Foiled once more, Lady Longridge was puzzled what to say. She decided to "sleep upon it," and, rising from her seat, remarked, "You will be tired with your journey, and I am overdone with the shock I have sustained. It would have been better to leave business matters until to-morrow, so I will say good-night. You are master, and can give your orders, you know."
She held out her hand—they were not demonstrative this mother and son; he took it in his own for an instant, and having opened the door for her, she passed out of the room and up the stairs without another word.
When morning came, Lady Longridge had thought the matter out and decided on her course of action. She would certainly come off the worse in an open quarrel with her son. Her reign at the Hall would be over. And she would either have to betake herself to a smaller residence which was hers for life, or find a home elsewhere. The house in question was well let and she had lived at the Hall rent free hitherto. Thus she was touched in two tender spots—her liking for Northbrook and her love of money.
For her own sake she resolved to conciliate that "chit of a girl whom Philip had married." Thus she spoke of the new Lady Longridge to Thorley.
But for once the elder lady found her match. The young wife, who was pliable as wax in the hands of one she loved, had a will as strong as that of her husband's mother, when roused by circumstances to exert it.
The old lady might think she had only to hold out a finger and the young one would run to seize it, but she found herself mistaken. Florence was as little likely to bend by a hair's-breadth as was one of the marble statues in the hall.
"My mother will be in a different humour this morning," said Sir Philip to his wife, when the morning came. "I dare say she will make herself very agreeable to you for the future."
"What she may do matters little to me, Philip. I am not likely to see her. You will please order someone to bring my breakfast here—not your mother's maid, who seems a kindly person, but of necessity a sort of domestic spy."
"But surely, Florence, you will meet my mother again. After all, she had cause to be aggrieved, and she is a lonely woman, getting on in life."
"I should have thought that one who had known bereavement and loneliness would have opened her heart to another in like circumstances. Philip, I shall never forget your mother's look of anger and hate as you spoke of your wife. It was directed at you, but it seemed to turn me to stone. She is a fearful woman, Philip, and for a world's wealth I would not live under the same roof with her."