"I am very, very glad, Cuthbert, that I was not in love with you then."
"Why?"
"Because we should have started all wrong. I don't think I should ever have come to look up to you and honor you as I do now. I should never have been cured of my silly ideas, and might even have thought that I had made some sort of sacrifice in giving up my plans. Besides, then you were what people call a good match, and now no one can think that it is not for love only."
"Well, at any rate, Mary, we shall have between us enough to keep us out of the workhouse even if I turn out an absolute failure."
"You know you won't do that."
"I hope not, but at any rate one is liable to illness, to loss of sight, and all sorts of other things, and as we have between us four hundred a year we can manage very comfortably, even if I come to an end of my ardor for work and take to idleness again."
"I am not afraid of that," she smiled, "after painting those two pictures, you could not stop painting. I don't think when anyone can do good work of any sort, he can get tired of it, especially when the work is art. My only fear is that I shan't get my fair share of your time."
"Well, if I see you getting jealous, Mary, I have the means of reducing you to silence by a word."
"Have you, indeed? Will you please tell me what word is that?"
"I shall just say, Minette!"