on a healthy countenance maternal anxiety, indisposition, and ruffled dignity; she was not vastly pleased to see her son-in-law instead of the expected maid.
“Oh, is that you, Basil?” she said; “I can’t find the sideboard key anywhere, and I’m that upset I must ’ave a little drop of something.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you, Mrs. Bush. You’re much better without it.”
“Oh, indeed!” she answered, bristling. “P’raps you know more about me inside feelings than I do myself. I’ll just trouble you to give me the key, young man, and look sharp about it. I’m not a woman to be put upon by any one, and I tell you straight.”
“I’m very sorry, but I think you’ve had quite enough to drink. Jenny may want you, and you would be wise to keep sober.”
“D’you mean to insinuate that I’ve ’ad more than I can carry?”
“I wouldn’t go quite so far as that,” he answered, smiling.
“Thank you for nothing,” cried Mrs. Bush indignantly. “And I should be obliged if you wouldn’t laugh at me, and I must say it’s very ’eartless with me daughter lying ill in her bedroom. I’m very much upset and I did think you’d treat me like a lady, but you never ’ave, Mr. Kent—no, not even the first time I come here. Oh, I ’aven’t forgot, so don’t you think I ’ave—a sixpenny ’alfpenny teapot was good enough for me, but when your lady-friend come in out pops the silver, and I don’t believe for a moment it’s real silver. Blood’s all very well, Mr. Kent, but what I say is, give me manners. You’re a nice young feller, you are, to grudge me a little drop of spirits when me poor daughter’s on her death-bed. I wouldn’t stay another minute in this ’ouse if it wasn’t for ‘er.”
“I was going to suggest it would be better if you returned to your happy home in Crouch End,” answered Basil, when the good woman stopped to take breath.
“Were you, indeed! Well, we’ll just see what Jenny ’as to say to that. I suppose my daughter is mistress in ’er own ’ouse.”
Mrs. Bush started to her feet and made for the door, but Basil stood with his back against it.
“I can’t allow you to go to her now. I don’t think you’re in a fit state.”
“D’you think I’m going to let you prevent me? Get out of my way, young man.”
Basil, more disgusted than out of temper, looked at the angry creature with a cold scorn which was not easy to stomach.
“I’m sorry to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Bush, but I think you’d better leave this house at once. Fanny will put your things together. I’m going to Jenny’s room, and I forbid you to come to it. I expect you to be gone in half an hour.”
He turned on his heel, leaving Mrs. Bush furious but intimidated. She was so used to have her own way that opposition took her aback, and Basil’s manner did not suggest that he would easily suffer contradiction. But she made up her mind, whatever the consequences, to force her way into Jenny’s room, and there set out her grievance. She had not done repeating to herself what she would say when the servant entered to state that, according to her master’s order, she had packed Mrs. Bush’s things. Jenny’s mother started up indignantly, but pride forbade her to let the maid see she was turned out.
“Quite right, Fanny! This isn’t the ’ouse that a lady would stay in, and I pity you, my dear, for ’aving a master like my son-in-law. You can tell ’im with my compliments that ’e’s no gentleman.”
Jenny, who was asleep, woke at the slamming of the front-door.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Your mother has gone away, dearest. D’you mind?”
She looked at him quickly, divining from knowledge of her parent’s character that some quarrel had occurred and anxious to see that Basil was not annoyed. She gave him her hand.
“No, I’m glad. I want to be alone with you. I don’t want any one to come between us.”
He bent down and kissed her, and she put her arms round his neck.
“You’re not angry with me because the baby died?”
“My darling, how could I be?”
“Say that you don’t regret having married me.”
Jenny, realising by now that Basil had married her only on account of the child, was filled with abject terror; his interests were so different from hers (and she had but gradually come to understand how great was the separation between them) that the longed-for son alone seemed able to preserve to her Basil’s affection. It was the mother he loved, and now he might bitterly repent his haste, for it seemed she had forced marriage upon him by false pretenses. The chief tie that bound them was severed, and though with meek gratitude accepting the attentions suggested by his kindness, she asked herself with aching heart what would happen on her recovery.
Time passed, and Jenny, though ever pale and listless, grew strong enough to leave her room. It was proposed that in a little while she should go with her sister for a month to Brighton; Basil’s work prevented him from leaving London for long, but he promised to run down for the week-end. One afternoon he came home in high spirits, having just received from his publishers a letter to say that his book had found favour and would be issued in the coming spring. It seemed the first step to the renown he sought. He found James Bush, his brother-in-law, seated with Jenny, and, in his elation, greeted him with unusual cordiality; but James lacked his usual facetious flow of conversation, and wore indeed a hang-dog air, which at another time would have excited Basil’s attention. He took his leave at once, and then Basil noticed that Jenny was much disturbed. Though he knew nothing for certain, he had an idea that the family of Bush came to his wife when they were in financial straits, but from the beginning had decided that such inevitable claims must be satisfied; he preferred, however, to ignore the help which Jenny gave, and, when she asked for some small sum beyond her allowance, handed it without question.
“Why was Jimmie here at this hour?” he asked, carelessly, thinking him bound on some such errand. “I thought he didn’t leave his office till six.”
“Oh, Basil, something awful has happened! I don’t know how to tell you; he’s sacked.”
“I hope he doesn’t want us to keep him,” answered Basil, coldly. “I’m very hard up this year, and all the money I have I want for you.”
Jenny braced herself for a painful effort. She looked away and her voice trembled.
“I don’t know what’s to be done. He’s got into trouble. Unless he can find a hundred and fifteen pounds in a week, his firm are going to prosecute.”
“What on earth d’you mean, Jenny?”
“Oh, Basil, don’t be angry! I was so ashamed to tell you, I’ve been hiding it for a month; but now I can’t any more. Something went wrong with his accounts.”
“D’you mean to say he’s been stealing?” asked Basil, sternly; and a feeling of utter horror and disgust came over him.
“For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that!”
