Brand jumped up, and took a rapid turn or two up and down the room.

“I won’t listen to you, Evelyn.  You don’t know anything about money-matters.  You care for nothing but ideas.  Now, I come of a commercial stock, and I want to know what guarantee I have that this money, if I were to give it up, would be properly applied.  Lind’s assurances are all very well—­”

“Oh yes, of course; you have got back to Lind,” said Lord Evelyn, waking up from his reveries.  “Do you know, my dear fellow, that your distrust of Lind is rapidly developing into a sharp and profound hatred?”

“I take men as I find them.  Perhaps you can explain to me how Lind should care so little for the future of his daughter as to propose—­with the possibility of our marrying—­that she should be left penniless?”

“I can explain it to myself, but not to you; you are too thorough an Englishman.”

“Are you a foreigner?”

“I try to understand those who are not English.  Now, an Englishman’s theory is that he himself, and his wife and children—­his domestic circle, in fact—­are the centre of creation; and that the fate of empires, as he finds that going one way or the other in the telegrams of the morning paper, is a very small matter compared with the necessity of Tom’s going to Eton, or Dick’s marrying and settling down as the bailiff of the Worcestershire farm.  That is all very well; but other people may be of a different habit of mind.  Lind’s heart and soul are in his present work; he would sacrifice himself, his daughter, you, or anybody else to it, and consider himself amply justified.  He does not care about money, or horses, or the luxury of a big establishment; I suppose he has had to live on simple fare many a time, whether he liked it or not, and can put up with whatever happens.  If you imagine that you may be cheated by a portion of your money—­supposing you were to adopt his proposal—­going into his pocket as commission, you do him a wrong.”

“No, I don’t think that,” Brand said, rather unwillingly.  “I don’t take him to be a common and vulgar swindler.  And I can very well believe that he does not care very much for money or luxury or that kind of thing, so far as he himself is concerned.  Still, you would think that the ordinary instinct of a father would prevent his doing an injury to the future of his daughter—­”

“Would he consider it an injury.  Would she?"’

“Well,” Brand said, “she is very enthusiastic, and noble, and generous, and does not know what dependence or poverty means.  But he is a man of the world, and you would think he would look after his own kith and kin.”

“Yes, that is a wholesome conservative English sentiment, but it does not rule the actions of everybody.”

“But common sense—­”

“Oh, bother common sense!  Common-sense is only a grocer that hasn’t got an idea beyond ham-and-eggs.”

“Well, if I am only a grocer,” Brand said, quite submissively, “don’t you think the grocer, if he were asked to pay off the National Debt, ought to say, ’Gentlemen, that is a praiseworthy object; but in the meantime wouldn’t it be advisable for me to make sure that my wife mayn’t have to go on the parish?”