"I cannot think the engagement a fortunate one for you in your position. Like should marry like. I'm quite sure of that. You would wish your wife to be easily intimate with the sort of people among whom she would naturally be thrown as Lady Scroope,—among the wives and daughters of other Earls and such like."
"No; I shouldn't."
"I don't see how she would be comfortable in any other way."
"I should never live among other Earls, as you call them. I hate that kind of thing. I hate London. I should never live here."
"What would you do?"
"I should have a yacht, and live chiefly in that. I should go about a good deal, and get into all manner of queer places. I don't say but what I might spend a winter now and then in Leicestershire or Northamptonshire, for I am fond of hunting. But I should have no regular home. According to my scheme you should have this place,—and sufficient of the income to maintain it of course."
"That wouldn't do, Fred," said Jack, shaking his head,—"though I know how generous you are."
"Why wouldn't it do?"
"You are the heir, and you must take the duties with the privileges. You can have your yacht if you like a yacht,—but you'll soon get tired of that kind of life. I take it that a yacht is a bad place for a nursery, and inconvenient for one's old boots. When a man has a home fixed for him by circumstances,—as you will have,—he gravitates towards it, let his own supposed predilections be what they may. Circumstances are stronger than predilections."
"You're a philosopher."