"My aunt doesn't like my going to business. I can have the best of
everything at home. I don't want you to think I work because I need to."
Philip knew that she was not speaking the truth. The gentility of her
class made her use this pretence to avoid the stigma attached to earning
her living.
"My family's very well-connected," she said.
Philip smiled faintly, and she noticed it.
"What are you laughing at?" she said quickly. "Don't you believe I'm
telling you the truth?"
"Of course I do," he answered.
She looked at him suspiciously, but in a moment could not resist the
temptation to impress him with the splendour of her early days.
"My father always kept a dog-cart, and we had three servants. We had a
cook and a housemaid and an odd man. We used to grow beautiful roses.
People used to stop at the gate and ask who the house belonged to, the
roses were so beautiful. Of course it isn't very nice for me having to mix
with them girls in the shop, it's not the class of person I've been used
to, and sometimes I really think I'll give up business on that account.
It's not the work I mind, don't think that; but it's the class of people
I have to mix with."
They were sitting opposite one another in the train, and Philip, listening
sympathetically to what she said, was quite happy. He was amused at her
naivete and slightly touched.
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