I married a girl with money." "Lots of men marry for money," remarked Shirley.
"I said _with_ money, not for money," retorted Ryder.

Then turning again to the book, he said: "Now, this is what I can't understand, for no one could have told you this but I myself.

Listen." He read aloud: "_With all his physical bravery and personal courage, John Broderick was intensely afraid of death.

It was on his mind constantly._" "Who told you that ?" he demanded somewhat roughly.
"I swear I've never mentioned it to a living soul." "Most men who amass money are afraid of death," replied Shirley with outward composure, "for death is about the only thing that can separate them from their money." Ryder laughed, but it was a hollow, mocking laugh, neither sincere nor hearty.

It was a laugh such as the devil may have given when driven out of heaven.
"You're quite a character!" He laughed again, and Shirley, catching the infection, laughed, too.
"It's me and it isn't me," went on Ryder flourishing the book.
"This fellow Broderick is all right; he's successful and he's great, but I don't like his finish." "It's logical," ventured Shirley.
"It's cruel," insisted Ryder.
"So is the man who reverses the divine law and hates his neighbour instead of loving him," retorted Shirley.
She spoke more boldly, beginning to feel more sure of her ground, and it amused her to fence in this way with the man of millions.
So far, she thought, he had not got the best of her.