Anthony's hand pressed even more heavily. "Twelve shillings is a good wage for women, Mrs. Heyham," he said. "I don't know what the average is since the Trade Boards, but it's far below that."
Rosemary understood that she was behaving badly. "I don't suggest that father could pay more than he does, mother darling, I haven't the least idea of what he can afford. I don't suppose he can—that's the point of a competitive system!"
Mary looked at them, young things with whom lay so much of her happiness, and knew that they were trying to console her. She saw, too, that she must stop the discussion at once. Hadn't they already dragged into it him whose very existence made all discussion wrong? "At any rate," she said, and she smiled, "you can lend me some books. Perhaps when I've read them you won't feel that I'm so ignorant!"
Rosemary jumped up and went to the bookcase where she kept the works that had inspired her own social wisdom. She pulled out a row of them, easy ones, free from technical allusions, and brought them to her mother, who took the "These aren't difficult" without wincing. As she went towards the door Rosemary jumped up and kissed her. "Mother darling," she began, and then she did not know what to say. It was her duty, the duty of every decent human being, to tell another human being the truth! But Mary was content with the affectionate gesture and went away happier.
When the door was shut Anthony was able to show his disapprobation. "Don't be detestable, Rosemary," he said, "you hurt the poor old lady! Lend her books if she asks for them, but it's not your business to tell her those particular things!"
"But, Anthony—I'm sorry if I was too hard—I was excited I'm afraid—but isn't it everybody's business if she wants to know and can't see them for herself?"
"Somebody's perhaps, not yours! Look here, Rosemary, you read everything, and you've found out things in the last few years that it hurt you to know, but aren't you glad you found them out for yourself? Wouldn't you have hated your mother to tell you?"
Rosemary looked down. "But if I hadn't found out for myself I should have felt that she ought to tell me!"
"That's not the point—she probably saw that you were finding out. What I mean is, wouldn't you rather she arranged for you to know than that she told you, intimately, herself?"
Rosemary was honest. "Very much, very much rather! I couldn't bear to talk to her about—that sort of thing. I can't even talk to her honestly about you——"