A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

"You told her—of course—that they'd have to wait?" she asked.

"There was no need, the child showed very proper feeling, but I did say that I didn't suppose you would consent to her setting out on married life at eighteen. In any case, it appears that the young man wants to be earning enough to pay for his own share of the ménage."

James was evidently pleased with the interview that had just taken place. "She's a dear child," he went on after a minute; "you're to be congratulated on both of them, Mary, though I admit that as a wife I prefer their mother. The women of your day had more character, though nobody made a fuss about their brains. Nowadays young people treat each other as if they were all friends of the same sex; it may suit them, but I know I shouldn't have liked it."

Mrs. Heyham did not move, and he wondered whether his talk was having the desired effect. He felt very sorry for her—when he thought about it he often felt sorry for women. Good women had such a hard time of it, they suffered so inevitably as life went on. It was rough on them losing their looks, it was rough on them when their boys went to school, and many of them had a bad time with their husbands. Men wouldn't have stood it, but women—thank God for it!—were like that. Men were not grateful enough, but he had done his best to make life smooth for Mary and the girls.... Poor Mary, he was glad she had cried on his shoulder. She was a dignified little thing, it was not always easy to tell what she was thinking.

He went over to her and stroked her hair. That, to his mind, was the use of her hair, and to please him she dressed it in a way that was not easily disarranged.

She looked up at him, and he saw at once that she was still a little excited. "James," she said, and then paused. He sat down on the arm of her chair so that he might give her better attention. When she spoke it was in the slow thoughtful way he deplored. It meant that she was taking things too hard.

"What do other women do when the children go?" she asked him. "How do they fill up their days?"

"I should say a good many of them were glad of a rest," he told her reassuringly. "It's not such easy work bringing up children. Haven't you noticed a friend whose grey hairs have gone brown since her daughters married? We shall have you a gay young thing again in no time. Or you could take up politics and make Trent stand for Parliament—the old lady would look fine as candidate's mother!"

She shook her head. "You forget the candidate's wife. I don't think I want to play second fiddle to Trent's Lady Hester. But I suppose that is about what they do. Either they knit boots for their grandchildren, or they go on committees."

The mention of Lady Hester had ruffled James's good humour. "If Trent waits for her, he'll wait some time," he said. He shrugged his shoulders and then they both smiled. "Trent's good at waiting," he admitted.