“Why not? but why not?” he cried. “He’ll hardly know you’ve gone, after six months. He doesn’t know that anybody exists, except himself. Why the man has no use for you at all, as far as I can see; he’s entirely wrapped up in himself.”

Connie felt there was truth in this. But she also felt that Mick was hardly making a display of selflessness.

“Aren’t all men wrapped up in themselves?” she asked.

“Oh, more or less, I allow. A man’s got to be, to get through. But that’s not the point. The point is, what sort of a time can a man give a woman? Can he give her a damn good time, or can’t he? If he can’t he’s no right to the woman.⁠ ⁠…” He paused and gazed at her with his full, hazel eyes, almost hypnotic. “Now I consider,” he added, “I can give a woman the darndest good time she can ask for. I think I can guarantee myself.”

“And what sort of a good time?” asked Connie, gazing on him still with a sort of amazement, that looked like thrill; and underneath feeling nothing at all.