It was all very well for the boy; but for the man--and being younger than he, she regarded him now as a man--there was something in it that offended her nice sense of human dignity.
"Well," he said.

"Tell me, what do you call a man's job ?" "Oh, I don't know," she said in distress; "something you do with your hands or your brain." "You think being a model is undignified." "Yes." "So do I," said Paul.

"But I'm doing things with my brain, too, you know," he added quickly, anxious to be seen again on his pedestal.

"I am getting on with my epic poem.

I've done a lot since you last heard it.