"Why wealthy?"
"If not, you would have some aim in life—a calling or profession."
"And you think I have none?"
"Unless you consider it your vocation to be a wealthy American."
"I don't. Besides, I'm not wealthy. In point of fact, I ..." He pulled up short, on the verge of declaring himself a pauper. "I am a painter."
Her eyes lightened with interest. "An artist?"
"I hope so. I don't paint signs—or houses," he remarked.
Amused, she laughed softly. "I suspected it," she declared.
"Not really?"
"It was your way of looking at—things, that made me guess it: the painter's way. I have often noticed it."