“My God! You don’t mean it.... Hey, you, I want another piece of cake. You can’t mean it. Did you ever hear them talking?”
“Sure I have. Well, what else is there to do?”
“This, or something like this in some other place. Why not?”
“But then what about men?”
“Haven’t you enough men, for heavens’ sake? Those dumb brutes.”
“No, I haven’t, and neither have you. You know perfectly well I haven’t: there aren’t enough to go round in this town.”
Gin admitted that there were not enough men. “But,” she added, “it’s a law of nature in resort places. You can always go somewhere else if that’s all that’s worrying you. The question is, what do you really want?”
“Oh,” said Flo, passionately, “I want a lot. I want to be rich and stupid like that little beast over there, and I want to be intelligent and interesting and comfortable like lots of the people around, and I’d very much like to be wicked and always wear black. The question is, what am I going to get? I’m tired of this sort of thing. At this rate I’ll start looking for Life, and then I’ll be a dirty little pushover like Rita.”
“Why, Flo. Such language. You couldn’t be anyway, you’re not the type; you’re older than Rita. Anyway, she’s not a dirty little pushover. She just doesn’t worry about things. She has a good time.”
“Really. I suppose you’d say I’d be better off if I were the type?”