All his convictions and prejudices were for life.
Harry's marriage had been a blow at the roots of all his conscious existence.

The Sandals had always married in their own county, Cumberland ladies of honorable pedigree, good daughters of the Church of England, good housewives, gentle and modest women, with more or less land and gold as their dowry.

Emily Beverley would have been precisely such a wife.

And in a moment, even while Harry was speaking, the squire had contrasted this Beatrice Lanza with her;--a foreigner,--an Italian, of all foreigners most objectionable; a subject of the Papal States; a member of the Romish Church; a woman of obscure birth, poor and portionless, and in ill-health; worse than all, a public woman, who had sung for money, and yet who had made Harry desert his home and country and profession for her.

And with this train of thought another ran parallel,--the shame and the wrong of it all.