^^•^r^? 
 
 
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &^ Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh 
 
TO 
 
 M. H. S. 
 
 TN GRATEFUL AFFECTION 
 
 MABEL H. SPIELMANN 
 
 815854 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. We Two .... 
 
 II. In Barbara's Garden . 
 
 III. Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose . 
 
 IV. A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 V. My Son's Friend . 
 
 VI. Old Josef Blum . 
 VII. My Son's Flirtations . 
 VIII. When I am not the Heroine 
 IX. Marriage Bells 
 X. A Private Matter 
 XI. May Blossom ... 
 XII. Eric 
 
 XIII. Widow and Widower 
 
 XIV. In the Future 
 
 I 
 
 21 
 
 38 
 
 57 
 
 77 
 96 
 
 130 
 
 157 
 189 
 
 229 
 247 
 260 
 272 
 294 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "My Son and I" 
 
 Frontispiece in Colour 
 
 " My Son and I " 
 
 A Few Steps of a Minuet 
 
 Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 They Lighted their Pipes 
 
 The Stony Path of Life 
 
 The Penitent Trio .... 
 
 My Son sat beside Me on the 
 Couch 
 
 A Pas Seul 
 
 Eric 
 
 I have often Threatened to Write 
 ABOUT Her 
 
 Half-title 
 
 Facmg Title-page 
 
 Title-page 
 
 To face p. 24 
 
 38 
 
 76 
 
 108 
 
 132 
 
 152 
 
 202 
 264 
 
 304 
 
MY SON AND;I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WE TWO 
 
 I WAS alone. My friends and my few relations 
 had gone. They had all exhorted me to con- 
 tinue to be brave for the sake of my son, or for 
 the sake of my health, or for the sake of them — 
 words which I heard, but the meaning of which 
 I somehow couldn't fully grasp. After all the 
 solemn bustle the house now seemed painfully 
 still. I moved toward the blinds to draw them 
 up — the drawing-room had been too oppres- 
 sively dreary — but I stopped suddenly. The 
 reflection from a mirror quite startled me ; a 
 small, slight, mourning-clad figure confronted 
 me, with a face pale in patches, with heavy eyes, 
 and features swollen from many days of crying. 
 '' Can that be I ? " I thought. '^ Oh ! " I 
 looked a being so entirely different to my 
 usual self with my customary light dress and 
 
 I A 
 
My Son and I 
 
 laces and trinkets. I remembered having 
 
 wondered — as I daresay many young married 
 
 women have wondered — if I should look nice 
 
 '•an' -widow's ''y/eeds. Now, in the grim and 
 
 ., . terrible reality ©{...'jorrow, there was no room 
 
 '*•• fe."' 'thoughts. b/-Vanity, and I turned from my 
 
 contemplation with a shiver of horror. 
 
 '' I shall have to bear it all," I said aloud ; 
 '' I must bear it better than I've done." My 
 own voice was coming back to me as an echo, 
 and a feeling of giddiness made me clutch hold 
 of a chair. It was so oppressive in the room 
 that I pulled up the blinds, and the June sun- 
 shine fell comfortingly on my cold hands. On 
 opening one of the French windows I felt a 
 refreshing breeze lift the curls from my hot 
 forehead, and I stepped out on to the balcony. 
 A game of lawai-tennis was being played in the 
 square below, and in a sort of stupor of vague- 
 ness I thought how happy they were, and, in 
 the main street beyond, how smart the people 
 were in the carriages crowding along together, 
 enjoying all the brightness of the London 
 season. How indifferent they seemed to the 
 suffering and miseries of others — or, at least, 
 how unconscious ! I couldn't bear it. An 
 organ close by started playing ''Rigoletto " ; it 
 jarred on my nerves, and I went indoors. 
 
 2 
 
We Two 
 
 The sense of my desolation seemed to grow 
 each minute, and I felt so helpless. I missed 
 the accustomed smell of a cigar, which I liked 
 so much, for it meant so much. And upstairs 
 the usual number of sponges and brushes had 
 been removed. I wanted them there — mine 
 looked so solitary ; perhaps it would seem 
 childish to ask for them back. 
 
 At that moment the door was thrown open 
 and closed again, and in toddled my son in a 
 white frock and black ribbons, his arms ex- 
 tended towards me, and at a run that was 
 more than risky for his unsteady little legs. He 
 crawled on my lap, laughing, to bestow his 
 customary hug ; then looking up at me with 
 his dark eyes, he wiped his mouth on his frock 
 and said : 
 
 " Poor ! All wet tears ; " and in the same 
 breath he added, <^ Ugly dwess, mummy ; take 
 it off ! " Then he scrambled down and trotted 
 off towards the writing-table in the back room, 
 calling gaily, '' Daddy, are you weady ? I 
 want you ; let's play cushion fight ! " Finding 
 the accustomed chair was still empty, he came 
 back to me with a woebegone look. '^ All 
 gone again ! " he cried. '' I want him ! " 
 
