"It's what a fellow hasn't got he wants."
"Well, what haven't you got, then?"
"Prospects," said Ranny. "I've no prospects. Not for years and years."
"No," said Winny, with decision. "And didn't ought to have. Not at your age."
She had no sympathy for him and no understanding of his case.
Ranny sat up, stared about him, and sighed profoundly.
And because he could think of nothing else to say he suggested that it was time to go.
Winny sprang to her feet with a swiftness that implied that if it was to go he wanted, she was more than ready to oblige him. As she mounted her bicycle, the shut firmness of her mouth, the straightness of her back, and the grip of her little hands on the handle bars were eloquent of her determination to be gone. And her face, he noticed, was pinker than he ever remembered having seen it.
And he wondered what it was he had said.