"You don't love me, you're drunk with--something altogether
different to love. ... It's true," she insisted. "You show it. You
don't even know the real me."

"Beauty may be only a skin disease," Bob laughed, "but ugliness
goes clear to the bone."

"I married you for your money, and you married me because--I
seemed physically perfect--because my face and my body roused
fires in you. I think we are both pretty rotten at heart, don't
you?"

"No. Anyhow, I don't care to think about it. I never won anything
by thinking. Kiss me again."

She ignored his demand, with her shadowy smile. "I deliberately
traded on my looks; I put myself up for a price, and you paid that
price regardless of everything except your desires. We muddled
things dreadfully and got our deserts. I didn't love you, I don't
love you now any more than you love me; but I think we're coming
to respect each other, and that is a beginning. You have longings
to be something different and better; so have I. Let's try
together. I have it in me to succeed, but I'm not sure about you."

"Thanks for the good cheer."

"You're afraid you can't make a living for us--I KNOW you can. I'm
merely afraid you won't."