"Well, as you can't call any of those blessings wrong, my friend, you ought to be perfectly happy."
"No doubt--but perfect happiness is given to no mortal."
"You are very young to moralize," said Beaumont with a faint sneer.
"Yes, it appears absurd, doesn't it, but I can't help it; ever since I discovered the real story of my birth a shadow seems to have fallen on my life."
"And why--who cares for the bar sinister now-a-days?"
"Not many people I suppose, but I do--I daresay I have been brought up in an old-fashioned manner, but I feel the loss of my good name keenly--wealth can gild shame, not hide it."
"Rubbish! you are morbidly sensitive on the subject."
"No doubt I am--as I said before it's the fault of my bringing up--but come," he continued in a livelier tone, "I did not call to inflict my dismal mood upon you, let us talk of other things."
"Such as your marriage?"
"Certainly--marriage is a pleasant subject," said the young man with a quiet smile. "As I told you, I marry Miss Challoner next week and then we go abroad for a year or two."