"Look here, Lorna," said Ida, between remonstrance and exasperation, "when are you going to start in?"
Susan looked fixedly at her, said with a slow smile, "When I can't hold out another minute."
Ida tossed her head angrily. "You've got brains—more than I have," she cried. "You've got every advantage for catching rich men—even a rich husband. You're educated. You speak and act and look refined. Why you could pretend to be a howling fashionable swell. You've got all the points. But what have you got 'em for? Not to use that's certain."
"You can't be as disgusted with me as I am."
"If you're going to do a thing, why, do it!"
"That's what I tell myself. But—I can't make a move."
Ida gave a gesture of despair. "I don't see what's to become of you. And you could do so well! . . . Let me phone Mr. Sterling. I told him about you. He's anxious to meet you. He's fond of books—like you. You'd like him. He'd give up a lot to you, because you're classier than I am."
Susan threw her arms round Ida and kissed her. "Don't bother about me," she said. "I've got to act in my own foolish, stupid way. I'm like a child going to school. I've got to learn a certain amount before I'm ready to do whatever it is I'm going to do. And until I learn it, I can't do much of anything. I thought I had learned in the last few months. I see I haven't."
"Do listen to sense, Lorna," pleaded Ida. "If you wait till the last minute, you'll get left. The time to get the money's when you have money. And I've a feeling that you're not particularly flush."
"I'll do the best I can. And I can't move till I'm ready."