Perhaps Mrs. Bellamie would not have been haunted if she had never stolen those coals. Adversity breeds charity, and tenderness is the daughter of Dame Want. Love does not fly out of the window when poverty comes in. Only the imp who masquerades as the true god does that. The son of Venus gets between husband and wife and hugs them tighter to warm himself. "I am a descendant of Richard Bellamie," said her husband, getting his crest up like a proud cockatoo, "father of Alice, _quasi bella et amabilis_, who was mother of Bishop Jewel of famous memory. You, my dear, are a daughter of the Courtenays, _atavis editi re gibus_, and royalty itself can boast of blood no better. Let the whole country become Socialist, the Bellamies and Courtenays will stand aloof." Mr. Bellamie smiled to himself. There was a classical purity about his utterance which stimulated his system like a glass of rare wine. "I know," said the lady. "I am referring to my feelings, nothing else." She was still thinking of the coals, and it seemed to her that a certain portion of her knee began to throb. "When it comes to affairs of the heart, even the Bellamies and Courtenays are Socialists," she said archly. Mr. Bellamie did not reply directly to that. He loved his wife, and yet he carried her off, when the days of coal-stealing had been accomplished, as much for her name as anything else. "My dear, let me understand you," he said. "Do you want Aubrey to marry this nameless girl?" "I don't know myself what I want," came the answer. "I only know it is horrible to think of the poor brave child living alone and unprotected on the moor. Suppose one of those rough men broke into her cottage?" 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."