Ay! times were changed; indeed they were, when a Mortomley could stoop, even for the sake of wife, child, or fortune, to endure the burden of such a yoke as Mr. Forde thrust upon him.
But it was over. Mortomley himself out of the battle, his wife took up the sword in his behalf. For good or for evil, temporizing had come to an end. No more for ever did Mortomley cross the threshold either of his own offices or those of the General Chemical Company, Limited.
At Homewood he lay for a time like one dead. When he was able to speak at all, his wife asked him whether he did not think some decisive step ought to be taken in his affairs.
To which he answered, "Yes."
When she inquired further as to what ought to be done, he said, "Whatever you please," and turned his face from the light,—beaten.
Commerce is about the only game in which a man may engage, that may in no case bring honour to the loser. In everything else there may be sympathy, gratulation, pity,—sweet to the non-successful. There are plaudits for the blue or light blue who have pulled their best and lost by a boat's length; the second at the Derby may prove a favourite elsewhere; the man who loses at Wimbledon may nevertheless in his friends' estimation be a good shot;—but the man who fails in business is a man socially drowned, unless he is dishonest.
Mortomley being honest, felt the waters were going over his head, and so turned his face discreetly to the wall.
Then Dolly did the one thing women always do. She gathered together advisers. She had that vague faith in the judgment and the capability of men, women always have till they discover men are made up of clay and caprices like themselves; and so she cast about and asked four persons to dinner, who might, she vaguely hoped, help Archie out of his difficulties.
Of course, she might just as well have invited four children in arms.
These were the individuals:—