"Where girls who work for a living are unknown. Where they never are asked, never go, never are expected to go. But that is where such men are asked, where such men are expected; and it is where they go for social diversion--not to the Regina with two of Winton's models, nor to the Cafe Arabesque with an Egyptian Garden chorus girl, nor--" she hesitated, flushed, and was silent, staring mentally at the image of C. Bailey, Jr., which her logic and philosophy had inevitably evoked. "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. CHAPTER VIII Before February had ended C. Bailey, Jr., and Athalie Greensleeve had been to more than one play, had dined and supped together more than once at the Regina.