"You are not the same Mary Ann—to other people. You are a somebody. Before, you were a nobody. Nobody cared or bothered about you—you were no more than a dead leaf whirling in the street."
"Yes, you cared and bothered about me," she cried, clinging to him.
Her gratitude cut him like a knife. "The eyes of the world are on you now," he said. "People will talk about you if you go away with me now."
"Why will they talk about me? What harm shall I do them?"
Her phrases puzzled him.
"I don't know that you will harm them," he said slowly, "but you will harm yourself."
"How will I harm myself?" she persisted.
"Well, one day, you will want a—a husband. With all that money it is only right and proper you should marry—"
"No, Mr. Lancelot, I don't want a husband. I don't want to marry. I should never want to go away from you."
There was another painful silence. He sought refuge in a brusque playfulness.