"To explain how coarse he is."
"How coarse is he?"
"To dilate on the folly of your marrying a poor man with no money prospects."
"I'm content with his prospects—and with mine through him."
"Seven or eight thousand a year? Your dresses cost much more than that."
"No matter."
"You must be in love with him!"
"Women take strange fancies."
"What's the matter, Rita? What have you in the back of your mind?"
She looked straight at him. "Nothing about YOU. Not the faintest, little shadow of a regret." And her hazel eyes smiled mirth of the kind that is cruelest from woman to man.