With one of her mercurial changes she flashed a smile at him. "I'd nearly forgotten. You were to be my wise and guiding friend, weren't you? Is that why you're telling me that I'm restless and discontented?"
"Well, aren't you?"
"Not more than the other girls."
"Is that an answer?"
"No. Yes, it is, too! Why should I be different?"
"Because you're you."
"'Be-cause you're you,'" she sang gaily to the measure of an elderly but still popular song. "I like to have you say that. How do you think I'm different?"
"Ah, that I can't say. You see, I don't know the girls of your age much."
"No; you're always playing around with the married women," she remarked calmly. "Well, you don't miss much. They're a lot of dimwits, the girls of my age here. No snap. If they can get a couple of rounds of bridge in the afternoon and a cocktail before dinner and a speed-limit whizz around the country in somebody's car, or a few hours of jazz, or a snuggling party with some good-looking boy on the porch, that'll keep them from suicide for quite a spell."
"I see. They seek the same distractions from the prevailing restlessness——"