 ''And I want him too," I said, folding my 
 treasure in my arms, forgetting my good 
 
 3 
 
My Son and I 
 
 resolutions, and quite unable to control my 
 grief. But he was anxious for his box of 
 bricks, so it had to be brought out from the 
 cupboard, and we built the craziest house, 
 from an architectural point of view, that could 
 possibly be induced to stand. However, he 
 surveyed it with infinite pleasure, and it was 
 decided then and there that it was "3, bootful 
 house," must remain where it was, and be 
 given as a present to Lambert to live in. And 
 as Lambert just then entered to carry off her 
 charge to bed, the presentation was duly made, 
 w^hen her excessive surprise and joy caused the 
 greatest delight ; and as she noticed my little 
 smile, her raptures, kind soul, knew no bounds, 
 and she went off with the donor, who was 
 rippling over with as much pride and satisfac- 
 tion as if he had just run up the Houses of 
 Parliament. 
 
 '^ Don't shut the door; I'm coming too," 1 
 called out in sudden dread. '' I'll sit with him 
 until he goes to sleep." 
 
 I too must have fallen asleep, holding his 
 tiny hand in mine, for it was still there when I 
 was awakened by Lambert saying : 
 
 '' If you please, mem, Mr. Ryan has called 
 again to inquire how you are this evening, and 
 if there is anything he can do." 
 
 4 
 
We Two 
 
 '< I'll go clown, Lambert," I replied, softly 
 kissing the little fingers before I relinquished 
 them, and went to my room to make a hasty 
 toilet. It was kind of our neighbour ; I so 
 felt the want of a friend. He evidently didn't 
 expect to see me, for he was examining the 
 binding of a book he had taken up. Mr. Ryan 
 was a thin man of middle height, with a slight 
 stoop. His shaven face and clear-cut features 
 and piercingly bright eyes might have belonged 
 to a lawyer or an actor, were it not for a 
 delicately refined thoughtfulness that seemed to 
 bespeak the man of letters. It was a face that 
 in a crowd would arrest attention ; and no 
 matter how familiar it was, there seemed always 
 some new interest in it. He turned towards 
 me, surprised. 
 
 '< I blame myself," he exclaimed apologetic- 
 ally ; '' I've disturbed you — you come from 
 upstairs." 
 
 I pressed his hand, for I found I was too 
 unnerved to thank him. After a moment I 
 inquired : 
 
 '^ Are your wife and baby getting on well ? " 
 
 '' Yes, thank you, excellently." 
 
 *' Have you decided on a name yet ? " 
 
 ** How thoughtful you are ! Yes ; we think 
 ' Dulcie ' is pretty. I've been wanting to 
 
 5 
 
My Son and I 
 
 know your opinion, as you are so great on 
 pretty names ; but of course I didn't mean to 
 trouble you with that." He seemed pleased to 
 pursue the topic, more for the sake of dis- 
 tracting my thoughts, I felt. ^* What do you 
 think of it ? " 
 
 " I like it very much." 
 
 '' That's all right. Now, good-night ! No, 
 I won't sit down — unless — No ; sleep is the 
 best thing for you ; you look worn out." 
 
 '' Good-night," 1 said. I remember ringing 
 the bell and hearing the front door slam to, 
 and I remembered no more. I suppose 1 must 
 have fainted. Many weeks of illness followed, 
 and when I overheard that I was '^ out of 
 danger " I am ashamed to remember that it 
 was a feeling of regret rather than of gratitude 
 that stole over me. 
 
 Dr. Alan Charleston, our old medical adviser, 
 cheered and upheld me throughout ; indeed, I 
 really don't know what I should have done 
 without him during those six weeks. I have 
 referred to him as old, partly perhaps because 
 he always referred to himself as an '< old 
 bachelor " ; but he was probably not more 
 than forty — one of those men who baffle all 
 guessing of their age. 1 was lying on the 
 drawing-room sofa one afternoon, lazily fanning 
 
 6 
 
We Two 
 
 myself and feeling very weak, when he paid 
 me one of his visits, which had become less 
 frequent of late. 
 
 ''And how's the little lady?" he asked 
 cheerily, sitting beside me and from force of 
 habit feeling at my pulse. 
 
 '' Better, I think, Dr. Charleston, but — but 
 very weary." 
 
 a/^hi" — he paused, and there was silence 
 whilst he held his watch — '' rather thready ! 
 And how's our Scientific Department — eh ?" 
 
 '' It's not fair to chaff me, you know, until 
 I'm stronger and able to turn the tables ; but 
 if you are referring to Baby," I said, smiling 
 proudly in spite of myself, *' he's quite well, 
 and getting rather wilful." 
 
 '<Then you must be spoiling him." 
 
