Norman laughed.  It had often appealed to his own sense of humor, the delusion that the tower one happened to be standing upon was part of one’s own stature.  But he said:  “You’re a very foolish young person.  You’ll not get far in the world if you keep to that road.  It winds through Poverty Swamps to the Poor House.”

“Oh, no,” replied she.  “One can always die.”

Again he laughed.  “But why die?  Why not be sensible and live?”

“I don’t know,” replied she.  She was looking away dreamily, and her eyes were wonderful to see.  “There are many things I feel and do—­and I don’t at all understand why.  But—­” An expression of startling resolution flashed across her face.  “But I do them, just the same.”

A brief silence; then, as she again moved toward the door, he said, “You have been working for some time?”

“Four years.”

“You support yourself?”

“I work to help out father’s income.  He makes almost enough, but not quite.”

Almost enough!  The phrase struck upon Norman’s fancy as both amusing and sad.  Almost enough for what?  For keeping body and soul together; for keeping body barely decently clad.  Yet she was content.  He said: 

“You like to work?”

“Not yet.  But I think I shall when I learn this business.  One feels secure when one has a trade.”

“It doesn’t impress me as an interesting life for a girl of your age,” he suggested.

“Oh, I’m not unhappy.  And at home, of evenings and Sundays, I’m happy.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading and talking with father and—­doing the housework—­and all the rest of it.”

What a monotonous narrow little life!  He wanted to pity her, but somehow he could not.  There was no suggestion in her manner that she was an object of pity.  “What did Miss Burroughs say to you—­if I may ask?”

“Certainly.  You sent me, and I’m much obliged to you.  I realize it was an opportunity—­for another sort of girl.  I half tried to accept because I knew refusing was only my—­queerness.”  She smiled charmingly.  “You are not offended because I couldn’t make myself take it?”

“Not in the least.”  And all at once he felt that it was true.  This girl would have been out of place in service.  “What was the offer?”

Suddenly before him there appeared a clever, willful child, full of the childish passion for imitation and mockery.  And she proceeded to “take off” the grand Miss Burroughs—­enough like Josephine to give the satire point and barb.  He could see Josephine resolved to be affable and equal, to make this doubtless bedazzled stray from the “lower classes” feel comfortable in those palatial surroundings.  She imitated Josephine’s walk, her way of looking, her voice for the menials—­gracious and condescending.  The exhibition was clever, free from malice, redolent of humor.  Norman laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks.