He had devoted much thought to the question of marriage.  On the one hand he wanted money; for in politics, with the people so stupid and so fickle, a man without an independence, at least, would surely find himself, sooner or later, in a position where he must choose between retiring and submitting himself to some powerful interest—­either a complete sale, or a mortgage hardly less galling to pride, no less degrading to self-respect.  On the other hand he wanted a home—­a wife like his mother, domestic, attentive, looking out for his comfort and his health, herself taking care of the children.  And he had arrived at a compromise.  He would marry a girl out West somewhere, a girl of some small town, brought up somewhat as he had been brought up, not shocked by what Margaret Severance would regard as his vulgarities—­a woman with whom he felt equal and at ease.  He would select such a woman, provided, in addition, with some fortune—­several hundred thousands, at least, enough to make him independent.  Such had been his plan.  But now that he had seen Margaret, had come to appreciate her through studying her as a possible wife for his unattached friend Arkwright, now that he had discovered her secret, her love for him—­how could he fit her into his career?  Was it possible?  Was it wise?

“The best is none too good for me,” said he to himself swaggeringly.  No doubt about it—­no, indeed, not the slightest.  But—­well, everybody wouldn’t realize this, as yet.  And it must be admitted that those mere foppish, inane nothings did produce a seeming of difference.  Indeed, it must even be admitted that the way Margaret had been brought up would make it hard for her, with her sensitive, delicate nerves, to bear with him if she really knew him.  A hot wave passed over his body at the thought.  “How ashamed I’d be to have her see my wardrobe.  I really must brace up in the matter of shirts, and in the quality of underclothes and socks.”  No, she probably would be shocked into aversion if she really knew him—­she, who had been surrounded by servants in livery all her life; who had always had a maid to dress her, to arrange a delicious bath for her every morning and every evening, to lay out, from a vast and thrilling store of delicate clothing, the fresh, clean, fine, amazingly costly garments that were to have the honor and the pleasure of draping that aristocratic body of hers.  “Why, her maid,” thought he, “is of about the same appearance and education as my aunts.  Old Williams is a far more cultured person than my uncles or brothers-in-law.”  Of course, Selina and Williams were menials, while his male kin were men and his female relatives women, “and all of them miles ahead of anything in this gang when it comes to the real thing—­character.”  Still, so far as appearances went—­“I’m getting to be a damned, cheap snob!” cried he aloud.  “To hell with the whole crowd!  I want nothing to do with them!”

But Margaret, in her beautiful garments, diffusing perfume just as her look and manner diffused the aroma of gentle breeding—­The image of her was most insidiously alluring; he could not banish it.  “And, damn it all, isn’t she just a human being?  What’s become of my common-sense that I treat these foolish trifles as if they were important?”