A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

Here was more unfairness! "I didn't say corrupt. I said upset. Anything they are not accustomed to upsets them. Look at the trouble we had over stopping their tips, though they must have seen that it's a far better plan to have a regular bonus! What I feel is that the person at the back of this is Rosemary, and frankly I'm not prepared to be responsible for Rosemary's ideas."

Rosemary's ideas received no defence from her father. He had thought of a new weapon. "My dear fellow," he retorted, "suppose we look at this from your mother's point of view for a moment. It may not occur to her that her influence is likely to be disastrous and upsetting. She may even feel that she has some rights in the matter, seeing that half the business is hers! You forget that it was your mother's money that bought out old Clarkson!"

Trent had forgotten it, indeed it was not often remembered by anyone but Mary's unsatisfactory brother. When Trent heard it mentioned now he knew that he had lost; money is money, even when it belongs to a woman. But he was too much annoyed to admit defeat. "I wasn't disputing my mother's rights, sir; if it were even her own wish it would be different. But, as I understand it, she is to be persuaded into a rôle of interference that is the last thing she would have thought of for herself!"

His father laughed. "In fact there's a general conspiracy in the family against the dignity and peace of mind of Trent Heyham, Esq.!"

Trent, he flattered himself, could be a gentleman even in an argument. Such cheap sneers were unworthy of his father. They were not argument. He did not answer them.

James, too, felt that almost enough had been said. Trent hadn't a chance, and there was no need to press the boy.

"Look here," he said, quite agreeably, "I'm not prepared to discuss your mother with you. You can take it from me that nobody is going to persuade her against her wishes"—Trent grunted, he knew Rosemary's powers—"and I'm not going to discuss the whole position of women with you either, though I don't mind telling you that you know nothing about it. But before we close the subject you must understand that I really can't undertake to explain your views to your mother. They're beyond me. But of course I shall be delighted if you can make her see why she is going to do all this harm. Only you'll have to put it off until to-morrow because I mean to speak to her myself first." Victory had made him energetic, and he felt this was a good moment for explaining the matter to Mary. He stood up, paused for a minute as if he were waiting for Trent's answer, and then walked briskly, almost gaily, out of the room. He knew that he had left Trent nursing a grievance. He knew that Trent did not mean to speak to his mother, and that he felt insulted by the accusation. He did not care whether the poor young man felt insulted or not. For the moment Trent was merely a defeated adversary.

Moreover he was a nuisance. Mr. Heyham had never felt certain that Mary would take to the plan, and now it had become necessary that she should receive it with enthusiasm. He was not going to overpersuade her, he had said so, and, besides, it is of no use forcing a person to do a thing for her own amusement. But Trent had certainly made it difficult for him to give way on the matter. Trent was a self-righteous young fool. Damn him!

Mary was alone in the drawing-room, for Rosemary had gone to a theatre with Anthony. James became more impressed by the beneficence of his scheme when he noticed that Mary was doing nothing. But she took up some knitting and pretended to be busy directly she saw him—brave little woman!

He hovered over her rather awkwardly for a moment. Twenty years ago, if he had wanted to persuade her, he would have sat down on the footstool at her feet, and some unreasonable impulse was urging him now that the footstool would be appropriate. He made no conscious decision, habit settled him in his usual chair, but for once he went doubtfully. He remembered the time when their house had seemed to him merely an opportunity for being alone with Mary, when his heart had beat with a little feeling of triumph as he closed the street door. Then the children had come, with their right to interrupt, to burst joyfully into rooms, and now that the children were going he had discovered a sense of what was due to the servants. It would be ridiculous now to jump up because the moment had come for some of the servants' confounded fidgetings. He told himself that there was nothing to regret. He and Mary were beyond the old constant need of these little symbols and affirmations. It would be absurd if they weren't, after twenty-six years together. Such things had to give way to the other pressures and interests of life, but that didn't mean that love had given way!