"No, it was the right thing to do. And, John, if love is really the sacred, strong, immortal passion made out by all the poets and novelists, I cannot see, somehow, that putty ought to stand in its light. It ought to have a soul above putty."
"With all my heart," said John; "but you see in this case it hadn't."
"It would be an astonishingly disadvantageous thing for our family if she ran away and married him just now, when Valentine has been making himself so ridiculous. But there is no doubt we could bring it on again, and have it done if we chose," said Emily.
John looked at her with surprise.
"But then," she continued, "I should say that the man ought to be thought of as well as herself, and she might prove a thoroughly unsuitable, foolish wife, who would soon tire of him. SHE might be very miserable also. She would not have half the chance of happiness that an ordinary marriage gives. And, again, Santo Domingo is notoriously unhealthy. She might die, and if we had caused the marriage, we should feel that."
"Are you addressing this remarkable speech to yourself or to the chair?" said John, laughing.
"To the chair. But, if I am the meeting, don't propose as a resolution that this meeting is tête montée. John, you used to say of me before I married that I was troubled with intuitions."
"I remember that I did."
"You meant that I sometimes saw consequences very clearly, and felt that the only way to be at peace was to do the right thing, having taken some real trouble to find out what it was."
"I was not aware that I meant that. But proceed."