'In rank and wealth we were equal.'
Lennard sighed, and said:
'I little thought that you, who loved me so, would prove all but one of the mothers of Society.'
'What do you mean, sir?' demanded his father.
'What a writer says.'
'And what the devil does he say?'
'That "love seems such a poor and contemptible thing in their eyes in comparison with settlements. Perhaps they forget their own youth; one does, they say, when he outlives romance. And I suppose bread and butter is better than poetry any day."'
'I should think so.'
'We had other and brilliant views for you,' said his mother in a tone of intense mortification, 'but now——'
'Leave us and begone, and let us look upon your face no more,' interrupted his father in a voice of indescribable sternness, almost hoarse with passion, as he pointed to the door.