it impossible for anyone to get good service or good
food or good furniture or good clothing or good
anything. They don't know good things, and they pay
exorbitant prices for showy trash, for crude vulgar
luxury. They corrupt taste. They make everyone
round them or near them sycophants and cheats. They
substitute money for intelligence and discrimination.
They degrade every fine thing in life. Civilization is
built up by brains and hard work, and along come the
rich and rot and ruin it!''

Mildred and her mother were listening in astonishment.
Said the mother:

``I'd be ashamed to confess myself such a hypocrite.''

``And I, madam, would be ashamed to be such a
hypocrite without taking a bath of confession afterward,''
retorted Presbury.

``At least you might have waited until Mildred
wasn't in hearing,'' snapped she.

``I shall marry him if I can,'' said Mildred.

``And blissfully happy you'll be,'' said Presbury.
``Women, ladies--true ladies, like you and your
mother--have no sensibilities. All you ask is luxury.
If Bill Siddall were a thousand times worse than he is,
his money would buy him almost any refined, delicate