‘He’s a funny one, all right,’ said Rose. ‘What are we going to do about him, Lo?’
Now Rose had come to the point, Lola stretched her long legs with relief. The gin was beginning to turn her blood warmly to quicksilver. It would be quite easy, now, as such old friends, to be practical. They could solve the problem very quickly.
‘It’s quite clear we both love him,’ she said, ‘and it’s quite clear he loves both of us. All we’ve got to do is force his hand in making a choice. Procrastination is the destructive thing. Hell, the greatest friends on earth could hardly be expected to survive the misery he’s causing us, waiting for his decision.’
‘To be fair, he’s only known us a couple of months, hasn’t he? Perhaps,’ she smiled, incredulous, ‘I mean, it could be he doesn’t want either of us.’
‘Nonsense,’ scoffed Lola. Rose copied the brusque, practical tone of her friend’s voice.
‘Well, my position is quite clear,’ she said. ‘I want to marry him.’
‘Do you? Marry him? Marry him? – I suppose that’s what I’d like too,’ said Lola.