doctor had prescribed persistent exercise. But that doesn't explain her interest in all the other courses she is taking too. She's taking practically all of them, you know."
It was true Reba was taking all the courses which her schedule would allow. It was a thrilling experience to her to be one of a class of a certain number of individuals, who met together periodically. The joy of feeling herself included, naturally and with no effort, in various little groups, was something she had never known before. It gave her a strange deep feeling of pleasure just to answer, "Here," to her name as it was read off from a list of others.
It was all so different from what she had prepared herself for. She had come steeled for rebukes, armored for all the old tortures she had endured at the summer hotels—being left out, ignored, avoided, smarting with the conspicuousness of her isolation; and instead people moved over and made a place for her when she entered her various classes, received her as a matter of course, even nodded to her, and smiled occasionally.
She had chosen wisely. For a super-sensitive nature such as hers there didn't exist an organization better suited to receive her. The heterogeneity of the members of the Women's Alliance concealed any one individual's peculiarities. There were all kinds and descriptions of women in Reba's classes—young girls, who chewed gum and had to be asked to stop; married women with gray hair, who came in from the suburbs; clerks; stenographers; shop-girls of fourteen; school-teachers of forty. Reba was just one of
