Mrs. Wilton's voice faltered. The best mothers have what may be called "colour-blindness" as to their children's faults and failings. But there are some who will suffer any amount of personal trouble and anxiety that the children inflict, rather than that their faults should be canvassed by others. The discussion of them by ordinary people is resented; how much more when relations bring them roughly to light! It is not too much to say that Mrs. Wilton could have better borne a complaint of her boy coming direct from Mr. Warde to herself than to have that complaint brought by his uncle. Worse still that Raymond's cousins should be quoted.
I cannot say that I think Mrs. Wilton had any reason to think kindly of her husband's family. Although Dr. Wilton had been kind and attentive, his wife had taken no trouble to brighten the life of her relatives at Elm Cottage. This arose chiefly from her habit of never troubling herself about outside matters. She "never puts herself out of the way for any one. It is not in Anna to do it," Aunt Betha would say sometimes when even the maternal instinct was not strong enough to keep Mrs. Wilton from an "afternoon" or a dinner party when little Guy was in one of his worst fits of pain.
"I can do no good. It only hurts me to see him suffer, dear little man," she would say. "Auntie nurses him so much better than I can."
Thus it is not likely that a woman who could be thus unconcerned about her own children would be greatly interested in her husband's nieces and nephews. Hans and Carl had been twice to Edinburgh Crescent to tea, and had walked with Miss Scott, and Edith, and Maude. Salome had spent one day with Kate and Louise. But this was about all the hospitality which had been extended to them. Ada had been more sought after, because she was so pretty; every one asked who she was and admired her. But Ada was gone, and jealousy at Eva's preference for her was now the prominent feeling with both Louise and her mother.
"Well," Dr. Wilton said, "I think the boy ought to be seriously remonstrated with. If he leaves Warde's office, I don't know what on earth is to be done with him. If you can send him up to Edinburgh Crescent to-morrow evening to dinner, I'll make an opportunity of speaking to him. I am sorry to be the bearer of unpleasant news; but as I recommended Warde to take him, even go out of his way to help him,—for they don't, as a rule, take young men with any salary,—I can but feel some responsibility about it.—Can you say anything to your brother, Salome?" Dr. Wilton said in a gentle voice,—a voice which always recalled her father. "You are the best of sisters and daughters," he added, putting his arm kindly round Salome's slight figure.
"I will try, Uncle Loftus," was the answer in a low voice.
Then Dr. Wilton went away, saying,—
"Good-bye; we must hope for better things. Remember, tell Raymond seven o'clock to-morrow evening."
"The first time he has ever asked Raymond to dinner," said Mrs. Wilton. "O Salome, it is very hard to be treated in this way!"
"I think I am sure Uncle Loftus means to help us; he is very kind. And, dear mother, Raymond must be told he cannot go on like this. He ought not to stay out so late every night; and—" Salome stopped. Mrs. Wilton broke completely down, and cried bitterly.