“Well, you shall not point the moral by my case, I promise you,” said Mark, angrily. “That sublime spectacle that the gods are said to love--a great man struggling with adversity--is so beautifully depicted in these unions.” “Then why not--” He was going to say, “Why not marry her yourself?” but the fear of taking such a liberty with his distinguished friend just caught him in time and stopped him. “I 'll tell you why not,” said Maitland, replying to the unuttered question. “If you have ever dined at a civic _fête_ you 'll have remarked that there is some one dish or other the most gluttonous alderman will suffer to pass untasted,--a sort of sacrifice offered to public opinion. And so it is, an intensely worldly man, as people are polite enough to regard me, must show, every now and then, that there are temptations which he is able to resist. Marrying for money is one of these. I might speculate in a bubble company, I might traffic in cotton shares, or even 'walk into' my best friend al faro, but I mustn't marry for money,--that's positive.” “But apparently _I_ might,” said Mark, sulkily. “You might,” replied Maitland, with calm dignity of manner. “It is a privilege of which I do not mean to avail myself,” said Mark, while his face was flushed with temper. “Do you know that your friends the Grahams are here?” “Yes; I caught a glimpse of the fair Rebecca slipping sideways through life on a jaunting-car.” “And there's the old Commodore tramping over the house, and worrying every one with his complaints that you have turned him out of his rooms here,--rooms dedicated to his comfort for the last thirty years.” “Reason enough to surrender them now. Men quit even the Treasury benches to give the Opposition a turn of office.” “He 's a quarrelsome old blade, too,” said Mark, “particularly if he suspects he's been 'put upon.'” “No blame to him for that.” “A word or two, said as you well know how to say it, will set all right; or a line, perhaps, saying that having accidentally heard from me--” “No, no, Mark. Written excuses are like undated acceptances, and they may be presented unexpectedly to you years after you 've forgotten them. I 'll tell the Commodore that I shall not inconvenience him beyond a day or two, for I mean to start by the end of the week.” “They expect you to come back with us. Alice told me you had promised.” “_L'homme propose_,” said he, sighing. “By the way, I saw that young fellow you told me about,--Butler; a good-looking fellow, too, well limbed and well set up, but not a marvel of good-breeding or tact.” “Did he attempt any impertinences with _you?_” asked Mark, in a tone of amazement. “Not exactly; he was not, perhaps, as courteous as men are who care to make a favorable impression; but he is not, as you suspected,--he is not a snob.”