“Proceed, sir, I beg.”
“Why, then, Lord Saxingham is (I must be frank) a man who has a great regard for his own family. Your marriage (a source, my dear uncle, of the greatest gratification to me) cuts off the probable chance of your fortune and title, if you acquire the latter, descending to—”
“Yourself!” put in Templeton, drily. “Your relation seems, for the first time, to have discovered how dear your interests are to him.”
“For me, individually, sir, my relation does not care a rush—but he cares a great deal for any member of his house being rich and in high station. It increases the range and credit of his connections; and Lord Saxingham is a man whom connections help to keep great. To be plain with you, he will not stir in this business, because he does not see how his kinsman is to be benefited, or his house strengthened.”
“Public virtue!” exclaimed Templeton.
“Virtue, my dear uncle, is a female: as long as she is private property, she is excellent; but public virtue, like any other public lady, is a common prostitute.”
“Pshaw!” grunted Templeton, who was too much out of humour to read his nephew the lecture he might otherwise have done upon the impropriety of his simile; for Mr. Templeton was one of those men who hold it vicious to talk of vice as existing in the world; he was very much shocked to hear anything called by its proper name.
“Has not Mrs. Templeton some connections that may be useful to you?”
“No, sir!” cried the uncle, in a voice of thunder.
“Sorry to hear it—but we cannot expect all things: you have married for love—you have a happy home, a charming wife—this is better than a title and a fine lady.”