"Eugene," his mother begins, severely, "it would have been much better for you to have stayed at home instead of wasting time and money as you have done this summer! The lucky card, as you call it, is only taking advantage of circumstances, and if you are going to let Floyd rule everything——"
"Well, what can I help? I had no money to bolster up affairs! Wilmarth was awfully blue. I didn't suppose anything could be made of the business, it was in such a muddle. And it couldn't now, mother, if Floyd had not sunk thousands; I don't see how he expects to get it back if we have anything."
"You threw away your chance!" She must say this, much as she loves him.
"But how could I know that she was pretty and lady-like, and would not mortify a man with her blunders? You do not suppose Floyd is really in love with her?"
"He had the wisdom to marry her," she responds, tartly, loath even now to hear her praised. "It gives him as much interest in the business as—well, more than you take."
"I should like to take his money and let him manage it all, since he has turned into such a splendid hand."
"And what would you do?"
"Why, live on my money." And the young man laughs lightly.
His mother feels at that instant as if her whole life was wasted, her affection despoiled. Eugene is careless, heartless, and yet she cannot in a moment change the habit of her motherhood and unlove him. She feels that he cares very little for their welfare, that for everything she must depend upon her eldest son, and the dependence is bitter. It should not be so, and yet she has been curiously jealous of Floyd since the day Aunt Marcia took him under her wing. He has so much, the rest will have such a trifle in comparison! Yet she feels sure it would slip through Eugene's fingers in no time and leave him a poor man again. But our inclination does not always follow our judgment.