Mildred had been saying that she felt desperate, and inclined to run away.
“And marry him without your parents’ consent?” Emmie had said dreamily.
“Or not marry him,” said Mildred.
“Mildred!” said Emmie, uttering that little cry. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what I mean 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 Mildred laughed.
Although still preserving an aspect of calmness, Miss Verinder was greatly agitated by this monstrous suggestion. Again for a moment or two it seemed as if all this was a dream—or as if the innocent modern girl was mocking her with a travesty of her own ancient experience. How could she really contemplate taking so disastrous a step? With no insurmountable obstacle between her and her lover, with no irremovable cause to prevent their being eventually united, how could the child speak thus of throwing away her good name and bringing disgrace on all her family? It was fantastic.
“You and I must talk very seriously,” said Miss Verinder, with firmness.
Louisa brought in tea, and throughout the meal Emmie was thinking. She watched little flashing palpitating Mildred with critical eyes but affectionate purpose. Mildred was only a child still, a child who must be prevented from doing idiotic things in a fit of childish impatience.