your wraps and help me. I am trying to design a street dress.”
“I am not capable of helping you when it is a question of dress,” replied Mrs. Warden.
Mrs. Abel stared at her in astonishment. There was something unusual in the tone of voice, and she had great respect for the opinion of her wealthy friend.
“Don’t you remember that I told you that just a little while ago Mr. Warden insisted upon my buying a new silk gown?”
“Yes—yes—of Madame Labiche. Of course I remember,” interrupted Mrs. Abel. “And now I suppose you are on the way to purchase it. Take me with you! That will be pleasant.”
“I am not going to see Madame Labiche,” replied Mrs. Warden with solemn dignity.
“For goodness sake, why not?” questioned her friend, opening her pretty brown eyes with astonishment.
“Well—I will tell you,” replied Mrs. Warden. “I am convinced that we can not spend so much money and keep a good conscience—when we know how much poverty there is in this city in which we live. There are hundreds of families who are suffering—the direst need!”
“Yes—but—,” objected Mrs. Abel, casting a deprecating glance toward the table. “It is so everywhere. There can not help but be inequality—”
“We must be careful not to increase the inequality. We must do everything in our power to lessen it,” insisted Mrs. Warden. Mrs. Abel felt that her friend
