Mrs. de Cressiers had seldom spoken so freely to Sidney as she did now. Her reserve and pride seemed to have been crushed in her real anxiety about her husband and son.
Sidney's face was grave and sympathetic as she listened.
Mrs. de Cressiers continued:
"I had got it into my head that Mrs. Norman was the attraction in the hunting field, but she happened to call late yesterday afternoon, and from what she said I see my fears were quite unfounded. In fact, she assured me that Austin was quite offended with her because she talked to him for his good, and told him his duty was to stay at home and help his father and me. You used to have influence with him, Sidney dear; can't you exert it now? It's a bitter confession for a mother to make, but it is true. My words make no impression upon him. He will listen to a stranger rather than to me."
"I think if Mrs. Norman cannot influence him in the right direction, I cannot," said Sidney slowly.
"Well, something will have to be done. I cannot go through such scenes as we had this morning. They are bad for all of us, especially for my poor husband. I believe this will be his last winter with us. Is it too much to ask of his son that he should give up his hunting and help and comfort us?"
"No," said Sidney firmly; "I think Austin ought to do it. I will talk to him again, if I get a chance. But you must forgive me for saying it—if you were to meet him half-way and show him as much affection as you really feel for him, Austin would respond at once."
Mrs. de Cressiers' head was instantly raised haughtily and stiffly.
"I think, my dear Sidney, I do not require you to teach me my duty as a mother."
"I am sorry."