Mr M. Well, admitting there was one—and it’s a handsome admission, which I limit entirely to the male sex—in the first place you wouldn’t believe in him half the time, and in the second he wouldn’t believe in himself half the time, and in the third none of your friends would believe in him any of the time.
Miss G. That would be horrid—especially the friends, I mean.
Mr M. Female friends!
Miss G. Of course.
Mr M. Another disgusting aspect of the business! Do you—do I—ever get legitimate credit for our personal attractions? Never! Never!
Miss G. (With conviction.) That’s awfully true.
Mr M. So even your paragon, if you found him, wouldn’t meet the case. And as for my paragon, nobody but Diogenes would take on the job of finding her.
Miss G. (Musing.) Is nobody indifferent to money?
Mr M. Only if they’ve got more than they want. (He gives a glance at her, unperceived by her, rises, puts his hands in his pockets, and looks at her.) Only the unhappy rich.
Miss G. (Roused from abstraction.) I beg pardon, what?