“Do you mean ‘what of—what’ or ‘what—of what?’” asked Gypsy.
“I don’t remember,” said Ginger.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go back to our first subject. What would you design?”
“The dresses you see in Dry-Cleaners’ shop-windows,” said Ginger. “I often wonder who designs them, or how they think of them, or when they were in fashion. There’s the one in cherry-coloured plush, and the one with a bodice draped canary satin with a bright blue moiré sash and a deep lace flounce round the skirt; and there are the white ingenue ones, all specially designed for ingenues over thirty-five. But it must be an awfully difficult profession—I expect you have to be born with a natural gift for the wrong colours.”
“Then you’d better chuck it and think of something else,” said Gypsy, looking at her hair which had been born with a natural gift for the right colours. “But while you’ve been talking I’ve decided on my profession.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Invert gas-mantles.”
“Why?”
“Well, somebody has to. All the best gas-mantles are inverted nowadays. And it sounds a simple, even an artless job; I’m sure it lies within my scope.”
“What is a scope?” asked Ginger.