Didn't seem to be dressed very much, and acted
just like anybody. Didn't talk much. Guess I did most
of the talking. Said he was glad I seemed to be getting
along so well with his son. He asked after you and Irene;
and he said he couldn't feel just like a stranger.
Said you had been very kind to his wife. Of course I turned
it off. Yes," said Lapham thoughtfully, with his hands
resting on his knees, and his cigar between the fingers
of his left hand, "I guess he meant to do the right thing,
every way. Don't know as I ever saw a much pleasanter man.
Dunno but what he's about the pleasantest man I ever
did see." He was not letting his wife see in his averted
face the struggle that revealed itself there--the
struggle of stalwart achievement not to feel flattered
at the notice of sterile elegance, not to be sneakingly
glad of its amiability, but to stand up and look at it
with eyes on the same level. God, who made us so much
like himself, but out of the dust, alone knows when
that struggle will end. The time had been when Lapham
could not have imagined any worldly splendour which his
dollars could not buy if he chose to spend them for it;
but his wife's half discoveries, taking form again in his
ignorance of the world, filled him with helpless misgiving.
A cloudy vision of something unpurchasable, where he
had supposed there was nothing, had cowed him in spite
of the burly resistance of his pride.
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