“Nonsense, Noel,” protested Judy. “That’s a useless, easy sort of philosophy. According to that, no one can help anything they do.”
“No more they can, if they’re the sort of people who do that sort of thing. When they get over being that sort of people they’ll act differently, but not before.”
“That’s a hair-splitting sort of argument,” said Judy.
“Any more than you can help being a spinster,” he explained, developing his theory. “Being the spinster type, you act accordingly. When you pull yourself together and make up your mind to be another type, you’ll cease to be a spinster. But not before.”
Judy sat down, facing him. It always amused her to discuss herself with Noel.
“Am I the spinster type?” she asked.
“Well, aren’t you? It’s fairly obvious. Look at this room!…”
“My dear boy,” she retorted, “I’d have a room like this if I had ten husbands—or even lovers, for that matter. You’ll have to do better than that. How else am I the spinster type, apart from my room?”
“You’re a spinster in your mind,” he asserted. “You think celibately.”
“Oh, now you’re being too ridiculous!” she scoffed.