“I see this immense objection,” answered Obenreizer, “that my niece and you are not on a social equality together.  My niece is the daughter of a poor peasant; and you are the son of a gentleman.  You do us an honour,” he added, lowering himself again gradually to his customary polite level, “which deserves, and has, our most grateful acknowledgments.  But the inequality is too glaring; the sacrifice is too great.  You English are a proud people, Mr. Vendale.  I have observed enough of this country to see that such a marriage as you propose would be a scandal here.  Not a hand would be held out to your peasant-wife; and all your best friends would desert you.”

“One moment,” said Vendale, interposing on his side.  “I may claim, without any great arrogance, to know more of my country people in general, and of my own friends in particular, than you do.  In the estimation of everybody whose opinion is worth having, my wife herself would be the one sufficient justification of my marriage.  If I did not feel certain—­observe, I say certain—­that I am offering her a position which she can accept without so much as the shadow of a humiliation—­I would never (cost me what it might) have asked her to be my wife.  Is there any other obstacle that you see?  Have you any personal objection to me?”

Obenreizer spread out both his hands in courteous protest.  “Personal objection!” he exclaimed.  “Dear sir, the bare question is painful to me.”

“We are both men of business,” pursued Vendale, “and you naturally expect me to satisfy you that I have the means of supporting a wife.  I can explain my pecuniary position in two words.  I inherit from my parents a fortune of twenty thousand pounds.  In half of that sum I have only a life-interest, to which, if I die, leaving a widow, my widow succeeds.  If I die, leaving children, the money itself is divided among them, as they come of age.  The other half of my fortune is at my own disposal, and is invested in the wine-business.  I see my way to greatly improving that business.  As it stands at present, I cannot state my return from my capital embarked at more than twelve hundred a year.  Add the yearly value of my life-interest—­and the total reaches a present annual income of fifteen hundred pounds.  I have the fairest prospect of soon making it more.  In the meantime, do you object to me on pecuniary grounds?”

Driven back to his last entrenchment, Obenreizer rose, and took a turn backwards and forwards in the room.  For the moment, he was plainly at a loss what to say or do next.

“Before I answer that last question,” he said, after a little close consideration with himself, “I beg leave to revert for a moment to Miss Marguerite.  You said something just now which seemed to imply that she returns the sentiment with which you are pleased to regard her?”

“I have the inestimable happiness,” said Vendale, “of knowing that she loves me.”