seriously, "if Mother didn't mind so awfully. Not in the kitchen,
but somewhere. I'd love to work in a settlement house."

"Now, there you modern girls are," her father said. "Can't bear to
clear away the dinner plates in your own houses, yet you'll
cheerfully suggest going to live in the filthiest parts of the city,
working, as no servant is ever expected to work, for people you
don't know!"

"I know it's absurd," Sandy agreed, smiling. Her answer was ready
somewhere in her mind, but she could not quite find it. "But, you
see, that's a new problem," she presently offered, "that's ours to-
day, just as managing your house was Mother's when she married you.
Circumstances have changed. I couldn't ever take up the kitchen
question just as it presents itself to Mother. I--people my age
don't believe in a servant class. They just believe in a division of
labor, all dignified. If some girl I knew, Grace or Betty, say, came
into our kitchen--and that reminds me!" she broke off suddenly.

"Of what?"

"Why, of something Owen--Owen Sargent was saying a few days ago. His
mother's quite daffy about establishing social centers and clubs for
servant girls, you know, and she's gotten into this new thing, a
sort of college for servants. Now I'll ask Owen about it. I'll do
that to-morrow. That's just what I'll do!"

"Tell me about it," her father said. But Alexandra shook her head.

"I don't honestly know anything about it, Dad. But Owen had a lot of