He's becoming famous--the papers are full of what he's accomplishing.

And he's respected, honest, able, with a wife that loves him.

Would he have been anybody if his father had left him the money that would have compelled him to be a fool?
As for the girl, she's got a showy streak in her--she's your regular American woman of nowadays--the kind of daughter your sort of mother and my sort of damn-fool father breed up.
But Del's mother wasn't like you, Mattie, and she hadn't a fool father like me, so she's married to a young fellow that's already doing big things, in his line--and a good line his is, a better line than trimming dollars and donkeys.

Our Jenny--Jane that used to be--We've sold her to a Frenchman, and she's sold herself to the devil.

Hiram's daughter--God forgive us, Matilda, for what we've done to Janet." All this, including that last devout appeal, in the manner of a spectator of a scene at which he is taking a last, indifferent, backward glance as he is leaving.
His wife's brain was too busy making plans and tearing them up to follow his monotonous garrulity except in a general way.