It was not so easy to say. She was of course reconciled, she sobbed, to Evelyn marrying some day: only plain and stupid girls were left to be old maids: but it must not happen for years and years and years to come, and when it did, it must be to some one much older than herself, some one she did not greatly care for: in short, Evelyn was to marry only to escape the odium of the single life. Having drawn this sketch of her future word by word from the weeping Laura, Evelyn fell into a fit of laughter which she could not stifle. "Well, Poppet," she said when she could speak, "if that's your idea of happiness for me, we'll postpone it just as long as ever we can. I'm all there. For I mean to have a good time first--a jolly good time--before I tie myself up for ever, world without end, amen." "That's just what I hate so--your good time, as you call it," retorted Laura, smarting under the laughter. "Everyone does, child. You'll be after it yourself when you're a little older." "Me?--never!" "Oh, yes, indeed you will." "I won't. I hate men and I always shall. And oh, I thought"--with an upward, sobbing breath--"I thought you liked me best." "Of course I like you, you silly child! But that's altogether different. And I don't like you any less because I enjoy having some fun with them, too." "I don't want your old leavings!" said Laura savagely. It hurt, almost as much as having a tooth pulled out, did this knowledge that your friend's affection was wholly yours only as long as no man was in question. And out of the sting, Laura added: "Wait till I'm grown up, and I'll show them what I think of them--the pigs!" This time Evelyn had to hold her hand in front of her mouth. "No, no, I don't mean to laugh at you. Come, be good now," she petted. "And you really must go to bed, Laura. It's past twelve o'clock, and that infernal machine'll be going off before you've had any sleep at all."