"With man an odds-on favourite in the betting." Miss Spode laid the board aside with a "Thank goodness, that's finished!" and, rising, stretched her cramped limbs. "What I'd like to know," she persisted, "is whether it's man abstract or a man concrete." Sally laughed bitterly. "Take a good look at me, dear--as an exhibit, not as a friend--and tell me honestly whether any man worth having would glance twice at me." "You can be pretty enough," Miss Spade returned seriously, "when you want to take the trouble--" "But I don't--ever." "The more fool you." "What's the use--on seven a week? What's the good of being pretty in rags like these? It only gets a girl in wrong. I don't care how fetching I might make myself seem--" "But you ought to." "Look here; do you know how a reporter would describe me?" "Of course; 'respectable working girl.'" "Well, then, men worth while don't run after 'respectable working girls'; they leave that to things who wear 'Modish Men's Clothing'--with braided cuffs and pockets slashed on the bias!--and stand smirking on corners we have to pass going home. Do you think I'd do my hair becomingly, and--and all that--to attract such creatures?" "So it's abstract man. Thought so!" "It's starvation, that's what it is. I'm sick for want of what other girls get without asking--pretty clothes and--and all that sort of thing." "Meaning," the artist interpreted gravely, "love." "Well," Sally demanded, defiant, "why not?" "Why not indeed?" Lucy returned obliquely, wandering round the studio and collecting various articles of wearing-apparel toward her appearance in public. "I'm twenty-seven," Miss Manvers declared mutinously. "I'll never be younger--I want to be loved before I'm old!" She paused, viewed with reassuring amusement Lucy's countenance of perplexity, and laughed again. "I've had ten years of independence; and what has it brought me? The reward of virtue: that swaybacked couch for my bed, Uneeda biscuit for my bread, and for salt--tears of envy!" "Virtue is its own reward," Lucy enunciated severely. "Virtue is its only reward, you mean!" "You don't talk fit to eat." "You know what I mean. Only mental bankrupts go to the devil because they're hungry. I'm less bothered about keeping body and soul together --Huckster's seven a week does that after a fashion--than about keeping soul and mind together." "It sounds reasonable." "I'm desperate, I tell you! And there's more than one resort of desperation for a girl of intelligence." "As, for instance-" "Well--you've named one." "Man?" "That's the animal's first name." "But you've just pointed out, a successful campaign demands a wardrobe." "Even that can be had if one's unscrupulous enough." "Whatever do you mean?" "To seek happiness where I can find it. I'm game for anything. I'm 'north of fifty-three'!" "You're _what_?"