with exasperation. "You have
never had so much as a taste of privation in any form. Your suggestion
is the acme of foolishness."

"I think I could do something if you would let me," rejoined the girl
as calmly as before. "I think I could teach music pretty well, and keep
house charmingly. If I had any false pride when we came out here, the
past six weeks have purified me of it. Will you let me try, mother? I'm
asking it very seriously."

"Certainly not!" hotly. "There are armies of music teachers now, and you
would not have a chance."

"I think I could dress hair well," remarked Eloise, glancing at the
reflection in a mirror of her own graceful coiffure.

"I dare say!" responded Mrs. Evringham with sarcastic heat, "or I'm sure
you could get a position as a waitress. The servant problem is growing