"The Bruntons!" He seemed a little taken aback at the name. "I don't think I care to go."
"Nonsense. Of course you must go. A barrister's career is mainly social."
She prolonged the argument over dinner; she mentioned the Brunton "influence," the Ellerson case: till eventually--somewhat against his better judgment--she persuaded him to go.
A very different Julia this from the hostess of the afternoon! Always a little constrained, a little too dignified in company; with her son, she hid affection under a mask of brusquerie almost dictatorial. In boyhood Ronnie had been frightened by the mask; even at thirty-six he was only just beginning to realize the affection it concealed.
Only since his return from the war had full knowledge of this affection come to him. He saw her now--sipping her coffee in the print-hung, walnut-furnished dining-room--as a lonely old woman dependent on his love. And the sight hurt, because his heart was already aware of the possibility that one day there might be another woman, a younger woman, in his life.
"I wish you'd let me make you a decent allowance," she said abruptly. "You ought to be about everywhere. You ought to stand for Parliament. Even if you don't get in, it's an advertisement."
"I thought you hated publicity, mater."
"So I do--for myself." She cogitated. "I could manage another eight hundred a year."
"And deprive yourself of----"
"Of nothing. I don't want any money. I'm too old to know how to spend it. You'll have it all when I'm dead," she added.