“Much you know about the world,” said Mr. Dirom. “I can’t imagine what you are thinking of; a bit of a bread-and-butter girl, red and white, not a fortune, no style about her, or anything out of the common. Why, at your age, without a tithe of your advantages, I shouldn’t have looked at her, Mr. Fred.” If there was in Fred’s mind the involuntary instinctive flash of a comparison between his good homely mother and pretty Effie, may it be forgiven him! He could do nothing more than mutter a half sulky word upon difference of taste. “That’s true,” said his father; “one man’s meat is another man’s poison. My Lady Alicia’s not much to look at, but she is Lady Alicia; that’s always a point in her favour. But this little girl has nothing to show. Bread and butter, that’s all that can be said.” To this Fred, with gathering curves upon his forehead, made no reply at all. “And her people are barely presentable,” said the father. “I say this with no personal feeling, only for your good; very Scotch, but nothing else about them to remember them by. A sodden stagnant old Scotch squire, and a flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a few pounds of her own that will make her think herself somebody. My dear fellow, there you have everything that is most objectionable. A milkmaid would not be half so bad, for she would ask no questions and understand that she got everything from you----” “There is no question of any milkmaid,” said Fred in high offence. “Middle class is social destruction,” said Mr. Dirom. “Annihilation, that’s what it is. High or low has some chance, but there’s no good in your _milieu_. Whatever happens, you’ll never be able to make anything out of her. They have no go in that position; they’re too respectable to go out of the beaten way. That little thing, sir, will think it’s unbecoming to do this or that. She’ll never put out a step beyond what she knows. She’ll be no help to you if anything happens. She’ll set up her principles; she’ll preach your duty to you. A pretty kind of wife for the son of a man who has made his way to the top of the tree, by Jove! and that may tumble down again some fine day.” “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Fred. “You might add she will most likely neither look nor listen to me, and all this sermon of yours will go for nought.” “I didn’t mean it for a sermon. I give it you in friendship to warn you what’s before you. You think perhaps after this I’m going to forbid the banns: though there’s no banns wanted in this free country, I believe. No, Fred, that’s not it; I’m not going to interfere. If you like insipidity, it’s your own concern: if you choose a wife in order to carry her on your shoulders--and be well kicked while you do it: mind that.”