By your jarring personality,
Mrs. Wimple!
There is no harmony in this house,
Mrs. Wimple;
No harmony!”
Mrs. Wimple replied in sordid prose:
“She left because she was offered more money elsewhere, and we couldn't
afford to meet the difference.” Something like a sob vibrated through
Mr. Wimple's opulent voice as he rejoined:
“Nellie, that is a blow that I did not look for! You have stabbed me
with a poisoned weapon! Yes, Nellie, I _am_ poor! So was Edgar Poe. What
the world calls poor! I shall, in all likelihood, never be rich... what
the world calls rich. But I have my art! I have my ideals! I have my
inner life! I have my dreams! Poor? Poor? Yes, Nell! Poor! So was Robert
Burns! I am poor! I make no compromise with the mob. Nor shall I ever
debase my gift for money. No! Such as I am, I shall bear the torch that
has been intrusted to me till I fall fainting at the goal! I have a
message. To me it is precious stuff, and I shall not alloy it with the
dross called gold. Poor? Yes, Nell! And you have the heart to cast it
in my teeth! You, Nellie! You, from whom I once expected sympathy and
understanding. You, whom I chose from all the world, and took into my
life because I fancied that you, too, saw the vision! Yes, Elinor, I
dreamed _that_ once!”