"Corry!—how on earth can Arthur be happy if he marries her—how can he live in that set—the son-in-law of that man! He'll have to give up his seat—nobody here would ever vote for him again. His friends would cut him—"
"Oh come, come, my dear, we're not as bad as that!" said Coryston, impatiently.
But Marcia wailed on:
"And it isn't as if he had ideas and theories—like you—"
"Not a principle to his back!—I know," said Coryston, cheerfully. "I tell you again, I'd not dissuade him; on the contrary, I'd shove him into it!—if she were the right sort. But she's not. She's ruined by the luxury she's been living in. I believe—if you ask me—that she'd accept Arthur for his money—but that she doesn't care one brass farthing about him. Why should she?"
"Corry!"
"He's a fool, my dear, though a jolly one—and she's not been accustomed to living with fools. She's got wits as sharp as gimlets. Well, well"—he got up from the seat—"can't talk any more now. Now what is it exactly you want me to do? I repeat—I'm coming to see mother this afternoon."
"Don't let her guess anything. Don't tell her anything. She's a little worried about Arthur already. But we must stop the madness before she knows anything. Promise!"
"Very well. For the present—I'm mum."
"And talk to him!—tell him it'll ruin him!"