“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.” “Well, then. And Elinor's sporting. She isn't the kind that needs six butlers to live--she doesn't live that way now. That's just pride, Ted, thinking that--and a rather bum variety of pride when you come down to it. I hate these people who moan around and won't be happy unless they can do everything themselves--they're generally the kind that give their wives a charge account at Lucile's and ten dollars a year pocket money and go into blue fits whenever poor spouse runs fifty cents over her allowance.” Ted pauses, considering. Finally, “No, Ollie--I don't think I'm quite that kind of a fool. And almost thou convincest me--and all that. But--well--that isn't the chief difficulty, after all.” “Well, what _is_?” from Oliver, annoyedly. Ted hesitates, speaking slowly. “Well--after the fact that I'm not sure--France,” he says at last, and his mouth shuts after the word as if it never wanted to open again. Oliver spreads both hands out hopelessly. “Are you _never_ going to get over that, you ass?” “You didn't do the things I did,” from Ted, rather difficultly. “If you had--”