He had won the
world's greatest prize--a woman's love --but could not retain it
because his pockets were empty.
That he should fail to make a great name, this was grievous
disappointment to Amy, but this alone would not have estranged
her. It was the dread and shame of penury that made her heart
cold to him. And he could not in his conscience scorn her for
being thus affected by the vulgar circumstances of life; only a
few supreme natures stand unshaken under such a trial, and though
his love of Amy was still passionate, he knew that her place was
among a certain class of women, and not on the isolated pinnacle
where he had at first visioned her. It was entirely natural that
she shrank at the test of squalid suffering. A little money, and
he could have rested secure in her love, for then he would have
been able to keep ever before her the best qualities of his heart
and brain. Upon him, too, penury had its debasing effect; as he
now presented himself he was not a man to be admired or loved. It
was all simple and intelligible enough--a situation that would be
misread only by shallow idealism.
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