The Grain of Dust. David Graham Phillips

tried to put her arms round his neck, but he took her hands and held them. "Would you like to think I was marrying you for what you have?—or for any other reason whatever but for what you are?"

      It being once more a question of her own sex, the obstinate line appeared round her mouth. "But, Fred, I'd not be me, if I were—a working girl," she replied.

      "You might be something even better if you were," retorted he coldly. "The only qualities I don't like about you are the surface qualities that have been plated on in these surroundings. And if I thought it was anything but just you that I was marrying, I'd lose no time about leaving you. I'd not let myself degrade myself."

      "Fred—that tone—and don't—please don't look at me like that!" she begged.