A lady and her husband

by Amber Reeves Blanco White

"Delightful for the girls, but what is your mother going to get out of it?" Anthony asked. He thought of his own mother, a strong-minded lady who made a great point of remembering that she was only a woman. No child of hers would willingly have extended the sphere of her influence, but then she lacked essential human kindness. Mrs. Heyham, on the other hand, was the kindest woman he knew, she was kinder than Rosemary. He wouldn't, personally, have considered that her life or her personality needed any addition. They seemed to him gracious, complete, and satisfying, and he did not think that she herself would wish to tamper with them.

But Rosemary was answering him. Why—she told him, looking round in her turn at the still trees and the sunny grass—here would be her mother's chance. She could leave her artificial, opulent home and go out into the world, the man's world, that she had never seen. She would touch it, study it, find out her own place and her value from it. She could live again, not only with her charm and her sympathy and her admirable legitimate affections but with her mind, with her soul—Tony might jeer at the word as much as he liked, but it was exactly her soul that Rosemary meant. She would learn that out in the world justice and mercy and pity are not easy, natural things. They must be found—fought for, insisted on. "Mother," she finished, "has never fought for anything in her life."

"On the contrary," Anthony told her, "you know nothing about it. A woman like your mother—I speak with the authority of all the ages—finds her life and her adventures in herself. She doesn't need to be stirred by your gross realities, your sordid politics, your miserable clamour for things to eat and a hole to go to sleep in. She lives, so to speak, in the depths of the sea, dark-green and heavy, far away down, while you, my dear Rosemary, are running about in a bright red bathing-dress and splashing in the little waves on the beach." He smiled at her all the same as if he approved her choice of occupation.

"And the air," Rosemary reminded him, "and the sky, and the sun! But seriously, Tony, isn't that all drivel? There may be a mystical life that can do without experience, but most women haven't got it—mother hasn't. Taking things as they are, what can you find to criticise in my plan?"

Tony turned to look at her and met her earnest eyes. She was a beautiful creature, he thought, and he liked her gallant tilting at destiny. It was rather jolly of her to marry him. When he spoke, his voice expressed an easy-going affection. "If I were your mother," he informed her, "I wouldn't stir a finger to touch what you call life. However, from your point of view, your plan is all right—if you can persuade your father."

Rosemary had no doubts upon that score. She could easily manage father, and her mother would simply have to be persuaded. Really it was a masterly idea—it would be thrilling, most thrilling, to see what she made of it all.

To her father next day she presented the plan as if it meant nothing more than a trifling charity, and Mr. Heyham, after careful thought, saw no objection to it. He was not aware of any deficiencies in his system, but he was a broad-minded man and could very well believe that there were a lot of little things that might be done for the girls as long as they were done in a proper way. He had always deplored the spirit which makes so many employers regard their business contract as the only link between master and men. He had given his support to Progressive legislation when his party introduced it, and when he went into one of his restaurants he liked to see the waitresses looking cheerful and well-fed. He knew that he was popular, and the thought of Mary among the work-people, doing good to them and adored by them, was pleasant. Also, and this was the chief consideration, it was just the thing for Mary. Her own children were leaving her and what she wanted was somebody to mother. He thought well of Rosemary for her idea; he told himself that there is a good deal to be said for these modern young women.

Laura, whose own struggles with housekeeping had given her a new respect for Mrs. Heyham, showed the easy enthusiasm of the irresponsible. It would be splendid for mother to have this fresh outlet for her powers, and it would be so nice for them all to feel that everything was being looked after from a woman's point of view. Perhaps later on, if mother organised clubs or anything that might help her—after all, they all shared in the profits of the business and in a sort of way they were responsible. She also felt that it was so splendid of father to want to let mother in, not like most men who are so vulgar about their wives. And—this when she had been told of the young man's attitude—it was just like Trent to make a fuss about what everybody else wanted.

Rosemary, though she was glad of this warm reception, did not feel that it took her very much further as to Trent. If Mrs. Heyham chose to see a difficulty in his beastly mulishness she was not likely to be moved by Laura. After all Trent worked very hard at the business and, in a way, he had plenty of brains. You could not disregard him as if he were a boy or a fool.

"Why not, when he behaves like one?" Laura had only looked in for a few minutes and as she was in a hurry she was inclined to take a lofty way with obstacles.