A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

Mary said nothing. She had thought of this money as their private income—hers and James's—not as so much prospective importance and eligibility for Trent. "How horrible money is," she thought, "how it crushes you!" Then with nervous quickness she turned her thoughts back to James, who had more to say.

"There's another aspect of the matter as well," he was telling her—it seemed to him that there were twenty other aspects, all equally conclusive. "I think I've seen you reading some Political Economy lately. In that case you will understand"—his glance bore down on her as though defying her to doubt that the very essence of Political Economy was distilling itself through his lips—"that there comes a period in the growth of every private company when its directors have to consider carefully the question of calling in more capital. You cannot say in modern commerce, 'we are big enough, let us stop here.' Nowadays, with the present commercial system, a business must grow or die. But if it is to grow, we who are responsible for it must be able to seize every opportunity, occupy every vacant position, leave nothing to chance or to our rivals. The fact is, my dear, I have been meaning to tell you, if ever you did speak to me on the subject, that in my judgment the moment has come when the Imperial should be turned into a public company. I am quite ready to discuss the matter with you in detail and of course the whole thing is still in the air. But sooner or later some such step will have to be taken. And then don't you see the difference it will make if we go to the public with a £20,000 profit instead of £30,000? This money that we draw is not simply profit, Mary, it's credit, it's reputation, it's success! 'Why,' people ask, 'does the Imperial show a much smaller profit than other companies with the same number of branches?' You say, 'They pay higher wages,' and people throw back at you 'bad management.' I'm not a sweating employer. I pay my hands as well as anyone. I don't give them charity, I don't give them higher wages than they're worth, because I don't believe in money doled out in that fashion. I don't mind paying higher wages if my competitors will do the same. But no man can carry on his business with a millstone of unnecessary expenditure round his neck—" He pulled himself up with an effort. "Do you see, my dear?"

Mary longed to be able to say that she saw, that she took his word for it and was satisfied. She knew that if she still stood out it would make James angry, it would make him feel that she was unreasonable. But she had not yet stated her case—it was her duty to the girls to do her best!

"Of course," she said, "I hadn't thought of all that; you see, I'm not fond of the business in the way you are, James dear. I'm afraid it has been only a process of making money to me. But there is—you will, won't you, think of the other side? I don't blame you in any way, please don't think I have any idea of that sort!" She paused for an instant—a fear born of nothing she had consciously realised was rising to the surface of her mind, breaking it, blurring its images, throwing her back on herself. Then the disturbance passed, and with an added hesitation she went on, "Those girls do need the money, James! They work very hard, and I can't feel that they are getting a proper return. They often go home exhausted, and they don't have good enough clothes to go home in, or good enough food when they get there——"

James, whose disinclination to hear Mary arguing was hardening to impatience, found it impossible not to interrupt her, for by this time his own stock of arguments had replenished itself.

"My dear," he said, "I know how good your intentions are, and believe me I feel for the girls, though perhaps not as deeply as a sympathetic woman does. It isn't really there that we differ, that is why I said nothing about it. Everyone admits, nowadays, that the condition of society is far from perfect, I'm with you there; but when it comes to a concrete remedy I can't help feeling that I understand the position better than you do. What good would it do those girls if we gave them more wages and Harris got all our trade away, by undercutting us? That is just what he'd do when he heard we had raised wages. The girls wouldn't thank you for depriving them of their livelihood. No, no, my dear,"—his voice by this time had become falsely good-humoured,—"what you're up against is not the sins of the Imperial, it's poverty in general. If those girls' fathers were better paid—and for that they'd have to be worth more wages—the girls would have happier lives. You're overlooking the fact, you know, that we don't pretend to support them entirely. And yet in spite of that we pay better wages than many other trades. You're trying to use your money the wrong way. You can't remedy poverty by stopping up little holes here and there in a sieve. You must go to the root of the matter, you must extend the principle of insurance, and then you want trade schools and that sort of thing. If these girls want better wages they should go into service, then there would be fewer of them to compete for other posts. This question of women in industry is very serious!"

He could have gone on for some time, but Mary felt that she could bear it no longer. "James!" she said, "let me speak for a moment. I can't argue with you, I can't explain, I never could, but in spite of all that you've said, I still feel that it is wicked and unjust to live as we do while we are paying these girls so badly. I'll think it over again if you like, but if I don't change my mind will you let me give the money back to them? I beg you to—I make no reserves, James, this is the most important thing I have ever asked you. If you refuse me I believe that it will make a serious difference in my feelings towards you." She ended, trembling and breathless, on a sob.

James stared at her, a mask of severe disapproval. "I can't think," he said, "that you realise what you are asking. You want me to give up my private judgment, to place myself entirely in your hands! I have no choice but to refuse." He got up from his chair and walked to the mantelpiece, turning his back to her. "And when you think it over more calmly," he went on after a minute, "I am sure you will see that I am only doing my duty in putting the welfare of the business before this very-suddenly-arrived-at conclusion of yours!"

Mary got up too and went to him. "You're angry with me," she said, and was about to lay her hand on his arm when she checked herself. She did not want to appeal to his instinctive affection.

James turned round at once when he heard her voice, brisk again now that she showed signs of yielding. "My dear little woman," he said, "I'm not angry with you in the least, I haven't the slightest doubt that you are perfectly sincere in your opinion. And you'll remember that when we first discussed this matter we agreed to differ. Well, I agree, and all I ask of you is that you shall agree too."