This was his way of viewing marriage; it was on the
woman's side a point of ambition, a gratification of vanity; on the
man a dignified condescension. Arnold conceived himself a brilliant
match for any girl below the titled aristocracy; he had grown so
accustomed to magnify his place, to regard himself as one of the
pillars of the Empire, that he attributed the same estimate to all
who knew him. Of personal vanity he had little; purely personal
characteristics did not enter, he imagined, into a man's prospects
of matrimony. Certain women openly flattered him, and these he
despised. His sense of fitness demanded a woman intelligent enough
to appreciate what he had to offer, and sufficiently well-bred to
conceal her emotions when he approached her. These conditions Miss
Derwent fulfilled. Personally she would do him credit (a wife, of
course, must he presentable, though in the husband appearance did
not matter), and her obvious social qualities would be useful. Yet
he had had no serious thought of proposing to her. For one thing,
she was not rich enough.
The change began when he observed the impression made by her upon
Trafford Romaine. This was startling. Romaine, the administrator of
world-wide repute, the man who had but to choose among Great
Britain's brilliant daughters (or so his worshippers believed), no
sooner looked upon Irene Derwent than he betrayed his subjugation.
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