"My game?"
"What are you aiming for? You've got too much sense not to be aiming for something."
She looked at him; the expression that marked her as a person peculiar and apart was glowing in her eyes like a bed of red-hot coals covered with ashes.
"What?" he repeated.
"To get strong," replied she. "Women are born weak and bred weaker. I've got to get over being a woman. For there isn't any place in this world for a woman except under the shelter of some man. And I don't want that." The underlying strength of her features abruptly came into view. "And I won't have it," she added.
He laughed. "But the men'll never let you be anything but a woman."
"We'll see," said she, smiling. The strong look had vanished into the soft contour of her beautiful youth.
"Personally, I like you better when you've been drinking," he went on. "You're sad when you're sober. As you drink you liven up."
"When I get over being sad if I'm sober, when I learn to take things as they come, just like a man—a strong man, then I'll be——" She stopped.
"Be what?"