"I want you to meet my mother and let her help you to get some kind of
a position more--more worthy of your talents than this."
Win laughed aloud. "You run down your father's shop?"
"It's not good enough for you."
She flushed, and all her pent-up anger against the House of the Hands
tingled in that flush.
"You say so because I once had the great honour of being an
acquaintance of yours--and your sister's," she hurried breathlessly
on. "For all the rest of the people here, the people you don't know
and don't want to know, you think it good enough--too good,
perhaps--even splendid! It does look so, doesn't it? Magnificent! And
every one of your father's employees so happy--so fortunate to be
earning his wages. They're worms--that doesn't matter to rich men like
you, Mr. Rolls. Unless, perhaps, a girl happens to be pretty--or you
knew her once and remember that she was an individual. Oh, you must
feel I'm very ungrateful for your interest. Maybe you mean to be
kind--about your mother. But give your interest to those who need it.
I don't. I've seen your name in the papers--interviews--things you try
to do for the 'poor.' It's a sort of fad, isn't it--in your set? But
charity begins at home.
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