It
makes one dependent on externals. Most of the beautiful women I've
known make a sort of profession of it--they live to shine and be
looked at.
"And you don't enjoy that?" I asked.
"It restricts one's life. Men expect it of you, they resent your
having any other interest."
"So," I responded, gravely, "with all your beauty and wealth, you
aren't perfectly happy?"
"Oh, yes!" she cried--not having meant to confess so much. "I told
myself I would be happy, because I would be able to do so much good
in the world. There must be some way to do good with money! But now
I'm not sure; there seem to be so many things in the way. Just when
you have your mind made up that you have a way to help, someone
comes and points out to you that you may be really doing harm."
She hesitated again, and I said, "That means you have been looking
into the matter of charity."
She gave me a bright glance. "How you understand things!" she
exclaimed.
"It is possible," I replied, "to know modern society so well that
when you meet certain causes you know what results to look for."
"I wish you'd explain to me why charity doesn't do any good!"
"It would mean a lecture on the competitive wage-system," I
laughed--" too serious a matter for a drive!"
This may have seemed shirking on my part.
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