Hitherto Sir Philip had only seen the tender, loving side of his wife's character. He had noted her devotion to her suffering parent, her utter forgetfulness of self, her unwearying patience. He had seen her caring for the troubled, poverty-stricken people in her neighbourhood, and finding time to give to others the help, sympathy, and kind words of which she too stood so much in need. He knew that she had given to himself no half-hearted affection, and yet her love went hand in hand with the most exquisite modesty of manner and speech. Now he saw the other side, and realized that his wife's will would match that of his mother, and, between the two, his position would be far from agreeable.
"Are you not rather hasty in coming to such a decision?" he asked. "You have seen so little of my mother."
"Very little in one sense, too much in another. I would not have a second experience like last night's for the world."
"Well, dearest, I will breakfast with my mother, and you shall have your meal here. Afterwards we will talk matters over," was Sir Philip's reply.
Lady Longridge had decided to meet both her son and his wife not with two fingers, but with both arms extended. She found only her son, who did not respond to her advances. After a formal greeting, he relapsed into silence and the newspaper.
"How is Florence this morning? Rested, I hope, poor child! She seemed almost hysterical last night, and no wonder. She was wearied and overwrought."
"Thank you, she is better, but will breakfast in her room," replied Sir Philip. "Do not trouble yourself, mother; I have already ordered something to be sent up," for her hand was on the bell to summon a servant.
"Thorley shall go to your wife immediately, Philip. She is a good creature, as you know."
"It is very kind of you, but Florence will not deprive you of Thorley's services, even for a short time. She prefers to be waited on by one of the girls, thank you all the same."
And again Sir Philip devoted himself to the paper.