Lawrence Seldon: House of Mirth, 2016, Oil on Canvas, 36 x 48
He had seated himself on an arm of the chair near which she was standing, and she continued to question him…
‘Don’t you ever mind,’ she asked suddenly, ‘not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?’
He followed her glance about the room, with its worn furniture and shabby walls.
‘Don’t I just? Do you take me for a saint on a pillar?’
‘And having to work—do you mind that?’
‘Oh, the work itself is not so bad—I’m rather fond of the law.’
‘No; but the being tied down: the routine—don’t you ever want to get away, to see new places and people?’
‘Horribly—especially when I see all my friends rushing to the steamer.’
She drew a sympathetic breath. ‘But do you mind enough—to marry to get out of it?’
Selden broke into a laugh. ‘God forbid!’ he declared.
-Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth