"I cannot tell what sort of a house is in question in the present case," he said at length. "Perhaps it would not be a house like this."
"It ought to be a house like this."
"Isn't that an open question?"
"No! I am supposing that this man, your friend— Do I know him?"
"Do you not know everybody? But I have no permission to disclose his name."
"And I do not care for it, if he is going to make a mésalliance; a marriage beneath him. Such marriages turn out miserably. A woman not fit for society drags her husband out of it; a woman who has not refined tastes makes him gradually coarse; a woman with no connections keeps him from rising in life; if she is without education, she lets all the best part of him go to waste. In short, if he marries a nobody he becomes nobody too; parts with all his antecedents, and buries all his advantages. It's social ruin, Philip! it is just ruin."
"If this man only does not prefer the bliss of ruining himself!"—said her brother, rising and lightly stretching himself. Mrs. Burrage looked at him keenly and doubtfully.
"There is no greater mistake a man can make, than to marry beneath him," she went on.
"Yes, I think that too."
"It sinks him below his level; it is a weight round his neck; people afterwards, when he is mentioned say,—'He married such a one, you know;' and, 'Didn't he marry unfortunately?'—He is like depreciated coin. It kills him, Philip, politically."