Then came efforts to stave off ruin and prevent
exposure; struggles on all our parts, and sacrifices, that' (here Mr.
Essex Temple began to hesitate)--'that needn't be talked of; but they
are of no more use than such sacrifices ever are. Pump and his wife are
abroad--I don't like to ask where; Polly has the three children, and Mr.
Serjeant Shirker has formally written to break off an engagement, on the
conclusion of which Miss Temple must herself have speculated, when she
alienated the greater part of her fortune.
'And here's your famous theory of poor marriages!' Essex Temple cries,
concluding the above history. 'How do you know that I don't want to
marry myself? How do you dare sneer at my poor sister? What are we
but martyrs of the reckless marriage system which Mr. Snob, forsooth,
chooses to advocate?' And he thought he had the better of the argument,
which, strange to say, is not my opinion.
But for the infernal Snob-worship, might not every one of these people
be happy? If poor Polly's happiness lay in linking her tender arms round
such a heartless prig as the sneak who has deceived her, she might have
been happy now--as happy as Raymond Raymond in the ballad, with the
stone statue by his side. She is wretched because Mr. Serjeant Shirker
worships money and ambition, and is a Snob and a coward.
If the unfortunate Pump Temple and his giddy hussy of a wife have ruined
themselves, and dragged down others into their calamity, it is because
they loved rank, and horses, and plate, and carriages, and COURT GUIDES,
and millinery, and would sacrifice all to attain those objects.
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