I wouldn't be much of a success at that sort of thing.
Well, Rannie liked you, Adora said, liked you from the first moment he met you in my house, swore you were just what he was looking for . . . Suddenly, she fixed Mary with a gaze full of suspicion . . . You're not sore on account of anything you've heard about Rannie? she demanded.
No, I'm not sore at all, Mary replied. I just don't happen to love him, that's all.
That's all right: I get you when you talk about love. I couldn't marry either, if I wasn't in love. The trouble is that I have to pay for a lot of my love, like Rannie. You see these boys all know I cleaned up big in the theatre and when I want something, well . . . I guess it's worth it . . . sometimes. I don't know. She sighed. . . . Of course, she continued, Rannie didn't care whether you loved him or not. He wanted a respectable woman for a wife, somebody to give him a decent show-window, so he could go about a little more with the real swells. He thought you were the article. He's dead cut up about it.
I'm sorry, Mary responded. I can't help it. I just couldn't do it.
There, dearie! Adora crossed the floor, bent over and kissed her friend. There, we'll forget it.
The front door was heard to open and close. Presently, footsteps, slow and deliberate, resounded on the stairs; Alcester Parker slunk into the room.
