"Very likely. But he's a nonentity, and she at least is somebody. She 's a person, and a very clever one. Besides, she 's quite as good as the women that lots of them have married. I never heard that the British gentry were so unspotted."
"I know nothing about other cases," Mrs. Dolphin said, "I only know about this one. It so happens that I have been brought near to it, and that an appeal has been made to me. The English are very romantic—the most romantic people in the world, if that 's what you mean. They do the strangest things, from the force of passion—even those from whom you would least expect it. They marry their cooks—they marry their coachmen—and their romances always have the most miserable end. I 'm sure this one would be most wretched. How can you pretend that such a woman as that is to be trusted? What I see is a fine old race—one of the oldest and most honorable in England, people with every tradition of good conduct and high principle—and a dreadful, disreputable, vulgar little woman, who has n't an idea of what such things are, trying to force her way into it. I hate to see such things—I want to go to the rescue!"
"I don't—I don't care anything about the fine old race."
"Not from interested motives, of course, any more than I. But surely, on artistic grounds, on grounds of decency?"
"Mrs. Headway is n't indecent—you go too far.
