"Oh, certainly. Billie Hawker is a good fellow, Splutter. You have a particular right to be glad."
"You people make me tired," Florinda retorted. "Billie Hawker doesn't give a rap about me, and he never tried to make out that he did."
"No," said Grief. "But that isn't saying that you don't care a rap about Billie Hawker. Ah, Florinda!"
It seemed that the girl's throat suffered a slight contraction. "Well, and what if I do?" she demanded finally.
"Have a cigarette?" answered Grief.
Florinda took a cigarette, lit it, and, perching herself on a divan, which was secretly a coal box, she smoked fiercely.
"What if I do?" she again demanded. "It's better than liking one of you dubs, anyhow."
"Oh, Splutter, you poor little outspoken kid!" said Wrinkle in a sad voice.
Grief searched among the pipes until he found the best one. "Yes, Splutter, don't you know that when you are so frank you defy every law of your sex, and wild eyes will take your trail?"
"Oh, you talk through your hat," replied Florinda. "Billie don't care whether I like him or whether I don't. And if he should hear me now, he wouldn't be glad or give a hang, either way. I know that." The girl paused and looked at the row of plaster casts. "Still, you needn't be throwing it at me all the time."