“Extremely,” said I. “Faults, follies, failures.”
For a time I watched the faintly glowing end of her cigarette and the slim fingers that held it gracefully. Then she said:
“Do you believe in a future life?”
“Does anyone feel sure of any life but this?”
“Then this is one’s only chance to get what one wants—what’s worth while.”
“What is worth while?” I inquired, feeling the charm of her quiet, sweet voice issuing upon the magical stillness. “What is worth while?”
She laughed softly. “What one wants.”
“And what do you want?”
She drew her white scarf closer about her bare shoulders, smiled queerly out over the lazily rippling waters. “Love and children,” she said. “I’m a normal woman.”
That amused me. “Normal? Why, you’re unique—eccentric. Most women want money—and yet more money—and yet more money—for more and more and always more show.”