spite of your assertion--it very soon goes to the
kindergarten. Then what does she find to do with hours and hours? If she
is not married, what on earth can she find to do?"

"She can work," replied Carley, bluntly.

"Oh yes, she can, but she doesn't," went on Eleanor. "You don't work. I
never did. We both hated the idea. You're calling spades spades, Carley,
but you seem to be riding a morbid, impractical thesis. Well, our young
American girl or bride goes in for being rushed or she goes in for fads,
the ultra stuff you mentioned. New York City gets all the great artists,
lecturers, and surely the great fakirs. The New York women support them.
The men laugh, but they furnish the money. They take the women to the
theaters, but they cut out the reception to a Polish princess, a lecture
by an Indian magician and mystic, or a benefit luncheon for a Home for
Friendless Cats. The truth is most of our young girls or brides have
a wonderful enthusiasm worthy of a better cause. What is to become of
their surplus energy, the bottled-lightning spirit so characteristic
of modern girls? Where is the outlet for intense feelings? What use can
they make of education or of gifts? They just can't, that's all. I'm
not taking into consideration the new-woman species, the faddist or the
reformer. I mean normal girls like you and me. Just think, Carley. A
girl's every wish, every need, is almost instantly satisfied without the
slightest effort on her part to obtain it. No struggle, let alone work!
If women crave to achieve something outside of the arts, you know,
something universal and helpful which will make men acknowledge her
worth, if not the equality, where is the opportunity?"

"Opportunities should be made," replied Carley.

"There are a million sides to this question of the modern young
woman--the fin-de-siecle girl. I'm for her!"

"How about the extreme of style in dress for this
remarkably-to-be-pitied American girl you champion so eloquently?"
queried Carley, sarcastically.

"Immoral!" exclaimed Eleanor with frank disgust.

"You admit it?"

"To my shame, I do."

"Why do women wear extreme clothes? Why do you and I wear open-work silk
stockings, skirts to our knees, gowns without sleeves or bodices?"

"We're slaves to fashion," replied Eleanor, "That's the popular excuse."

"Bah!" exclaimed Carley.

Eleanor laughed in spite of being half nettled. "Are you going to stop
wearing what all the other women wear--and be