“Not—Lola! You are not going to that Harlan woman’s house?”
“Why, John! You know that you told me you didn’t like to have me go there?” She looked at him so innocently that he felt himself a brute to continue, but he forced himself to go on.
“The woman is hardly respectable, and the crowd she has hanging around her house are not proper acquaintances for a girl like you. I haven’t got over the shock of seeing you in that woman’s carriage yesterday.”
“Now, please,” cried Lola impatiently, “please don’t begin that all over again. You have been scolding about that all the afternoon.”
“But, if you have known this woman for months, why is it that you have never spoken of her? Would you have spoken of her at all if you had not known that I saw you with her?”
“If she is such a terrible person, how is it that you know her so well?”
“Lola! I am a man. Men are different! Surely you must see that?”
“Why are they different? I am not a child. I am a woman! Why shouldn’t I have a little fun once in a while? Why should men have everything?”
“Do you call it fun to live the life that woman lives? You don’t know what she is; if you did you would rather stay shut up in this room as long as you were alive than call yourself a friend of hers.”
“John! You are absurd.”