Mr. Wharton, as he went away to Lincoln's Inn, bewailed himself because he knew that he was not hard-hearted. What his sister-in-law had said to him in that respect was true enough. If he could only rid himself of a certain internal ague which made him feel that his life was, indeed, a burden to him while his daughter was unhappy, he need only remain passive and simply not give the permission without which his daughter would not ever engage herself to this man. But the ague troubled every hour of his present life. That sister-in-law of his was a silly, vulgar, worldly, and most untrustworthy woman;--but she had understood what she was saying. And there had been something in that argument about the Duchess of Omnium's parties, and Mr. Happerton, which had its effect. If the man did live with the great and wealthy, it must be because they thought well of him and of his position. The fact of his being a "nasty foreigner," and probably of Jewish descent, remained. To him, Wharton, the man must always be distasteful. But he could hardly maintain his opposition to one of whom the choice spirits of the world thought well. And he tried to be fair on the subject. It might be that it was a prejudice. Others probably did not find a man to be odious because he was of foreign extraction and known by a foreign name. Others would not suspect a man of being of Jewish blood because he was swarthy, or even object to him if he were a Jew by descent. But it was wonderful to him that his girl should like such a man,--should like such a man well enough to choose him as the one companion of her life. She had been brought up to prefer English men, and English thinking, and English ways,--and English ways, too, somewhat of a past time. He thought as did Brabantio, that it could not be that without magic his daughter who had shunned-- "The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as"-- this distasteful Portuguese. That evening he said nothing further to his daughter, but sat with her, silent and disconsolate. Later in the evening, after she had gone to her room, Everett came in while the old man was still walking up and down the drawing-room. "Where have you been?" asked the father,--not caring a straw as to any reply when he asked the question, but roused almost to anger by the answer when it came. "I have been dining with Lopez at the club." "I believe you live with that man." "Is there any reason, sir, why I should not?" "You know that there is a good reason why there should be no peculiar intimacy. But I don't suppose that my wishes, or your sister's welfare, will interest you." "That is severe, sir."