Miss Reed: “Oh, dear! when I haven’t a morsel of either. Are you going to practise, you cruel maid?”
Miss Spaulding: “Of course I am. It’s half-past four, and if I don’t do it now I sha’n’t be prepared to-morrow for Miss Robins: she takes this piece.”
Miss Reed: “Well, well, perhaps it’s all for the best. If music be the food of—umph-ump!—you know what!—play on.” They both laugh, and Miss Spaulding pushes back a little from the piano, and wheels toward her friend, letting one hand rest slightly on the keys.
Miss Spaulding: “Ethel Reed, you’re the most ridiculous girl in the world.”
Miss Reed: “Correct!”
Miss Spaulding: “And I don’t believe you ever were in love, or ever will be.”
Miss Reed: “Ah, there you wrong me, Henrietta! I have been, and I shall be—lots of times.”
Miss Spaulding: “Well, what do you want to say now? You must hurry, for I can’t lose any more time.”
Miss Reed: “I will free my mind with neatness and despatch. I simply wish to go over the whole affair, from Alfred to Omaha; and you’ve got to let me talk as much slang and nonsense as I want. And then I’ll skip all the details I can. Will you?”
Miss Spaulding, with impatient patience: “Oh, I suppose so!”