“It depends upon who asks you in the mean time.”
“You might get to be a fad, and then she would feel that she would have to have you.”
“You’re not flattering me?”
“Do you find it flattering?”
“It isn’t exactly my idea of the reward I’ve been working for. What shall I do to be a fad?”
“Well, rather degrading stunts, if you mean in the smart set. Jump about on all fours and pick up a woman’s umbrella with your teeth, and bark. Anything else would be easier for you among chic people, where your brilliancy would count.”
“Brilliancy? Oh, thank you! Go on.”
“Now, a girl—if you were a girl—”
“Oh yes, if I were a girl! That will be so much more interesting.”
“A girl,” Miss Macroyd continued, “might do it by posing effectively for amateur photography. Or doing something original in dramatics or pantomimics or recitation—but very original, because chic people are critical. Or if she had a gift for getting up things that would show other girls off; or suggesting amusements; but that would be rather in the line of swell people, who are not good at getting up things and are glad of help.”