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She knew about the vast army of
young women who weren't expected to be fully self-supporting, who
counted on marrying comfortably enough some day, and accepted board and
lodging at home as one of the natural laws of existence. But who, if
they wanted pocket money, pretty enough clothes to make them attractive
enough for men to want to marry; who, if they wanted to escape the
stupid drudgery of housework at home, had to go to work. They'd rather
get eight dollars a week than six, of course, or ten than eight. But as
long as even six was velvet (cotton-backed velvet, one might say) they'd
take that, cheerfully oblivious to the fact, as naturally one might
expect them to be, that by taking six, they established a standard at
which a girl who had to earn her own living simply couldn't live.
Rose knew exactly what would happen to her if she went to one of the big
State Street department stores and asked for a job. Jane had been trying
some experiments lately, and stating her results with convincing
vivacity at their little dinners afterward.


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