"Why not?"
"For the same reason that I keep my hat on, and you don't. One's out of respect for me and the other's respect for myself."
"You're a funny girl!" Woolf drew back and looked at her. "Why are you on the defensive?"
"Haven't I need to be?"
"Not with me, surely. I want to be friends with you."
"Friends!" She threw up her chin aggressively. "I've only got one in the world."
"And who is he?" Woolf asked with quick curiosity.
"She's a girl. I chum with her."
"Women can't be friends with each other," he asserted didactically. "Especially when they're of the same profession. A Hottentot woman and her civilized sister have only one occupation—the study and pursuit of man. You're like doctors, all at each other's throats. Some of you practise homeopathy, the others are allopaths. The first marry and take their husbands in small doses, the allopaths believe in quantity. Your friend would probably leave you to-morrow if she got a good enough chance."
"Talk about some one you know," Maggy responded.