“Why, I don’t distrust you at all,” Blanche answered. “I can take care of myself and I suppose you can, too. You talk like you were intelligent, and I’d like to know you better, that’s all.”
“Thanks,” said Margaret. “I would be fairly intelligent, if I didn’t let some male make an idiot out of me every few months. I’m in love with some one now, but it’ll wind up like all the others.”
“You make me feel envious,” Blanche replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever really loved any fellow.”
“Are you joking?” Margaret asked.
“No, that’s straight.”
“Well, I’m going on twenty-five now, and I couldn’t count the infatuations I’ve had. I’m not as easy as I used to be, though. Once upon a time, if a man had a straight nose, and blond hair, and could recite poetry and make me believe it was his, that was all I needed. But no-ow, a man must have some real subtlety, and ability, and wittiness, before I pay any attention to him.”
“That’s just the kind I’ve been looking for,” Blanche answered. “Where on earth do you find them?”
“Nowhere in particular—it’s a matter of luck. And don’t forget that a girl must be unusual herself before she can attract unusual men, unless they’re just anxious to have a party with her.”
“Yes, that’s where I’d lose out,” Blanche said, heavily. “I’m just a ha-air dresser in a beauty parlor, that’s all.”
“You certainly don’t talk like one. Maybe you’ve never had much of a chance to be anything different.”