"Then, what is a business girl to do?" asked Catharine, vaguely.
Athalie shook her golden head, slowly: "Don't ask me."
Catharine said, still more vaguely: "She must do
something--pleasant--before she's too old and sick to--to care what
happens."
"I know it.... Men, of that kind, are pleasant.... I don't see why
we shouldn't go out with them. It's all the chance we have. Or will
ever have.... I've thought it over. I don't see that it helps for us
to resent their sisters and mothers and friends. Such women would
never permit us to know them. The nearest we can get to them is to
know their sons."
"I don't want to know them--"
"Yes, you do. Be honest, Catharine. Every girl does. And really I
believe if the choice were offered a business girl, she would rather
know the mothers and sisters than the sons."
"There's no use thinking about it," said Catharine.
"No, there is no use.... And so I don't see any harm in being friends
with their sons.... It will hurt at times--humiliate us--maybe
embitter us.... But it's that or nothing."
"We needn't be silly about their sons."
Athalie opened her dark blue eyes, then laughed confidently: "Oh, as
for anything like that! I should hope not. We three ought to know
something by this time."
"I should think so," murmured Catharine; and her warm, wine-scented
breath fell on Athalie's cheek.