"What does that mean, Alex Groome? When you roll up your eyes like that you
look like a love-sick tomato."

"Mortimer Dwight was most devoted last night," said Sibyl Thorndyke. "She
danced with him at least eight times."

"You must have sat out alone to know what I was doing," Alexina began
hotly, but Aileen sprang at her and gripped her shoulders.

"Don't tell me that you are interested in that cheap skate. Alexina Groome!
You!"

"He's not a cheap skate. I despise your cheap slang."

"He's a rank nobody."

"You mean he isn't rich. Or his family didn't belong. What do you suppose I
care? I'm not a snob."

"He is. A climbing, ingenuous, empty-headed snob."

"You are a snob. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"I've a right to be a snob if I choose, and he hasn't. My snobbery is the
right sort: the 'I will maintain' kind. He'd give all the hair on his head
to have the right to that sort of snobbery. His is" (she chanted in a
high light maddening voice): "Oh, God, let me climb. Yank me up into the
paradise of San Francisco society. Burlingame, Alta, Menlo Park, Atherton,
Belvidere, San Rafael. Oh, God, it's awful to be a nobody, not to be in