“I know how wise I am.”
She made an impatient gesture. “You’re not thinking of me in the least. You are thinking of your pride.”
He caught her hand in his. “I am thinking of my pride. Do you suppose it is easy for me to let Jane—take money from him? To feel that there is no man in our family who can pay the bills? I am proud. And I’m glad of it. Edith—I want you to be glad that I won’t take—alms.”
Her wise eyes studied him for a moment. “You blessed boy. You blessed poet,” she sighed, “I am proud of you, but my heart aches—for myself.”
He caught her almost roughly in his arms and in a moment released her. “I’m right, dearest?”
“No, you’re not right. If we married, we’d sail to Italy and have a villa by the sea. And you would paint masterpieces. Do you think my money counts beside your talent? Well, I don’t.”
“My dear, let me prove my talent first. As things are now, I couldn’t pay our passage to the other side.”
“You could. My money would be yours—your talent mine. A fair exchange.”
He stuck obstinately to his point of view. “I won’t tie you to any promise until I’ve proved myself.”
“And we’ll lose all these shining years.”