“I have spoken to my niece,” he began.  “I find, Mr. Vendale, that even your influence has not entirely blinded her to the social objections to your proposal.”

“May I ask,” returned Vendale, “if that is the only result of your interview with Miss Obenreizer?”

A momentary flash leapt out through the Obenreizer film.

“You are master of the situation,” he answered, in a tone of sardonic submission.  “If you insist on my admitting it, I do admit it in those words.  My niece’s will and mine used to be one, Mr. Vendale.  You have come between us, and her will is now yours.  In my country, we know when we are beaten, and we submit with our best grace.  I submit, with my best grace, on certain conditions.  Let us revert to the statement of your pecuniary position.  I have an objection to you, my dear sir—­a most amazing, a most audacious objection, from a man in my position to a man in yours.”

“What is it?”

“You have honoured me by making a proposal for my niece’s hand.  For the present (with best thanks and respects), I beg to decline it.”

“Why?”

“Because you are not rich enough.”

The objection, as the speaker had foreseen, took Vendale completely by surprise.  For the moment he was speechless.

“Your income is fifteen hundred a year,” pursued Obenreizer.  “In my miserable country I should fall on my knees before your income, and say, ‘What a princely fortune!’ In wealthy England, I sit as I am, and say, ’A modest independence, dear sir; nothing more.  Enough, perhaps, for a wife in your own rank of life who has no social prejudices to conquer.  Not more than half enough for a wife who is a meanly born foreigner, and who has all your social prejudices against her.’  Sir! if my niece is ever to marry you, she will have what you call uphill work of it in taking her place at starting.  Yes, yes; this is not your view, but it remains, immovably remains, my view for all that.  For my niece’s sake, I claim that this uphill work shall be made as smooth as possible.  Whatever material advantages she can have to help her, ought, in common justice, to be hers.  Now, tell me, Mr. Vendale, on your fifteen hundred a year can your wife have a house in a fashionable quarter, a footman to open her door, a butler to wait at her table, and a carriage and horses to drive about in?  I see the answer in your face—­your face says, No.  Very good.  Tell me one more thing, and I have done.  Take the mass of your educated, accomplished, and lovely country-women, is it, or is it not, the fact that a lady who has a house in a fashionable quarter, a footman to open her door, a butler to wait at her table, and a carriage and horses to drive about in, is a lady who has gained four steps, in female estimation, at starting?  Yes? or No?”

“Come to the point,” said Vendale.  “You view this question as a question of terms.  What are your terms?”