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Table of contents
AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

outstretched to an imaginary partner, the cigarette waving in her hand.) 

 

***** 

 

SEVERAL HOURS LATER 

 

The corner of a den down-stairs, filled by a very comfortable leather 

lounge. A small light is on each side above, and in the middle, over the 

couch hangs a painting of a very old, very dignified gentleman, period 

1860. Outside the music is heard in a fox-trot. 

 

ROSALIND is seated on the lounge and on her left is HOWARD GILLESPIE, a 

vapid youth of about twenty-four. He is obviously very unhappy, and she 

is quite bored. 

 

GILLESPIE: (Feebly) What do you mean I've changed. I feel the same 

toward you. 

 

ROSALIND: But you don't look the same to me. 

 

GILLESPIE: Three weeks ago you used to say that you liked me because I 

was so blasť, so indifferent--I still am. 

 

ROSALIND: But not about me. I used to like you because you had brown 

eyes and thin legs. 

 

GILLESPIE: (Helplessly) They're still thin and brown. You're a vampire, 

that's all. 

 

ROSALIND: The only thing I know about vamping is what's on the piano 

score. What confuses men is that I'm perfectly natural. I used to think 

you were never jealous. Now you follow me with your eyes wherever I go. 

 

GILLESPIE: I love you. 

 

ROSALIND: (Coldly) I know it. 

 

GILLESPIE: And you haven't kissed me for two weeks. I had an idea that 

after a girl was kissed she was--was--won. 

 

ROSALIND: Those days are over. I have to be won all over again every 

time you see me. 

 

GILLESPIE: Are you serious? 

 

ROSALIND: About as usual. There used to be two kinds of kisses: First 

when girls were kissed and deserted; second, when they were engaged. Now 

there's a third kind, where the man is kissed and deserted. If Mr. 

Jones of the nineties bragged he'd kissed a girl, every one knew he was 

through with her. If Mr. Jones of 1919 brags the same every one knows 

it's because he can't kiss her any more. Given a decent start any girl 

can beat a man nowadays. 

 

GILLESPIE: Then why do you play with men? 

 

ROSALIND: (Leaning forward confidentially) For that first moment, when 


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