Here and there in the streets, and in small groups in the chief shops,
you saw prim ladies of every age, each with a gloved hand clasped over
a purse. (But sometimes the purse lay safe under the coverlet of
a perambulator.) These purses made all the ladies equal, for their
contents were absolutely secret from all save the owners. All the
ladies were spending, and the delight of spending was theirs. And in
theory every purse was inexhaustible. At any rate, it was impossible
to conceive a purse empty. The system wore the face of the ideal.
Manners were proper to the utmost degree; they neatly marked the
equality of the shoppers and the profound difference between the
shoppers and the shopkeepers. All ladies were agreeable, all babies in
perambulators were darlings. The homes thus represented by ladies and
babies were clearly polite homes, where reigned suavity, tranquillity,
affection, and plenty. Civilization was justified in Wedgwood
Street and the market-place--and also, to some extent, in St. Luke's
Square.... And Rachel was one of these ladies. Her gloved hand closed
over a purse exactly in the style of the others. And her purse, regard
being had to the inheritance of her husband, was supposed to hide vast
sums; so much so that ladies who had descended from distant heights
in pony-carts gazed upon her with the respect due to a rival.
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