ed into a marriage that would bring the most money into the
hands of the designing and, to him, clearly unnatural parent.

He knew nothing of the ante-nuptial settlement, nor was he aware of the
old man's quixotic design in coming between Braden and the girl he loved.
To Simmy it was nothing short of brigandage, a sort of moral outlawry. Old
Templeton Thorpe deserved a coat of tar and feathers, and there was no
word for the punishment that ought to be meted out to Mrs. Tresslyn. He
tried to think of what ought to be done to her, and, getting as far as
boiling oil, gave up in despair, for even that was too much like
compassion.

Money! The whole beastly business was money! He thought of his own
unestimated wealth. Nothing but money,--horrible, insensate, devastating
money! He shuddered as he thought of what his money was likely to bring to
him in the end: a loveless wife; avarice in place of respect; misery
instead of joy; destruction! How was he ever to know whether a girl was
marrying him for himself or for the right to lay hands upon the money his
father had left to him when he died? How can any rich man know what he is
getting into when he permits a girl to come into his home? To burglarise
it with the sanction of State and Church, perhaps, and to escape with the
connivance of both after she's got all she wants. That's where the poor
man has an advantage over the unprotected rich: he is never confronted by
a problem like this. He doesn't have to stop and wonder why the woman
marries him. He knows it's love, or stupidity, or morality, but it is
never duplicity.

Before he got through with it, Simmy had worked himself into a state of
desperation. Regarding himself with unprejudiced eyes he saw that he was
not the sort of man a girl would choose for a husband unless he had
something besides a happy, loving disposition to offer. She would marry
him for his money, of course; certainly he would be the last to suspect
her of marrying him for his beauty. He had never thought of it in this
light before, and he was wet with the sweat of anguish. He could never be
sure! He could love a woman with all his heart and soul, and still never
be sure of her! Were all the girls he had loved in his college days--But
here he stopped. It was too terrible to even contemplate, this unmerited
popularity of his! If only one of them had been honest enough to make fun
of his ears, or to snicker when he became impassioned, or to smile
contempt