“About Mary? Well, of course it's not the kind of thing one likes. The fellow is the lowest of the low; but even that's better, in some respects, than a species of half gentility, for he actually has n't one in the world belonging to him. No one ever heard of his father or mother, and he's not the fellow to go in search of them.”
“I confess that is a consideration,” said Massingbred, with a tone that might mean equally raillery or the reverse, “so that you see no great objection on that score?”
“I won't say I 'd choose the connection; but 'with a bad book it's at least a hedge,'—eh, Massy, is n't it?”
“Perhaps so,” said the other, dryly.
“It does n't strike me,” said Martin, as he glanced his eye again over the letter, “that you have advocated Scanlan's plan. You have left it without, apparently, one word of comment. Does that mean that you don't approve of it?”
“I never promised him I would advocate it,” said Jack.
“I have no doubt, Massingbred, you think me a deuced selfish fellow for treating the question in this fashion; but just reflect a little, and see how innocently, as I may say, I was led into all these embarrassments. I never suspected how deep I was getting. Merl used to laugh at me if I asked him how we stood; he always induced me to regard our dealings as trifles, to be arranged to-day, to-morrow, or ten years hence.”
“I am not unversed in that sort of thing, unluckily,” said Massingbred, interrupting him. “There is another consideration, however, in the present case, to which I do not think you have given sufficient weight.”
“As to Mary, my dear fellow, the matter is simple enough. Our consent is a mere form. If she liked Scanlan, she 'd marry him against all the Martins that ever were born; and if she did n't, she 'd not swerve an inch if the whole family were to go to the stake for it. She 's not one for half measures, I promise you; and then, remember, that though she is one 'of us,' and well born, she has never mingled with the society of her equals; she has always lived that kind of life you saw yourself,—taking a cast with the hounds one day, nursing some old hag with the rheumatism the next. I 've seen her hearing a class in the village school, and half an hour after, breaking in a young horse to harness. And what between her habits and her tastes, she is really not fit for what you and I would call the world.” As Massingbred made no reply, Martin ascribed his silence to a part conviction, and went on: “Mind, I 'm not going to say that she is not a deuced deal too good for Maurice Scanlan, who is as vulgar a hound as walks on two legs; but, as I said before, Massy, we haven't much choice.”
“Will Lady Dorothea be likely to view the matter in this light?” asked Jack, calmly.