A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

The clear discernment of a duty was always a relief to Mrs. Heyham, a stimulus to which she could respond mechanically. She now turned her mind, after an effort, to considering the matter from Rosemary's point of view, to any thoughts, indeed, that would keep her mind from its ungenerous fretting. And Rosemary's interview with her father, she supposed, was now taking place. It would not be terrible. James's children, like everyone else, found him a sympathetic and delightful man. But Trent was another matter. It was a pity that neither his sisters nor she could really get on with Trent. She had never felt for him the passionate love a mother sometimes feels for her only son. She had hoped to, she had tried to, but Trent had baffled her. It was wrong of her, for poor Trent was loyal and affectionate. It was a pity, perhaps, that they had sent him to Harrow, where his family could not follow him. That was perhaps why they could not follow now his perfectly correct and manly view of life. She was struggling with a sense of fatigue and incoherence among these familiar reflections when the door opened to admit her husband.

James seldom forgot to kiss his wife when he found her alone, not only because he was a methodical man, but because he seldom forgot that he was fond of her. To-day he kept his arm around her shoulders and looked down at her tenderly. "Poor little mother," he said, "to have nobody left but me!"

She let him draw her head against his shoulder where it was easier to cry. He used to call her "little mother" long ago, when the children were babies and belonged to her.

After a little he thought that she had cried enough and ought to be cheered up now; he made her sit in a comfortable chair while he went over to the fireplace.

"Of course Rosemary is much too young for this sort of thing," he said, believing that the only permanent cheering up is obtained by facing facts, "but we must admit that she's done very well for herself, better than poor Laura."

This was the first time anybody had thought of calling Laura "poor," and Mrs. Heyham looked up for explanations.

"Hastings," her husband went on, "is a thoroughly decent fellow, he's a cut above most of the young men the children have in the house. And since Laura isn't here, I don't mind saying that Moorhouse is a bit of a fool. I fancy he came the man of the world over Laura!"

"He makes her very happy,"—Mrs. Heyham's voice was a little doubtful—"and he's an excellent man of business."

"It's quite possible she'll soon have as many cares as you, my dear, but, as you know, I've always declared that since my girls would have enough to live on anyhow I did not mean to make money the most important thing. I don't object to it, of course, but I don't see why I should let it sway my judgment. Laura's man is not good enough for her, and I shall be disappointed if Hastings doesn't turn out a son-in-law to be proud of." He smiled at Mary, and stroked his trim little pointed beard.

Mrs. Heyham did not answer, but she realised, as she looked up, how proud she was of James. He was a hard-working business man himself, and after thirty years of it he might have been forgiven if he had been a little obsessed by ordinary business standards. Most men in his position wouldn't have looked at a penniless boy whatever they thought of his intellect and character. But James did not keep his principles for nothing. She could almost wish for once, that he had been a more conventional father, and she felt a moment's anxiety as she wondered how far his complaisance had extended.