“Within a year,” she repeated slowly. “But I can't be forced away from you. He can't make me give you up.” And she shook her head in defiance.
“Can't he, Barbara? Can't he, dear?” And Philip bent toward her, speaking softly.
“I belong to you.”
Philip straightened up, saying somewhat grimly: “I must work. I shall be forced to see you less often.”
“Must you?”
“Yes. This admits of no delay. And no matter how hard I work... even then it's all doubt and uncertainty.”
“Why do we have to wait?”—with a sigh. “I could help you so much if I were with you. I know I could.”
Philip ground out between his set teeth the one word, “Money,” and Barbara was silent.
“We are most unfortunate,” he continued. “We both belong to what are called prosperous and well-to-do families and yet beyond a well defined point there is not an extra penny, every cent being swallowed up in the wretched sham of appearances. I own frankly I am poor, and as if this were not misfortune enough in itself, my poverty is allied to a worthless sneaking respectability that is maintained at the cost of constant sacrifice. I have the added ignominy of knowing that the very appearances on which is squandered everything, deceive no one. How destructive to self-respect to live a lie unbelieved even by the most credulous! If it accomplished its beneficent mission, there would be a worthy excuse for it, but to run the risk of damnation for the sake of a lot of unsuccessful deceits makes my soul sick.”
“What do we care for people? If we are happy what does it matter?” She pressed close to his side. “What do we care?”