Julia told of the episode of Carter Hazzard; she repeated the
conversation she had overheard at the club.
Miss Toland did not once interrupt her; she listened in an appreciative
silence. They washed and put away the dishes, straightened the kitchen,
and finally found themselves standing in the reception room, Julia still
talking.
".... so you see why it sounds so funny to me, your talking about your
niece," Julia said. "Because she--she seems to me such _miles_ ahead--she
seems to have everything I would like to have!" She paused, and then
said awkwardly: "I'll never be a lady, I know that. I--I wish I had a
chance to be!"
And she sat down at the little Mission table, and flung her arms out
before her, her face tired and wretched, her blue eyes dark with pain.
Miss Toland's face, from showing mere indulgent interest, took on a
sharper look. She was a quick-witted woman, and this chanced to touch
her in a sensitive spot.
"As for a lady, ladies are made and not born," she said decidedly.
"Don't ever let them fool you. Barbara may run around until she's tired
talking about belonging to the Daughters of Southern Officers; she can
stick a sampler up here, and lend a Copley portrait to a loan exhibition
now and then; but you mark my words, Barbara had to learn things like
any other girl.
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