"What sort of work are you going to do? I suppose you'll try a newspaper; everybody does." "Let's not talk about that now, Fanshaw. Where on earth are you taking us?" "To Thompson's Spa." "Why not the Parker House, where we can have something to drink?" "I'd rather have hot chocolate. I am frozen," said Nan. They rounded the old State House. Thompson's Spa was like an aviary, full of shrill women's chatter, bobbing hats, rows of powdered faces eating at narrow counters, smell of chocolate and sandwiches and sarsaparilla. "Look, there's Betty Thomas!... What are you doing here, Betty? Sit here before somebody nabs the place," said Nan. "O, just shopping. Dear, you should see the hats, straws at Filenes. Why, how do you do, Mr. Macdougan, and ... you! Why, this is a reunion!" "Are they reasonable?" "What, the hats?... Marvellous values, really." Betty Thomas's nose was a little red from the cold. She held, balanced between finger and thumb, a salad sandwich that dripped mayonnaise into her plate; the three unoccupied fingers were arched airily in space. There was something about her amiable chatter to Nan, about the amiable fussy chattiness of the women all about them that rasped on Fanshaw's nerves; the sum of it was shrill and ominous. "But Wenny, what are you going to do?... I'm fearfully worried," he said in a low voice, leaning towards Wenny's ear. Like a haze about them was Nan's and Betty Thomas's chirruping talk: "My dear, have you heard the latest? Up at the conservatoire ..." "Honestly, I don't give a damn, Fanshaw. I'm so sick of this hanging on the outskirts of college ..." "I think your department would get you a scholarship. You must go put it up to them. It's ridiculous to let a thing like this wreck your career." "... And Mrs. Ambrose absolutely refused to sing a note ..." "My dear Fanshaw, if you knew how utterly sick and fed up I was with all that ... No, I'm going to live this time." "... And Salinski said ..." "But don't be a fool. Look, I'll try to scrape up some cash for the term bill. I think I can do it." "You mustn't. I don't want it paid... I'm not going to keep on with this farce any longer." "... A middle register, like an angel.... And she told Fitzie that he said ..." "You make me tired, Wenny. You must be sensible." "Don't you see that I'm trying to be, for the first time in my life?" "... met a man who said Romoulet wasn't teaching the belcanto at all.... O, I'm so afraid, dear, of ruining my voice.... So many people ..." "Well, so long. I'm going to fetch my suitcase," said Wenny shortly. "I'll see you people later." He threaded his way out through groups of women and sallow men waiting for seats. "I'm afraid your friend doesn't like me," said Betty Thomas pouting. "He does, I assure you. He's a little diswrought today. He's often like that, isn't he Nan?" Nan laughed, as she began fitting her gloves on again. "Poor child.... All too often."