"Neil, that's the first prize."
"Looks like it. I spoke the Gettysburg address, and they always fall for that. Good-bye, I'm off."
"Neil, come back here."
He swung round with his cap doubled under his arm, and stood before her, helpless and sullen, hedged about with that sudden dignity which no woman creature can break through, but seeming to derive no comfort from it. Painful colour mounted to her cheeks, as if the effort of keeping him there was all she could manage without the effort of opening delicate subjects.
"Neil, I'm worried about you."
"Why? Are you afraid I'll marry beneath me? I won't marry without your consent. It's not being done."
"You got three dollars from the Clarion last week."
"Are you afraid I'll try to support a wife on it?"
"It's the most you've made from them. Why weren't you proud of it? Why aren't you proud of this prize? A year ago you'd have had me up at one to speak your piece to me. There's no life in you, and no pride, and I know why."
"Me with so much to be proud of."