“Jack,” he said, “I wish you would reconsider all this. Don’t interrupt me, please. I wish you’d think it all over again. I don’t say that I think you very much to blame. She has a sweet face,” said Mr. Brownlow, with a certain melting of tone, “and I don’t say that she may not be as sweet as her face; but still, Jack, you are very young, and it’s a very unsuitable match. You are too sensible not to acknowledge that; and it may injure your prospects and cramp you for all your life. In justice both to yourself and your family, you ought to consider all that.” “As it happens, sir, it is too late to consider all that,” said Jack, “even if I ever could have balanced secondary motives against--” “Bah!” said Mr. Brownlow; and then he added, with a certain impatience, “don’t tell me that you have not balanced--I know you too well for that. I know you have too much sense for that. Of course you have balanced all the motives. And do you tell me that you are ready to resign all your advantages, your pleasant life here, your position, your prospects, and go and live on a clerk’s income in Masterton--all for love?” said Mr. Brownlow. He did not mean to sneer, but his voice, as he spoke, took a certain inflection of sarcasm, as perhaps comes natural to a man beyond middle age, when he has such suggestions to make. Jack once more thrust his hands into the depths of his pockets, and gloom and darkness came into his heart. Was it the voice of the tempter that was addressing him? But then, had he not already gone over all that ground?--the loss of all comforts and advantages, the clerk’s income, the little house in Masterton. “I have already thought of all that,” he said, “as you suggest; but it does not make any difference to me.” Then he stopped and made a long pause. “If this is all you have to say to me, sir, perhaps it will be best to stop here,” said Jack; and he made a pause and turned back again with a certain determination toward the house.