a young man with heroic
attributes. And yet the young member for Bobsborough was by no means
deficient in fine qualities, and perhaps was quite as capable of
heroism as the majority of barristers and members of Parliament among
whom he consorted, and who were to him--the world. A man born to
great wealth may,--without injury to himself or friends,--do pretty
nearly what he likes in regard to marriage, always presuming that the
wife he selects be of his own rank. He need not marry for money, nor
need he abstain from marriage because he can't support a wife without
money. And the very poor man, who has no pretension to rank or
standing, other than that which honesty may give him, can do the
same. His wife's fortune will consist in the labour of her hands, and
in her ability to assist him in his home. But between these there
is a middle class of men, who, by reason of their education, are
peculiarly susceptible to the charms of womanhood, but who literally
cannot marry for love, because their earnings will do no more
than support themselves. As to this special young man, it must be
confessed that his earnings should have done much more than that; but
not the less did he find himself in a position in which marriage with
a penniless girl seemed to threaten him and her with ruin. All his
friends told Frank Greystock that he would be ruined were he to marry
Lucy Morris;--and his friends were people supposed to be very good
and wise. The dean, and the dean's wife, his father and mother,
were very clear that it would be so. Old Lady Linlithgow had spoken
of such a marriage as quite out of the question. The Bishop of
Bobsborough, when it was mentioned in his hearing, had declared that
such a marriage would be a thousand pities. And even dear old Lady
Fawn, though she wished it for Lucy's sake, had many times prophesied
that such a thing was quite impossible. When the rumour of the
marriage reached Lady Glencora, Lady Glencora told her friend, Madame
Max Goesler, that that young man was going to blow his brains out.
To her thinking, the two actions were equivalent. It is only when we
read of such men that we feel that truth to his sweetheart is the
first duty of man. I am afraid that it is not the advice which we
give to our sons.

But it was the advice which Frank Greystock had most persistently
given to himself since he had first known Lucy Morris. Doubtless he
had vacillated, but, on the balance of his convictions as to his o