"What they'll want to hear about is the marriage. Any irregularity in her position—!" He waved his hands expressively.
Graciousness and loyalty, charities continued and institutes built—excellent in their way, but no real use if there were any irregularity in her position! Cartmell was right—and I am far from wishing to imply that Catsford was wrong, or that its pulse beat otherwise than the pulse of a healthy locality should. The rules must be kept—at any rate, homage must be paid to them. Jenny herself never denied the obligation, whether it were to be regarded as merely social or as something more. It is no business of mine to question it on her behalf—and I feel no call to do it on my own account.
Cartmell's words flung a doubt. Was there much positive reason for that doubt yet? People may get married without advertising the fact. Even although they have departed by the same train for the same place, they may behave with propriety pending arrangements for a wedding. Jenny had great possessions; she was not to be married out of hand, like a beggar-girl. Settlements clamored to be made, lawyers to be consulted. Cartmell cut across these soothing reflections of mine.
"It's a funny thing that I've had no instructions about settlements. She'd surely never marry him without settlements?"
I cut my reflections adrift, it was the only line left open to me. "How could you expect a girl to think about them in such circumstances?"
"I should expect Jenny Driver to," he said.
"She'd be thinking of nothing except the romance of it."
"Is that the impression you get from her letter?"
"There are always two sides to her mind," I urged.
"One's in that letter," he said, pointing to it. "What's the other doing, Austin?"