And again she spoke of love and its invincible claims. She knew, she said, that her destiny was all in her own hands. If she lost Alwyn, she would have herself to thank, and it would be no use to put the blame on anybody else. It was this thought that sometimes made her feel desperate—and Alwyn too. Her parents could not of course really come between them. But then there is the money question. What they can do is just to cut her off without a penny; and really, seeing them behave like such pigs, one could believe them capable of doing it. Well, that is not fair. That is tommy rot. Suppose, after all, darling Alwyn should prove, not a bad actor, but hardly quite the tremendous one that she hopes he is; then, in that case, if they had a proper settlement—“the usual thing,” with parents as well-off as hers—she could take him off the stage. There were heaps of things she could do with him. Or if—as is far more probable—he makes a colossal success, money will be useful to set him up in management. You must look ahead; although, when you are madly in love, it is difficult to do so.
Miss Verinder, watching her thoughtfully, inquired if all these ideas had been prompted by Alwyn himself; and Mildred said no, he was a thousand miles above such considerations. He cared for nothing but her.
“Emmeline—as I say, you’re so awfully kind, and I do feel that I need a word of advice from someone older than myself.” At this point of the interview, it was curious to observe in Mildred that mixture of shrewdness and innocence which makes the typical modern girl seem at once so shallow and so baffling. She still playfully tormented the yellow gauntlet gloves; her eyes shone with childish candour; but there was something a little hard and business-like about the red lips that only a moment ago had been pouting petulantly. “My own inclination is to chuck over everything and do something desperate—you know, just to run off with him.”
“And marry him without your parents’ consent?”
“Or not marry him,” said Mildred, pulling at her gloves.
“Mildred!” said Miss Verinder, with a little cry. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what I mean,” said Mildred, “is that if they’re so damned old-fashioned, I don’t see why they shouldn’t stew in their own gravy—at least for a bit. Don’t you see? When they find I’m gone, in that way, if they’re really genuine in their feelings, it will be the regular Mid-Victorian business. The lost child—our daughter gone to perdition. Get her married now to the scoundrel that has lured her away. Make her an honest woman at any price—and, by Jove,” said Mildred, with a little ripple of innocent laughter, “I’ll jolly well make them pay the price. You know, no more than is right—the usual. I don’t mean blackmailing them or anything like that.”
“Mildred,” said Miss Verinder, with an unexpectedly firm tone of voice, “you and I must talk very seriously. And you must listen to me, dear, and not be impatient if what I urge—Ah, yes.”
Interrupted by the opening of the door, she checked herself.