Here was his own mother, the one owner of remaining claims upon his better nature, imperilling his fortune—his neck. By advertising this sale, the eyes of all Daneford would be drawn to his mother, and the tongues of Daneford would be busy with his name. He himself did not know why his mother had resolved upon converting all she had in the world into cash, though he had an uneasy suspicion he could guess if he tried. His great dread was that his mother might do some incautious thing, take some incautious measure, in carrying out her design.
Suppose her action did not suggest examination of anything in connection with him, he would still be in a very uncomfortable position. Surely people would speak to him of the step his mother was about to take. What answer should he make? What explanation could he give? If anyone asked him why his mother was selling, he could not tell, for he did not know. It would soon be found out that, under the simple conditions of his father's will, his authority would be necessary to the sale. How could he justify so unwise an act on the part of his mother? How could he tell people he approved of it? And yet he must say he sanctioned it, otherwise people would think there was something wrong.
But even if he said he sanctioned it, would they not think there was something wrong? People would look first with amazement and then with suspicion at the sale of an old woman's annuity, house and furniture, when he, her childless and only son, was reputed to be enormously rich. What could induce a woman like Mrs. Grey to sell her house in her native town, and the chairs her husband had used, the table at which he had sat, the back drawing-room furniture given her by him as a birthday present after the coming of their only boy? Clearly nothing but want of money.
It would be known his mother and he had been on most affectionate terms all their lives. Why did not an affectionate son spare an affectionate mother the unpleasantness of a sale by giving her the paltry few thousands? Even if he was mean enough not to make her a present of them, he might advance them upon the security she had to offer. It could not be that mother and son had quarrelled; if that were so he would clearly refuse his assent. It could not be she was in difficulties while her son had money. The clear deduction, the only possible deduction left to the people of Daneford would be that the selling was with his, Wat's, full consent, and that the money was for him—for the Daneford Bank.
All this was quite clear to Grey; beyond it he durst not go. No, he would not allow his mind to look behind the curtain drawn across the remote future.
What should he do?
All night he lay awake, trying to solve that question. Morning came and found him without a solution.
He had recovered wonderfully. His mind was now clear and vigorous. He resolved not to go to the office this day. He could not face people without some answer to enquiries sure to be made, and he had not yet resolved upon the course he should pursue.
He spent the forenoon reading and writing letters. One he wrote to the Castle to Miss Midharst, announcing his return, and that he should call upon her next day. A second he addressed to his mother in the following terms:
"Mother,
"One last word. If you persist in attracting attention to my affairs, by selling out, the chances are I shall be ruined; and such ruin will be mine that I shall not face it, but leave people to discuss my conduct over my corpse."