"Because I don't want to. I'll go there for a few weeks as often as you like in the winter, but I'm going to live in my own house. In New York you're nobody unless you're worth millions and millions; in Harrisburg you can be somebody for a good deal less than that."
"In Harrisburg!" Stephen was not aware of his absurdity until Hilda pointed it out to him.
"I should think that any one who had lived in Chestnut Ridge with a breaker before the door would find Harrisburg heaven!"
Stephen flushed. He had poured out to her in a moment of unique confidence a description of Chestnut Ridge. With it he had told her not only about his father's life, but about his death, and it was unfeeling to recall the conversation in this scornful fashion.
"I have my living to earn!"
"Your living!" repeated Hilda. She uttered a delicate and good-natured pleasantry. "I thought you married me for that!"
Stephen made no answer. After a while, when he could go without seeming to be angry, he left her on the porch of the hotel where they were spending their honeymoon and went to walk alone. He was shocked, amazed, even appalled.
Once more and only once he broached the subject.
"I am exceedingly anxious to do well in my profession, Hilda," he said earnestly. "New York is the only place where a man can really have a brilliant success."
Hilda shook her head.