He turned to her swiftly.
"DID you read any ?" he asked.
"Yes, I did," she replied.
"How much ?" "I don't know how many pages." "Tell me ONE THING you read." She could not.
She never got beyond the second page.

He read a great deal, and had a quick, active intelligence.

She could understand nothing but love-making and chatter.

He was accustomed to having all his thoughts sifted through his mother's mind; so, when he wanted companionship, and was asked in reply to be the billing and twittering lover, he hated his betrothed.
"You know, mother," he said, when he was alone with her at night, "she's no idea of money, she's so wessel-brained.

When she's paid, she'll suddenly buy such rot as marrons glaces, and then I have to buy her season ticket, and her extras, even her underclothing.