"To throw himself away? My dear—on a little servant-girl without an aitch in her?"
"On anybody he pleases."
"Can you imagine George Tanqueray," said Nina, "throwing himself away on anybody?"
"I can—easily," said Nicholson.
"Whatever he throws away," said Nina, "it won't be himself."
"My dear Nina, look at him," said Miss Bickersteth. "He's done for himself—socially, at any rate."
"Not he. It's men like George Tanqueray who can afford to do these things. Do you suppose anybody who cares for him will care a rap whom he marries?"
"I care," said Nicky. "I care immensely."
"You needn't. Marriage is not—it really is not—the fearfully important thing you think it."
Nicholson looked at his boots, his perfect boots.