A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

Mary looked at him gratefully. He was not angry. How kind he was! How easy he had made her avowal! Of course she didn't expect him to consent at once, but if he gave himself time to consider the matter fairly she knew that his generous heart would respond to her appeal. How interesting it would be, how delightful, if she and James could join together in brightening the lives of those poor girls! She looked round her in the ease of her relief at the polished surfaces of the great room—the morocco, the mahogany, the glass doors of the bookshelves, the silver and brass on James's desk—and noticed how they reflected the light of the fire. What an amount of servants' work there was in this room alone! She would be happier in some smaller place.

Meanwhile James was assuring himself in vain that it would be far the best plan to postpone his answer for a day so as to give it an added solemnity when it came. His instinct for quick speech, for decided action, overbore his unaccustomed prudence. It was James's habit to disconcert his opponent by a rush of talk while he himself made certain of his next move. Nothing flusters a man more, James considered, than to brush aside his attempts to explain himself. But now the arguments, the things he could say to Mary, were springing up, were marshalling themselves in his mind, demanding expression. His endeavour to treat her as a comrade failed before the essential need that her foolish ideas should be crushed. He fidgeted for a moment, and then broke out into words.

"My dear," he said, in a kind and soothing voice, "I hope you won't think me prejudiced or ungenerous if I don't agree to your plan straight off, without considering it." Here he looked across at his wife. The fixed, bright regard of her eyes changed, as they met his, to painful appeal. If he had given himself time to think the evident depth of her anxiety would have checked him. But his mind was not free, at the moment, to consider her point of view, and he went on. "Of course I am prepared to give the matter every possible consideration—I've the greatest respect, as you know, for any idea of yours, little mother,—but I've no doubt that it has already occurred to you that if such a very simple measure could solve modern industrial difficulties someone else would have hit on it!" He smiled indulgently.

Mary clasped her hands and her lips moved, but she did not speak, nor take her eyes from his face. She wished he would not answer now, she was afraid of his words and of their effect on him. James did not like going back from what he had said. But she knew that it would be no use trying to interrupt him.

"You see," he explained, "a business is not just a process of making money. It's more than that, it's a thing in itself, an organisation, an entity. You won't misunderstand me I'm sure, if I put it a little fancifully and say that it has a life of its own, almost an individuality. It's a thing that we shape to our own ends I'll admit, and that we make use of, but we can only do that by respecting the essential laws that govern its working. We can't interfere with it suddenly from the outside and expect it to make no difference. Now consider your plan, my dear. You want to take about ten thousand a year from the profits of the business and use it to increase wages. You say that the money is yours, and that the whole thing is purely a private affair. But it isn't,"—his hand came down heavily on the arm of his chair—"it's nothing of the sort! You understand, of course, that if you once adopted such a procedure you would have to stick to it—"

"Oh, yes, indeed—" She was so anxious to reassure him that she even broke in on his sentence.

"Very well, that would mean that a business that used to make, let us say, £30,000 a year suddenly becomes a business that is only making £20,000 a year. Now you know such a change as that can't take place without its affecting more people than just you and me. We'll put aside the few shares held by your relations, and we'll put aside the girls. I've no doubt Rosemary would like nothing better than to live in a garden suburb and be a heroine to all her Socialist friends. Though of course there are Hastings's people to be considered. Still we could manage to give Rosemary enough to live on. And Laura is a comparatively wealthy woman. She could do just as well without the allowance you make her. It never did your mother any harm, my dear, having to go to your father for money, and it wouldn't do Laura any harm to go to her husband. But I want you for a moment to think of Trent. He has his faults, but all the same he is a son we can be proud of. And I don't suppose it has occurred to you that if we do as you suggest we shall make it absolutely impossible for Trent to marry the woman he's in love with."

He paused, and Mary felt that he expected her to say something.

"I don't—" she began. "Why—" but she could not frame a coherent thought.

"I'm sure you must see," her husband went on, "that it makes all the difference to Trent. He has told old Lady Iredale what his position is, and what his expectations are. Even so, she doesn't think he's a good enough match. Well, it won't increase her approval if she's suddenly told that he's worth potentially £10,000 a year less!"