“No, it's very serious, dear. Let's think what I can do to get a salary out of the town. I wish I could go away, but I simply can't do that. I must stay and help out at home. I suppose I'd better try and bone the papers for more work. That's the only sure thing in sight. I can always get that in small doses, because it helps the sale. My friends are willing to pay something for the opportunity to criticize the drivel—it's about the only opportunity they have had yet. It's a great thing to be a literary man in a small town, Barbara!”
“I hate to think I am to be bought,” Barbara said angrily. “That it all rests on money, as though love were valueless.”
“It's a commercial age.”
“You seem to believe in nothing.” There was marked disfavor in her glance.
Philip raised his eyes to hers. “I believe in your happiness and mine if I succeed. I have every confidence in myself.”
“But not in me—you never speak of that!”
“Yes, dear, in you, too!”
“You don't say it as if you meant it!”
“I am not accustomed to saying things I mean seriously.”
“I wish you would pay me the compliment of being serious.”