“Being a man,” said Mrs. Heywood, giving a queer little laugh, “he stayed at home more than he used to do, and then complained that he was left too much alone. Just like his wife had complained.”
“Well, hang it all,” said Herbert, “she ought to have stayed with him.”
“But then she wouldn’t have found the magic charm,” said Mrs. Heywood. “Don’t you see?... And she would have withered and withered away until there was nothing left of her, and the husband would have been quite alone—forever.”
“Think so?” said Herbert very thoughtfully. “D’you think it would have been as bad as that?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Heywood. “I’m sure of it.”
“Well, what did happen?” asked Herbert. “Did she find the magic charm? It wasn’t a widow in distress, was it? Or Social Reform humbug?”
“No,” said Mrs. Heywood; “that gave her a new interest in life because it helped her to forget herself, some of her own little worries, some of her brooding thoughts. But a good fairy who was looking after her worked another kind of magic.... Herbert I It’s the best magic for unhappy women and unhappy homes, and it has been worked for you. Oh, my dear, you ought to be very thankful.”
“Yes,” said Herbert, scratching his head. “Yes, I suppose so. But what’s the moral of the tale, mother? I’m hanged if I see.”
Mrs. Heywood put her hand on her son’s shoulder, as he sat on the hassock by her chair.
“It’s a moral told by an old woman who watched these two from the very beginning. A husband mustn’t expect his wife to stay at home for ever. The home isn’t big enough, Herbert. There’s the great world outside calling to her, calling, calling. The walls of a little fiat like this are too narrow for the spirit and heart. If he keeps her there she either pines and dies, or else——”