A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

Trent did not answer. He did not mind issuing his commands to women, but whining to them and badgering them was another matter. It did not fulfil Trent's idea of decency. But he knew that this obscure feeling which he could not name even to himself was the last thing in the world to appeal to his father.

"Well," James urged him, in tones of growing impatience, "I should really like to know why you don't think my scheme would be very much good."

Trent's own judicial calm gave way before this insistence. All right then, his father must have it! "I don't pretend to understand the ins and outs of the affair," he said slowly; "you haven't told me, and I don't ask any questions, but it does seem dear to me that the issue lies between my mother and you. So far as it affects me as a partner, I am willing that my mother should have time to make such a serious decision, otherwise I prefer, if you don't mind, to keep out of it as far as I can; certainly I would rather not involve other people."

James, since his dinner and the birth of his ingenious plan, had forgotten the general aspect of the affair and concentrated his mind on the task of persuading Trent. At this defiance, however, the thought of his plight and his grievances broke through the surface of his immediate intentions. This was what Mary had exposed him to—this sort of snub from his son! James cared more for Trent than he let himself admit, and the young man's attitude wounded his vanity. Trent would prefer to keep himself out of his father's and mother's affairs!

"Certainly you may keep out, my dear boy," he began disagreeably, while he felt his way towards something really scathing. "Whether you'll save your skin by keeping out is another matter. You will agree," he added in default of a better phrase, "that if you don't think your own interests are worth looking after there can be no earthly reason why I should bother about them!"

Trent broke in on him, "Oh, certainly." The last thing he wanted was that James should make emotional capital out of his unfortunate affections.

For some time they both sat there covering their silence by activity in attending to their tobacco. James was feeling sore and disappointed. He had expected Trent in this matter at least to see eye to eye with him. He had looked to Trent for comfort and moral support—two things which he had become accustomed to finding at home in seasons of stress and confusion. He could not understand now why Trent was hostile. It wasn't that Trent approved of his mother's action—Trent, the young puppy, took a far more high and mighty line about women than James had ever done. His mind moved wearily amid the tangle of Trent's possible motives. The boy might be acting from laziness, priggishness, cowardice, mere pig-headedness. In any case he was a damned young fool who didn't care a rap for his father. James leaned heavily back in his chair and cursed the man who had sold him his cigars.

Trent, too, was puzzled and upset. He had hoped to impress his father with his courage and common-sense, he had hoped to cheer him up. Actually, on the contrary, they had got no nearer to friendly sympathy than ill-tempered bickering. "Am I in the wrong?" he asked himself. "Ought I to write the letter?" Every instinct told him that he was right. His mother was wrong to go away as she had gone, but if they were to plead with her at all it must be by reasoning with her, by pointing out her duty, not by working on her feelings. Trent didn't want her return made a favour to him that he would have to carry for the rest of his life. Nor was he going to drag Lady Hester, even by remote allusions, into such an affair. He was right, and his motives in refusing his father were of the noblest, but, even so, things were unsatisfactory. He did not want to fence with his father, using his brains to wound the old man instead of to encourage him. It occurred to Trent, dimly and for an instant, that in all probability the old man did not want to wound him either. What was it then that irritated them and made them quarrel?

At this moment the door opened and the parlour-maid announced Mr. Julius Trent.

Julius came in with a smiling face. He had come to see Mary eventually, since the evening was a time when she might be found alone in her drawing-room, but as his purpose was to borrow money—Mary had been very kind the day before, and an old creditor whom Julius had forgotten had sent in his bill that morning—he thought it more politic to say a few cheerful words to her husband first.