"I suppose pedigree and land belong to a fine match," said Deronda, coldly.
"The best horse will win in spite of pedigree, my boy. You remember Napoleon's mot—Je suis ancêtre," said Sir Hugo, who habitually undervalued birth, as men after dining well often agree that the good of life is distributed with wonderful equality.
"I am not sure that I want to be an ancestor," said Deronda. "It doesn't seem to me the rarest sort of origination."
"You won't run after the pretty gambler, then?" said Sir Hugo, putting down his glasses.
"Decidedly not."
This answer was perfectly truthful; nevertheless it had passed through Deronda's mind that under other circumstances he should have given way to the interest this girl had raised in him, and tried to know more of her. But his history had given him a stronger bias in another direction. He felt himself in no sense free.
