"Or suppose I had married some other man—ugh!—and come here!"
"You would have done just as you have done—seen your duty, done it, and smiled even if you were dying of loneliness. But not all women are like you."
"Because not all men are like you, bless you!—and always ready and eager to make love first and foremost."
"How can I help it, when I've you to love? But tell me now,—frankly,—don't you ever long for the past? Don't you get absolutely, savagely, heart-hungry for it?"
"No—no—!" Grace exclaimed. "Besides, I'm easier pleased and interested than you think. I've learned to like some of our people very much, since I've ceased judging them by their clothes and manner of speech. There are some real jewels among the women, old and young."
"H'm! I'm glad to hear you say so, for I've wanted to confess, for some time, that I am fast becoming countrified, and without any sense of shame, either. I'm becoming so deeply interested in human nature that I've little thought for anything else, aside from business. When I first arrived, I imagined myself a superior being, from another sphere; now that I know much about the people and their burdens and struggles, there are some men and women to whom I mentally raise my hat. At first I wondered why Taggess, who really is head and shoulders above every one else here, didn't procure a substitute and abandon the town; now I can believe that nothing could drag him away. I can't learn that he ever wrote verses or made pictures or preached sermons, nevertheless he's artist, poet, and prophet all in one. I should like to become his equal, or Caleb's equal—I may as well say both, while I'm wishing; still, I don't like to lose what I used to have and be."
"You're not losing it, you dear boy, nor am I really losing anything. The truth is, that in New York both of us, hard though we worked, were longing for an entirely luxurious, self-indulgent future, and your uncle's will was all that saved us from ourselves. You always were perfection, to my eyes, but I wish you could see for yourself what improvements half a year of this new life have made for you."
"Allow me to return the compliment, though no one could imagine a more adorable woman than you were when I married you. So long as I am you and you are me—" Then words became inadequate to further estimate and appreciation of the changes wrought by half a year of life at "the fag-end of nowhere—the jumping-off place of the world," as Philip had called Claybanks the first time he saw it by daylight.
