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"Of course they don't call their way common," she pursued, with what
seemed to him the most touching candour. "Their word for it is 'pep'."
She pronounced the vulgar syllable as if she abhorred it. "That is what
I haven't got, and that's why I have never been a real success in
anything except church work. Even in the Red Cross it was 'pep' that
counted most, and that was the reason they never sent me to Europe.
Mother tried to make me into the kind of girl that men admired when she
was young; but the type has gone out of fashion to-day just as much as
crinolines or a small waist. If I were clever I suppose I could make
myself over and begin to jump about and imitate the sort of animation I
never had; but I'm not really clever, for I've tried and I can't do it.
It only makes me feel silly to pretend to be what I am not."
Her confession struck him, while he listened to it, as the sweetest and
most womanly one he had ever heard.
"I cannot imagine your pretending," he answered, and felt that the
remark was as inane as if he had quoted it from a play.


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