"No, Mr. Howard, do not go with a half explanation which can only lead to mistakes. Tell me what you really suppose I meant; why should you hesitate to express—"
"Seriously," replied he, trying to smile,
"I for a moment imagined that your ladyship meant to apply to me what you had just been saying, and I feared you were going to tell me of some friend who would make the sacrifices you so eloquently described. Sacrifices which I felt would be far beyond my deserts."
"And supposing I did say so—supposing there were a woman of rank and wealth, and influence, who would devote them all to you—what would you say?"
"I would say, that though excessively obliged to her, my love was not to be the purchase of either wealth or influence."
"I know you are entitled to hold worldly advantages as cheap as any one; but remember, my dear friend, all the worth of such a sacrifice—think of the warmth of an affection which could trample on ceremony and brave opinion. And think on the consequences which might accrue to you from this. Even you may well pause, before preferring mediocrity to opulence, and obscurity to rank and eminence.
"These advantages would not greatly weigh with me were they attainable—but you forget my profession forbids ambition, and removes the means of advancement."
—"No, you forget the gradations which exist in that career—do you treat as nothing the certainty of promotion—of rising to be a dignitary of the church—a dean—a bishop, perhaps—becoming at once a member of the Upper House? Has ambition no charms—no hold upon your mind?"
"My ambition would never prompt me to wish to rise through my wife—I could not submit to that."
"Hard-hearted, cruel man!—and has love, ardent love, no charms for you?—it is true I cannot offer you the first bloom of youth, but have I no traces of former beauty—no charm which can influence you or soften your heart—has not the uncontrollable though melancholy love which actuates me—has that no power over your affections?"