A chattering crowd of girls closed in behind her. One voice rose above the rest:
“Well, I don’t know what you call it, then. He skated with her all the winter, and at the Dickinson party they sat on one sofa for an hour and talked steadily!”
“Oh, nonsense! She skates beautifully, that’s all.”
“She sits on a sofa beautifully, too.” A burst of laughter, and the door closed.
The German assistant smiled satirically. It was all of a piece. At least, the younger women were perfectly frank about it: they did not feel themselves forced to employ sarcasm in their references; it was not necessary for them to appear to have definitely chosen this life in preference to any other. Four years was little to lend to such an experiment. But the older women, who sat on those prim little platforms year after year—a sudden curiosity possessed her to know how many of them were really satisfied.
