"But besides your relatives I must have other people
here. Your friends have wives and sisters, haven't they?"
"Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them."
"Not know your friends' people?"
"Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their
living I may see them--but not otherwise. Except--" He
stopped. The chief exception was a young lady, to whom he
had once been introduced for matrimonial purposes. But the
dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintance terminated.
"How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your
friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people."
He looked at her rather hopelessly.
"Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?"
The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the
officers who assisted him.
"Well, are they married?"
"Yes."
"There we are. Do you know them?"
"Yes--in a way."
"I see," she exclaimed angrily. "They look down on you,
do they, poor boy? Wait!" He assented. "Wait! I'll soon
stop that. Now, who else is there?"
"The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the
Collegiate Church."
"Married?"
"The canons--" he began with twinkling eyes.
"Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they
would be the centre of everything. But why shouldn't I know
them? Would it make it easier if I called all round? Isn't
that your foreign way?"
He did not think it would make it easier.
"But I must know some one! Who were the men you were
talking to this afternoon?"
Low-class men.
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