“When I think of society,” Virginia said, “in the large sense of all people, the only class I don’t think of as belonging to society, are just the society girls.” “That,” I answered, “is foolish; for they do belong to it, and can be a very important part of it, if they wish.” Marian looked puzzled. “It is all right,” she asked, “isn’t it, for girls to go into society?” “Surely,” I answered; “not only all right, but very good, if they do it in the best way. But I think it a terrible waste for girls to do nothing but go into society, to live only for that, and rest only for that, and care only for the superficial show of it, for luxury and money-spending.” We spoke of luncheons and parties, and all sorts of festivities where decoration and show count, and tried to put decoration in its subordinate place. “People are apt,” I said, “to lose the real thing in the glamor, to care to outdo each other only in expensiveness and show, instead of remembering that pleasant surroundings are merely surroundings. Like the woman who would spend all her time on her household, and waste herself to make it beautiful, instead of remembering that its beauty could count only as a setting for herself and her greater work. It’s a pity to waste good art on poor subjects.” “One must be all-sided,” said Marian, “you told us so. I know a girl who did college and society and housekeeping all at once.” “And all well?” I asked. “I think so,” she answered, “though I’m not so sure about the college part.” “That is just the danger,” I said, “and a danger I wish you all to avoid. I don’t want one of you, when you leave school, to degenerate into a frivolous, silly society girl. You won’t, will you?” They all said they wouldn’t. Virginia and Ruth were positive they couldn’t. “Because,” I went on, “many girls do it who seemed serious and intelligent while at school. I will tell you why they do. They are apt to think school in itself so intellectual, that they particularly avoid, at other times, thinking seriously or reading good books or having sensible conversations. And, indeed, school does keep them thinking, but not of their own accord. So, when they are graduated, they stop all thinking, go into society, and wait to get married.” “And some women,” said Marian, “get so uninteresting after they marry!” “Yes,” I answered, “it is true, and it is a pity. Naturally, every girl expects to marry, and has the right to expect it. But if she folds her hands and waits for it, or goes out and dances and waits for it, she will hardly be fit when the time comes.” “I think it is disgusting,” said Marian, “for a girl to be ‘on the market.’” “So do I,” I answered. “And no wonder that those girls, when they marry, become dull and ‘settled,’ and do not grow with their children. For, you see, they were ‘finished’ when they left school. I believe that when a girl leaves school she should go on working and growing and learning all her life long, whether she marry or not.”