She hit the nail on the head.

Practical, logical, inevitable were some of her speeches.

She knew what men wanted.

That was the pith of her meaning.
What else mattered?
"But Lorna, suppose you don't look nice ?" he questioned.
"I _do_ look nice," she retorted.
"You don't look anything of the kind." "What's nice?
It's only a word.

It doesn't mean much in my young life." "Where are you going to-night ?" he asked, sitting down to the table.
"To the armory--basketball game--and dance afterward." "With whom ?" "With Harry.