“And is that success—to have money, and then more money—and to go on, piling up more money—to have more summer places, and more yachts like this, and more city houses, and more money, money, money—yes, yes, that’s American, but is it all, is it right, is it the real ambition for a man! And does that bring a woman happiness?”
“What would you do if you had your money back?” asked Mrs. Daniver. “You had a fortune from your father.”
“What would I do?” I rejoined hotly. “What I did do—settle every claim against his honor as much as against his estate—judge his honor by my own standards, and not his. Pay my debts—pay all my debts. It’s independence, madam, and not money that I want. It’s freedom, Mrs. Daniver, that I want, and not money. So far as it would be the usual money, buying almost nothing that is worth owning, I give you my solemn oath I don’t care enough for it to work for it! So far as it would help me be a man, help me to build my own character, help me build manhood and character in my country—yes, I’d like it for that. But if money were the price of Helena herself, I’d not ask for it. The man who would court a girl with his money and not his manhood—the woman who marries for money, or the man who does—what use has God Almighty got for either of them? It’s men and women and things worth doing who make this world, Mrs. Daniver. I love her, so much, so clearly, so wholly, that I think it must be right. And since you’ve asked me, I’ve taken my man’s chance, just to get you two alone, where I could talk it over with you both.”
“It’s been talked over, Harry,” said she, rather uncomfortably. “Why not let the poor child alone? Has it occurred to you how terribly hard this is for her?”
“Yes. But she can end it easily. Tell me, is she engaged to Davidson?”
“What difference?”
“None.”
“Why ask, then?”
“Tell me!”
“Well then, no, not so far as I know.”