This was melodrama, which is bad art, and Mr. Bellamie frowned at it, and changed the subject by saying: "She has promised not to write to Aubrey again."
"While he has absolutely refused to give her up," his wife added. "Directly he comes back he will go to her."
"I can't think where Aubrey gets it from," Mr. Bellamie murmured. "The blood is so entirely unpolluted—but no, in the eighteenth century there was an unfortunate incident, Gretna Green and a chambermaid, or something of the kind. Young men were particularly reckless in that century. If it had not been for that incident Aubrey would never have run after this girl."
"I expect he would," she said.
"Then he is tainted. This terrible new democracy has tarred him with its brush," said her husband. "I suppose the end of it will be he will run off with this girl and bring her back married."
"There is not the slightest fear of that. The girl would not consent."
"Not consent!" cried Mr. Bellamie. "Not consent to marry into our family!"
"My dear, there is such a thing as nobility of character, though we don't see much of it, perhaps. I may be allowed to know something of my sex, and I am certain this girl would never marry Aubrey without our consent."
"Why, then, she's a good girl. I'll do all that I can for her if she is like that," said Mr. Bellamie cheerfully.
"What do you suppose she is doing now? Sobbing herself to death," said his wife.