"Maybe I am all the pleasant things you say I am. Maybe I haven't got sense enough to take care of my own money. But what are you? I never noticed any wings on your shoulders."
"You don't understand. I...."
"Understand? Of course I don't understand. That's why I'm asking the question. If I'm what you say I am—what are you? Where'd you get your preaching card?"
"What difference does it make what I am?"
"It makes a lot of difference. If you're so hot on reforming me, why don't you take a crack at yourself? I don't see that you're so almighty angelic. What have you ever done in the world? You can play the piano after a fashion and sing, and talk a little French, and play cards and smoke cigarettes and drink cocktails and ... well, what else can you do? You spend twice as much money as I do, and I'll be hanged if I can see that you spend it to much better advantage. If I'm a waster and no account and a bad egg, you're one too. The only difference is that you wear skirts and I don't. Well—why don't you answer me?"
He towered over her, white with his rising rage.
"I say, why don't you answer me?" he repeated hotly.
"You don't need to be rude," she answered, her voice trembling.
"I'm not rude. I'm simply putting the same question to you that you put to me. You held the mirror up to me. You can't squeal if I do the same by you. You wanted to know what I had ahead, what I thought about things, where I stood, and all that. Well, what do you think about things? Where do you stand? What are you? Turn about's fair, isn't it?"
Judith sought shelter in dignity. She raised her head coldly. "I think there is nothing more to be said. I think you had better go to bed."