LAURA. [_Going over to her angrily_.] If you came up here, Elfie, to
talk that sort of stuff to me, please don't. I was West this summer.
I met someone, a real man, who did me a whole lot of good,--a man who
opened my eyes to a different way of going along--a man who--Oh, well,
what's the use? You don't know--you don't know. [_Sits on bed_.
ELFIE. [_Throws cigarette into fireplace_.] I don't know, don't I? I
don't know, I suppose, that when I came to this town from up state,--a
little burg named Oswego,--and joined a chorus, that I didn't fall in
love with just such a man. I suppose I don't know that then I was
the best-looking girl in New York, and everybody talked about me? I
suppose I don't know that there were men, all ages and with all kinds
of money, ready to give me anything for the mere privilege of taking
me out to supper? And I didn't do it, did I? For three years I stuck
by this good man who was to lead me in a good way toward a good life.
And all the time I was getting older, never quite so pretty one day
as I had been the day before. I never knew then what it was to be
tinkered with by hair-dressers and manicures or a hundred and one of
those other people who make you look good. I didn't have to have them
then. [_Rises, crosses to right of table, facing_ LAURA.] Well, you
know, Laura, what happened.
LAURA. Wasn't it partly your fault, Elfie?
ELFIE. [_Speaking across table angrily._] Was it my fault that time
made me older and I took on a lot of flesh? Was it my fault that the
work and the life took out the colour, and left the make-up? Was it my
fault that other pretty young girls came along, just as I'd come, and
were chased after, just as I was? Was it my fault the cabs weren't
waiting any more and people didn't talk about how pretty I was? And
was it my fault when he finally had me alone, and just because no one
else wanted me, he got tired and threw me flat--cold flat [_Brings
hand down on table.
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