Neith Boyce

“ Tom walked all the way back to his New York boarding-house, unconscious of the stinging cold, on fire with the hot surging of his anger. He vowed to himself that Cecilia should not destroy his relation with Bertha, almost his only pleasure; that if it were true, or ever should be, that Bertha cared for him, he would not be bullied into giving her up, and that he would find out if she did care. She was a dear, charming girl; she was capable of liking a man for himself alone. If she cared enough, they might marry, even if they were poor at first. ”

“ Not immediately, perhaps, but in a year or so, in spite of Cecilia.
Cecilia! Nobody must love or marry, according to her, until they had a respectable fortune. A man might waste all the years of his youth working alone—and when he was old buy a young wife.
Mr. Hawley! Tom knew his history, had taken pains to trace this part of the mercantile history of the city. He had begun a poor boy from a Western farm, he had married his first wife early, and he had worked his way up from the bottom of his business. Now, at fifty-odd years, he was a millionaire—and could buy Cecilia. ”

“ I'll tell you exactly what I said to him. I said he ought not to go too much to see you, that you ought not to be too much together; for you're both too young—children—and I know you had some sort of a fancy about him. ”