"You can't go back far enough," said the St. Clair, haughtily.
"How then?" said the other. "How do you account for it? Where did their money come from?"
"It grew," said the St. Clair ineffably. "They were lords of the soil."
"Oh!—But it had to be dug out, I suppose?" said Miss Macy.
"There were others to do that."
"After all," said Miss Macy, "how is money that grew any better than money that is made? it is all made by somebody, too."
"If it is made by somebody else, it leaves your hands clean," the St. Clair answered, with an insolence worthy of maturer years; for Miss Macy's family had grown rich by trade. She was of a slow temper however and did not take fire.
"My grandfather's hands were clean," she said; "yet he made his own money. Honest hands always are clean."
"Do you suppose Miss Cardigan's were when she was handling her cabbages?" said St Clair. "I have no doubt Miss Cardigan's house smells of cabbages now."
"O St. Clair!" Miss Lansing said, laughing.