ROSALIND: It’s just—us. We’re pitiful, that’s all. The very qualities I love you for are the ones that will always make you a failure.
AMORY: (Grimly) Go on.
ROSALIND: Oh—it is Dawson Ryder. He’s so reliable, I almost feel that he’d be a—a background.
AMORY: You don’t love him.
ROSALIND: I know, but I respect him, and he’s a good man and a strong one.
AMORY: (Grudgingly) Yes—he’s that.
ROSALIND: Well—here’s one little thing. There was a little poor boy we met in Rye Tuesday afternoon—and, oh, Dawson took him on his lap and talked to him and promised him an Indian suit—and next day he remembered and bought it—and, oh, it was so sweet and I couldn’t help thinking he’d be so nice to—to our children—take care of them—and I wouldn’t have to worry.
AMORY: (In despair) Rosalind! Rosalind!
ROSALIND: (With a faint roguishness) Don’t look so consciously suffering.
AMORY: What power we have of hurting each other!