“Well, take mine. I care more for Greg than anyone. But think if I should marry him now! Why—I’m only twenty. I’ve got at least four good years before me of fun and excitement, the best years of my life and looks, and why should I devote them to being domestic? After I’m married, I can never have the kind of a good time I have now. I may be fonder of Greg than anyone—but I’m fond of other men, too! I like the excitement of each new man, more than—more than——” “More than marrying Greg,” Jerry supplied. She nodded in relief. “Yes, that’s it, and the way I look at it is, it’s better to get it all out of my system before I marry than after, don’t you think so?” “You never will that way.” Jerry spoke curtly. “Haven’t you read that appetite grows on what feeds it?” She lit a cigarette. Félicie’s eyes roved to her fine lace curtains in resignation before she went on. “It isn’t as if I weren’t sure that Greg will stick for several years at least. Why, he never looks at another girl. And it isn’t as if I were the sort of girl who would expect to go right on adding up men after I marry. No, when I marry I in going to have a home and children, and I’m not going to marry until I’m ready for them.” “It sounds reasonable,” said Joy, fascinated. “And when I marry I want to live neatly,” said Félicie, with a comfortable glance around the glistening room. “And _neatly_ to me means _enough money_. Greg isn’t making enough for that yet—and while I live here with auntie I have enough. I wish, Jerry, you wouldn’t always pick on me about him.” “I hate to see a waste of good material,” Jerry murmured. “That’s what it would be, if I married,” she retorted, her voice again carrying high lights. “A girl stands to lose _everything_ by an early marriage—her looks, her youth, and her _fun_! Can you imagine me with the yowl of a baby for my only excitement? It’s not a bit like you to take this stand!” Joy stole a look at Jerry, but her face was wreathed in smoke as she answered in lazy tones: “Well, come off the platform, old dear. I was only heaving a couple of sobs for Greg—that boy has a few brains that weren’t put in cold storage at Yale. Of course, _I’m_ glad you’re still on my side of the wall. Came around to make you shove aside anything you’ve started going for to-night and tack yourself on to a dizzy party.” “I have a date for to-night, but he’s not a new man,” she ruminated. “Is it a good party?” “I said, dizzy! A bunch of Williams men—they’ve cornered the world’s best jazz-fiends to beat a nasty measure—down at Croft Inn. Private party—we’ll have the whole place to ourselves. There are one or two other girls coming, some subdebs from Boston who are going to climb the waterspout or something, but they told me to get another girl. Like the noise of it?” “I should say so! I was only going in town to dance with him alone. Give me a crowd every time! What’ll you wear?”