Katya. These things?
Mariana. Well, you know what I mean.
Katya. Oh! you might mean anything.
Mariana. I do.
Katya. If you were married, now, I might.
Mariana. I should love to be there, listening.
Katya. It’s a grandson she wants. She’ll order it from Guy. And he will look so awfully solemn and feel so frightfully tickled.
Mariana. Oh, I do wish I was married. It must be so tremendously—well, exciting. So unexpected, you know—the things that happen, I mean.
Katya. Well, it is rather wonderful at first. I have a friend in Brussels—Elise Deschamps. The other day she wrote me such a funny letter. She wanted to know whether she ought to behave just naturally or pretend to be shy.
Mariana. And what did you say?