“Oh, is a nice, jealous, big, fat man!” She who that evening had been a disturbing organ note was lisping baby-talk now.
“Damn it, Sharon, don’t try to be a baby when I’m serious!”
“Damn it, Elmer, don’t say ‘damn it’! Oh, I hate the little vices—smoking, swearing, scandal, drinking just enough to be silly. I love the big ones—murder, lust, cruelty, ambition!”
“And Cecil? Is he one of the big vices that you love?”
“Oh, he’s a dear boy. So sweet, the way he takes himself seriously.”
“Yes, he must make love like an ice-cream cone.”
“You might be surprised! There, there! The poor man is just longing to have me say something mean about Cecil! I’ll be obliging. He’s done a lot for me. He really knows something; he isn’t a splendid cast-iron statue of ignorance like you or me.”
“Now you look here, Sharon! After all, I am a college graduate and practically a B. D. too.”
“That’s what I said. Cecil really knows how to read. And he taught me to quit acting like a hired girl, bless him. But— Oh, I’ve learned everything he can teach me, and if I get any more of the highbrow in me I’ll lose touch with the common people—bless their dear, sweet, honest souls!”
“Chuck him. Take me on. Oh, it isn’t the money. You must know that, dear. In ten years, at thirty-eight, I can be sales-manager of the Pequot—prob’ly ten thousand a year—and maybe some day the president, at thirty thou. I’m not looking for a job. But—— Oh, I’m crazy about you! Except for my mother, you’re the only person I’ve ever adored. I love you! Hear me? Damn it—yes, damn it, I said—I worship you! Oh, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon! It wasn’t really bunk when I told ’em all tonight how you’d converted me, because you did convert me. Will you let me serve you? And will you maybe marry me?”