“And what if I am?  If you ask me, I think a girl who isn’t in love ought to be somewhat ashamed of herself, or at least sorry for herself.  And I am sorry for myself, because I am not in love.  I wish I was.  Why shouldn’t I be?  It must be lovely to be in love.  If I was in love I shouldn’t be only in love.  You think you understand what girls are nowadays, but you don’t.  I didn’t myself until just lately.  But I’m beginning to.  Girls were supposed to be only interested in one thing—­in your time.  Monomaniacs, that’s what they had to be.  You changed all that, or you’re trying to change it, but you only mean women to be monomaniacs about something else.  It isn’t good enough.  I want everything, and I’m going to get it—­or have a good try for it.  I’ll never be a martyr if I can help it.  And I believe I can help it.  I believe I’ve got just enough common sense to save me from being a martyr —­either to a husband or a house or family—­or a cause.  I want to have a husband and a house and a family, and a cause too.  That’ll be just about everything, won’t it?  And if you imagine I can’t look after all of them at once, all I can say is I don’t agree with you.  Because I’ve got an idea I can.  Supposing I had all these things, I fancy I could have a tiff with my husband and make it up, play with my children, alter a dress, change the furniture, tackle the servants, and go out to a meeting and perhaps have a difficulty with the police—­all in one day.  Only if I did get into trouble with the police I should pay the fine—­you see.  The police aren’t going to have me altogether.  Nobody is.  Nobody, man or woman, is going to be able to boast that he’s got me altogether.  You think you’re independent.  But you aren’t.  We girls will show you what independence is.”

“You’re a rather surprising young creature,” observed Rosamund with a casual air, unmoved.  “You’re quite excited.”

“Yes.  I surprise myself.  But these things do come in bursts.  I’ve noticed that before.  They weren’t clear when you began to talk.  They’re clear now.”

“Let me tell you this,” said Rosamund.  “A cause must have martyrs.”

“I don’t see it,” Audrey protested.  “I should have thought common sense would be lots more useful than martyrs.  And monomaniacs never do have common sense.”

“You’re very young.”

“Is that meant for an insult, or is it just a statement?” Audrey laughed pleasantly.

And Rosamund laughed too.

“It’s just a statement,” said she.

“Well, here’s another statement,” said Audrey.  “You’re very old.  That’s where I have the advantage of you.  Still, tell me what I can do in your new campaign, and I’ll do it if I can.  But there isn’t going to be any utterly—­that’s all.”

“I think the interval is over,” said Rosamund with finality.  “Perhaps we’d better adjourn.”

The foyer had nearly emptied.  The distant sound of music could be heard.