"That was the other one."

"_She_ has been in New York before?"

"Yes."

"That was the one that Tom Caruthers was bewitched with?"

"Have you heard _that_ story?" said Mr. Dillwyn dryly.

"Why shouldn't I hear it?"

"No reason, that I know. It is one of the 'ways of the world' you referred to, to tell everything of everybody,--especially when it is not true."

"Isn't that story true?"

"It has no inherent improbability. Tom is open to influences, and--" He stopped.

"I know it is true; for Mrs. Caruthers told me herself."

"Poor Tom!"--

"It was very good for him, that the thing was put an end to. But _you_--you should fly at higher game than Tom Caruthers can strike, Philip."

"Thank you. There was no occasion for your special fear last night. I am in no danger there. But I know a man, Jessie,--a man I think much of, too,--who _is_ very much drawn to one of those ladies. He has confessed as much to me. What advice shall I give him? He is a man that can please himself; he has abundant means, and no ties to enc.u.mber him."

"Does he hold as high a position as you?"

"Quite."

"And may pretend to as much?"

"He is not a man of pretensions. But, taking your words as they mean, I should say, yes."

"Is it any use to offer him advice?"

"I think he generally hears mine--if he is not too far gone in something."

"Ah!--Well, Philip, tell him to think what he is doing."

"O, I _have_ put that before him."

"He would make himself a great goose."

"Perhaps I ought to have some arguments wherewith to substantiate that prophecy."

"He can see the whole for himself. Let him think of the fitness of things. Imagine such a girl set to preside over his house--a house like this, for instance. Imagine her helping him receive his guests; sitting at the head of his table. Fancy it; a girl who has been accustomed to sanded floors, perhaps, and paper window-shades, and who has fed on pumpkins and pork all her life."

Mr. Dillwyn smiled, as his eye roved over what of his sister's house was visible from where he sat, and he remembered the meal-times in Shampuashuh; he smiled, but his eye had more thought in it than Mrs.

Burrage liked. She was watching him.

"I cannot tell what sort of a house is in question in the present case," he said at length. "Perhaps it would not be a house like this."

"It _ought_ to be a house like this."

"Isn't that an open question?"

"No! I am supposing that this man, your friend-- Do I know him?"

"Do you not know everybody? But I have no permission to disclose his name."

"And I do not care for it, if he is going to make a _mesalliance;_ a marriage beneath him. Such marriages turn out miserably. A woman not fit for society drags her husband out of it; a woman who has not refined tastes makes him gradually coa.r.s.e; a woman with no connections keeps him from rising in life; if she is without education, she lets all the best part of him go to waste. In short, if he marries a n.o.body he becomes n.o.body too; parts with all his antecedents, and buries all his advantages. It's social ruin, Philip! it is just ruin."

"If this man only does not prefer the bliss of ruining himself!"--said her brother, rising and lightly stretching himself. Mrs. Burrage looked at him keenly and doubtfully.

"There is no greater mistake a man can make, than to marry beneath him," she went on.

"Yes, I think that too."

"It sinks him below his level; it is a weight round his neck; people afterwards, when he is mentioned say,--'_He married such a one, you know;_' and, '_Didn't he marry unfortunately?_'--He is like depreciated coin. It kills him, Philip, politically."

"And fashionably."

"O, fashionably! of course."

"What's left to a man when he ceases to be fashionable?"

"Well, of course he chooses a new set of a.s.sociates."

"But if Tom Caruthers had married as you say he wanted to marry, his wife would have come at once into his circle, and made one of it?"

"Provided she could hold the place."

"Of that I have no doubt."

"It was a great gain to Tom that he missed."

"The world has odd balances to weigh loss and gain!" said Philip.

"Why, Philip, in addition to everything else, these girls are _religious;_--not after a reasonable fashion, you know, but puritanical; prejudiced, and narrow, and stiff."

"How do you know all that?"

"From that one's talk last night. And from Mrs. Wishart."

"Did _she_ say they were puritanical?"

"Yes. O yes! they are stiff about dancing and cards; and I had nearly laughed last night at the way Miss--what's her name?--opened her eyes at me when I spoke of the theatre."

"She does not know what the theatre is," said Philip.