ELFIE. Yes, you can. I haven't worked in a year.
LAURA. But you don't understand, dear. I—I—Well, you know I—well, you know—I can't say what I want.
ELFIE. Oh, yes, you can. You can say anything to me—everybody else does. We've been pals. I know you got along a little faster in the business than I did. The chorus was my limit, and you went into the legitimate thing. But we got our living just the same way. I didn't suppose there was any secret between you and me about that.
LAURA. I know there wasn't then, Elfie, but I tell you I'm different now. I don't want to do that sort of thing, and I've been very unlucky. This has been a terribly hard season for me. I simply haven't been able to get an engagement.
ELFIE. Well, you can't get on this way. Won't [Pauses, knocking ashes off cigarette to cover hesitation.] Brockton help you out?
LAURA. What's the use of talking to you [Rises and crosses to fireplace.], Elfie; you don't understand.
ELFIE. [Puffing deliberately on cigarette and crossing her legs in almost a masculine attitude.] No? Why don't I understand?
LAURA. Because you can't; you've never felt as I have.
ELFIE. How do you know?
LAURA. [Turning impatiently.] Oh, what's the use of explaining?