"And then you'll be just where you were before,—ready to fall into the hands of the Jews. If you must part with your property you cannot do so on better terms."
"It seems to me that I shall be selling £7,000 a year in land for about £1,200 a year in the funds."
"Just so;—that's about it, I suppose. But can you tell me when the land will be yours,—or whether it will ever be yours at all? What is it that you have got to sell? But, Ralph, it is no good going over all that again."
"I know that, Sir Thomas."
"I had hoped you would have come to some decision. If you can save the property of course you ought to do so. If you can live on what pittance is left to you—"
"I can save it."
"Then do save it."
"I can save it by—marrying."
"By selling yourself to the daughter of a man who makes—breeches! I can give you advice on no other point; but I do advise you not to do that. I look upon an ill-assorted marriage as the very worst kind of ruin. I cannot myself conceive any misery greater than that of having a wife whom I could not ask my friends to meet."
Ralph when he heard this blushed up to the roots of his hair. He remembered that when he had first mentioned to Sir Thomas his suggested marriage with Polly Neefit he had said that as regarded Polly herself he thought that Patience and Clarissa would not object to her. He was now being told by Sir Thomas himself that his daughters would certainly not consent to meet Polly Neefit, should Polly Neefit become Mrs. Newton. He, too, had his ideas of his own standing in the world, and had not been slow to assure himself that the woman whom he might choose for his wife would be a fit companion for any lady,—as long as the woman was neither vicious nor disagreeable. He could make any woman a lady; he could, at any rate, make Polly Neefit a lady. He rose from his seat, and prepared to leave the room in disgust. "I won't trouble you by coming here again," he said.