She was returning to her old feeling of timidity and aversion when she pulled herself up. She was not, she told herself, looking at the thing squarely; she was arguing as if James had advanced his plan out of sheer wantonness. He had started, and she must start, too, from the fact of her narrowing life. She mustn't pretend that the alternative to agreement was her old round of interests and activities. It was something less and less important than that. Soon she would be an old woman whose empty house waited for the children to open its doors. James was right, she couldn't condemn herself to that. And if she went forward, if she saved her life from this dreariness, then, James's plan or another, she must take a risk.
She tried now to reassure herself. She knew that she was not a fool; and these terrifying waitresses were, after all, human beings like other people. Their needs were ordinary human needs for health and happiness. It would probably amuse them, poor things, if they knew that their employer's wife was frightened of them!
These painstaking reflections were suddenly scattered. Mrs. Heyham's conscience, always partial to conviction of sin, had flashed upon her a charge of unkindness to James. James's kindness and forethought, his sympathy for her loneliness, the trouble he had taken, the trouble he was prepared to take over her stumblings in the future, all were arrayed against the wife who had never thanked him or shown that she recognised them. It was perfectly true, he had been a dear about it, and she had thought of nobody but herself!
Mary could not have slept with this upon her mind. Two minutes later James, looking up from an article on the latest naval scare, saw her crossing the floor of his study.
"James," she said softly, bending over him, "you must have been thinking what a selfish creature I am! I never thanked you at all, and it was so kind of you, my dear!"
James made her sit on the arm of his chair. "The absurd old lady!" he scolded. "A moment ago she was worrying because she wasn't clever enough, and now, Heavens above us, she's selfish! She will positively be smothered with gratitude from all sorts of poor creatures presently, and then will be time enough to hand on a little of it to me. Now, are there any more deadly sins to be explained away?"
Mary bent over him until her cheek touched his head. "I want you to promise," she said a little shyly, "promise that however silly I am you won't think the worse of me for it. Please!"
James laughed. "Solemnly, on my honour, you funny old darling! May I die in my shoes if I doubt that whatever you do is the most admirable thing in the world! There, will that suit you?"
Mary kissed him, slipped from his arm and went to the door. "Sometimes," she told him, looking round before her final disappearance, "I'm rather fond of you, James!" The door shut.
James found his place in the article with a smiling face. Germany or no Germany, he felt that this is not a bad world. He liked to see Mary scrupulous in matters of emotion; sometimes it was a little tiresome, but it gave him a feeling that she was dependable. "That's the best of her," he told himself, "she likes to think things out for herself, but she always sees one's point of view in the end." He plunged into statistics. He did not believe in this invasion, but to read of it reminded him that he was doing his duty. He had said that if any of his men cared to join the Territorials he would arrange about their holidays. It was inconvenient, of course, having them all go together, but he had done it. In this way, as he had pointed out, even the senior men, whose holidays now had to wait, contributed their little sacrifice to England's greatness. We cannot all die for our country, but dear me, that's no reason for not doing something!