He dressed, at last, without having forgiven Mary, but with his good-humour towards himself restored by this proof that he could conquer his impulses and face misfortune in a philosophical spirit.
Soon after he had left the dining-room and settled himself comfortably in the study, his father returned. James had had an excellent and encouraging dinner, and he walked into the room with the brisk, bustling air of a man who is prepared at every point both with plans of action and explanations of them. He dropped into his particular chair and selected a cigar before he spoke. Then he glanced suspiciously at his son. "You've read your mother's letter, I take it," he began.
Trent replied that he had.
"Well, what do you think about it?"
Trent waited a moment before he answered. He could see that his father was uneasy—probably, then, there had been some sentimental dispute between his parents, and James was afraid that he would question him about it. He chose his words carefully. "I don't think my mother can quite realise what she is doing," he said.
James was greatly relieved. He nodded. "We must remember," he conceded, "that your mother hasn't been at all well lately, and the excitement of the wedding was probably too much for her!"
Trent agreed with him. They looked at one another, and then James turned to the ash-tray on the table by his side. There was not yet, however, any ash upon the tip of his cigar. "In a way, of course, my dear fellow," he said, "if this gets about you are the greatest sufferer."
Trent moved uncomfortably. He did not care to be reminded of his possible sufferings.
"Of course," his father was saying, "the position, if it becomes public property, makes me look very foolish. And it is extremely inconvenient to have the arrangements for the reconstruction hung up like this for want of your mother's consent. Only yesterday Mansfield and Sir Ezra Swiney agreed to be on the Board of the new Company. But in the long run that hits you as hard as it hits me, and in other ways your prospects are affected in a way that mine can't be." He leaned forward towards his son in a solicitous, fatherly manner. Trent's answering, "Yes," was stiff.
"Now just for the present," James went on, "I haven't got your mother's address. I've thought of a way by which we shall probably be able to get it in a day or two, say a week, but meanwhile there's no time to be lost. Your mother says that the bank will forward letters—I think on the whole, if you agree with me, that you'd better write at once and point out to her what she's doing. It is no good at all my writing or I would. But if she gets a letter from you explaining that this attitude of hers makes your marriage impossible, I think it's ten chances to one that she'll change her mind. She's fond of you, Trent, and when she's in her right mind she's a good mother. Besides, I expect she's feeling a bit scared now that the thing is done. If I were you I would write to-night."