To deny was impossible, and he had no wish to attempt to make excuses.

She had shown him to himself, and he could only echo her just scorn.
"As for waiting," she went on, "I am sure, from what you say, that if you ever got back in the lofty place of a parasite living idly and foolishly on what you abstracted from the labor of others, you'd forget me--just as your rich friends have forgotten you." She laughed bitterly.

"O Arthur, Arthur, what a fraud you are! Here, I've been admiring your fine talk about your being a laborer, about what you'd do if you ever got the power.

And it was all simply envy and jealousy and trying to make yourself believe you weren't so low down in the social scale as you thought you were.

You're too fine a gentleman for Madelene Schulze, Arthur.