"We've got a difficult situation on our hands. I don't know whether it would be easier or harder if we loved each other. But all I ask of you is to go step by step with me in the matter, and try to keep an open mind. Don't talk about my career; I don't want a career. I just want to say what I think and feel, as my contribution. I want to do it, so that it does not take an iota of my time or interest from you or Baby; is that unreasonable?"
"It sounds all right."
"But, Jerry, you mustn't begrudge it to me, like that! Can't you just say to yourself: 'Now this isn't working out any theory; it hasn't anything to do with feminism; it's just a knot for us two to untie?' We've got to keep our tempers sweet and our minds aired to do it, Jerry, but won't you try it out with me?"
"It sounds easy and reasonable to you, Jane, but what you're asking me to do is to shed all my inherited ideas and my own convictions on this subject of woman's function and place."
"My dear, inherited ideas ought to go; they're not worth giving storage room, and convictions that are change-proof are dangerous possessions!"
"That's your point of view!"
"It is yours on most subjects. If you prove to me that it is not your point of view on this subject, I shall certainly respect it, and also try to change it."
"You don't leave me any alternative," he said, veering from the point. "You spring this thing on me, and say: 'Now—make the best of it!'"
"I'm sorry you feel that way about it. There is, of course, a perfectly obvious alternative—that we should separate."
"You mean you would go that far, rather than let this writing business go for a few years until Jerry is five or six?"