"Your mother has unearthed a pretty condition of affairs at C. L." James had his back to the fireplace and his chin in the air.
Trent was attentive. "Yes?"
"The manager—name of Black—there engaged a girl called Wilson, who seems to have had no references but a bedridden mother without means, and subsequently the girl tried to steal money out of the cash-box, says she got herself tangled up with a man, pawned a bracelet he gave her, or she stole from him, and wanted the money to redeem it because he threatened to prosecute her. The girl wrote to your mother, who went down to see her, and found her living in one room with an old woman and almost starving. I suppose your mother is seeing after her now, but the point is, what are we to do about Black?"
Trent did not understand why he had been brought into the matter. It was not the sort of thing that would normally have needed any discussion. "Why do you ask me?" he said.
"I told your mother I would."
That did not make things any clearer.
"My mother has some definite idea as to what should be done?"
"Your mother does not want anything done."
"About Black?"
James did not answer for a minute. Even if Mary had not been convinced by his arguments she might have kept up a decent pretence of agreement—she need not have sent him to Trent to explain that his father and mother had fallen out. James couldn't imagine now why he had been such an idiot as to undertake this unpleasant task. Mary was not, as a rule, so careless of his dignity.