“You see,” he begins again, “the other thing—Oh, Lord, it's so tangled up! But it's just this. It sounds—funny—probably—coming from me—and after France and all that—but I'm not going to—pretend to myself I'm in love with a girl—just because I may—want to get married—the way lots of people do. I can't. And I couldn't with a girl like Elinor anyway—she's too fine.”
“She is rather fine,” says Oliver appreciatively. “Selective reticence—all that.”
“Well, don't you see? And a couple of times—I've been nearly sure. And then something comes and I'm not again—not the way I want to be. And then—Oh, if I were, it wouldn't be much—use—you know—”
“Why not?”
“Well, consider our relative positions—”
“Consider your grandmother's cat! She's a girl—you're a man. She's a lady—you're certainly a gentleman—though that sounds like Jane Austen. And—”
“And she's—well, she isn't the wealthiest young lady in the country, but the Pipers are rich, though they never go and splurge around about it. And I'm living on scholarships and borrowed money from the family—and even after I really start working I probably won't make enough to live on for two or three years at least. And you can't ask a girl like that—”
“Oh, Ted, this is the twentieth century! I'm not telling you to hang up your hat and live on your wife's private income—” “That's fortunate,” from Ted, rather stubbornly and with a set jaw.
“But there's no reason on earth—if you both really loved each other and wanted to get married—why you couldn't let her pay her share for the first few years. You know darn well you're going to make money sometime—”
“Well—yes.”