Janet was very young about the world in general, but about anything that she had herself immediately met she was wise beyond her years.
She looked at him a moment, and then added: “But of course you must speak to him; it is the only thing to do.”
“And suppose,” said Tony, “that he refuses to give his consent?”
“Oh, of course,” Janet answered quietly, “then we must go away. I belong to you now. Father does not care for me in the least, and I don’t care for anyone in the world except you.”
Her calm acceptance of the idea that he himself had intended to submit to her very tentatively indeed frightened him. His responsibility seemed suddenly to increase ten-fold. Her suggesting an elopement so quietly, and even asserting it decisively as though there were no other possible alternative, showed that she didn’t in the least realise what it would all mean.
“And then, of course,” she went on quietly, “there are your people. What will they say?”
“That’s it, dear. That’s the dreadful difficulty. They mustn’t be told at all. The only person in the family who really matters in the least is my mother, and she matters everything. The governor and my brother care for me only as the family, and they have to see that that isn’t damaged.”
“And they’d think that I’d damage it?” said Janet.
“Yes,” said Tony, quietly, “they would. You see, dear, in our set in town the two things that matter in marriage are family and money. You’ve got to have either ancestors or coin. Your ancestors, I expect, are simply ripping, but they’ve got to be in Debrett, so that everyone can look them up when the engagement’s announced. It isn’t you they’d object to, but the idea.”
“I see; well?”