"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