“Bu' you have such a won'erful chance!”
“I know. And I've wasted it. But I'm changing. I—it wouldn't be fair of course to talk about—about what I was talking about—not now—but I am seeing things—everything—through new eyes. They're your eyes. I'm going at the thing differently. You see, the Kanes, when you get right down to it, don't think about anything but money.”
“I like to think about beauty,” said she.
“I wonder if I could do that.”
“Why no'?”
“Well—it's kind of a new idea.”
“Listen!” she reached out, plainly without a personal thought, and took his hand. “I'm going to reci' some poetry that I love.”
Thrilled by the clasp of her hand, his mind eager wax to the impress of her stronger mind, his gaze clinging to her pretty mouth, he listened while she repeated the little poem of W. B. Yeats beginning:=
"All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write..."=