Neith Boyce

“ That's what you're afraid of, that Bertha might marry a poor fellow?"
He sprang up, huddling on his coat and trembling with emotion.
"By the Lord, you're the coldest-blooded woman on the face of this earth! I didn't think there was a woman like you, Cecilia! To think that you should say all this to me! I did care for you, Cecilia—I did love you. ”

“ He choked, stooped and caught up his hat, and rushed to the door.
Cecilia sprang up, reached him, laid a quick grasp on his arm.
"Tom, I didn't mean to hurt you——"
He flung off her hand.
"No, you didn't mean it! You only meant to be—clever, and have your own way. How can you know—what will hurt? Not that you care, either. If you'd cared a straw about it—even you might have known——
"What right have you, anyway? I'm free to do as I choose, I hope—even to marry, if I am a poor devil. Even poor people have a right to marry, I suppose—and to be liked. But you don't believe that. ”

“ Cecilia winced and dropped her eyes.
"You won't understand," she said faintly. "And what I mean is—Bertha is like that too. She doesn't understand what life is. She's full of romantic ideas. She is easily influenced too—and she might do—almost anything—in a flash, and then be sorry afterwards."
Tom was silent, looking at Cecilia in amazement. He thought he understood her now. She meant that Bertha cared for him. ”