 ^' No, indeed " 
 
 ^^ Now, what I've called in to say to-day 
 won't take you by surprise, I think. I've come 
 to advise change of air." 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't! I really couldn't look up 
 trains and things. I haven't a nolion how to 
 take myself about, let alone manage for a 
 child and nurse." 
 
 '' But what I advise is, that you and the 
 Scientific Department and Lambert should take 
 a sea voyage, say to Naples and back, and I'll 
 
 7 
 
My Son and I 
 
 get your berths and see you off. All you'll 
 have to do is to be turned off the boat when 
 it arrives, and Cook's people will meet you and 
 see to your hotel rooms, and put you all on 
 the next boat home. Do you think you could 
 manage that ? " His smooth, mild face, with 
 the thick iron-grey hair framing it, was look- 
 ing down at me so amused that I faltered, 
 confused : 
 
 <' You nmst think me foolish." 
 
 " What I think is — But tell me, have you 
 had many visitors since I last came ? " 
 
 <' My cousin Barbara Whyte came yesterday 
 afternoon." 
 
 ^' She's always kind. Are your aunts flour- 
 ishing ? " 
 
 <'Aunt Rose is complaining somewhat." 
 
 << Oh, the usual complaint ! " he replied, 
 laughing, and he got up and held out his 
 hand. ^' Well, shall we arrange the trip for 
 the end of next week ? " 
 
 << Is it quite necessary, do you think. Dr. 
 Charleston ? . It's so very far." 
 
 ''Far? Fiddlestick!" 
 
 '* But am I not getting well ? " 
 
 ''Quite so. That's exactly the reason. You 
 are now well enough to travel, and you require 
 toning up. And it will do the child a world of 
 
 8 
 
We Two 
 
 good. Good-bye ! Yon don't want my visits 
 any more. You've nothing to trouble about ; 
 I'll just go and talk to Lambert and look up 
 that young rascal." 
 
 The day of departure came all too soon, and 
 I was standing on the moving steamer with my 
 boy in my arms blowing kisses to the knot of 
 friends on the quay, whilst the expanse of water 
 between widened and widened, and the hurrahs 
 from land came fainter and fainter till they 
 ceased altogether. 
 
 The days passed — sunny, breezy, bright blue 
 days — and then came the longing for England 
 and to see English faces ; then on board ship 
 again, with the usual monotony broken by the 
 usual little excitements. And once more we 
 were rattling through our London square, and 
 in restored health and vigour I entered my 
 home again. How the sad memories re- 
 awakened at every glance, at every sight ! 
 But I could battle better against them now. 
 And then there were flowers — such lovely 
 flowers about ! A basket of carnations, my 
 favourite flower, from my neighbours. A 
 large bunch of homely blooms from Barbara's 
 garden. Roses from Dr. Charleston. That 
 ivas kind. And a long letter of welcome from 
 that best of all possible aunts — Aunt Prue. 
 
 9 
 
My Son and I 
 
 I dearly loved my Aunt Prue. How I wished 
 she could come to me now ! But she Uved 
 with her crabbed sister at Bath, and she never, 
 never would leave Aunt Rose. 
 
 After all, I felt glad I had not given up my 
 pretty house with its dear memories, where we 
 had been so happy, as at first I had decided to 
 do, although it certainly was very lonely now, 
 and very quiet with the nursery on the top 
 floor. 
 
 I should have liked to invite Barbara to 
 come and stay with me, for she w^as a great 
 chum of mine ; but then, her brother couldn't 
 spare her. Their straitened circumstances 
 made them live in a small villa at Highgate, 
 where Lawrence w^as divisional surgeon and 
 general practitioner ; so she could come to 
 me but seldom, as she was the angel of the 
 little house. However, I should be able to go 
 to her often ; the fresher air and her bright 
 company always braced me up. 
 
 It was just after my return that I formed a 
 resolution — a big little resolution that afforded 
 me much satisfaction. I made up my mind to 
 try to write a story for children, which perhaps 
 my son one day might read. Mr. Ryan, w^ho 
 was rapidly making a great name in the literary 
 w^orld, had often pressed me on the point ; and 
 
 10 
 
We Two 
 
 recently, when he urged it and I asked him 
 why 1 should, he had replied quietly : 
 
 <' Oh, because — simply because I know you 
 can — because you are not too grown-up — and 
 also, perhaps — forgive me — but that sort of 
 dainty work is not to be produced by too 
 logical and practical a mind." 
 
 As his argument, though not altogether 
 flattering — at least not without reservations, it 
 seemed to me — sounded promising for my 
 task, and as I also recognised it would be 
 well to have some absorbing occupation in 
 the evenings, I sat down and evolved a title 
 — and there I stuck. As soon as I put pen 
 to paper my brain became paralysed or 
 hypnotised. The sight of the blank sheet 
 made my mind just as blank. I told Mr. 
 Ryan it was hopeless. 
 
 ''Write the story to your son in the form 
 of a letter," he advised. 
 
 It struck me that I must, after all, be shame- 
 fully incapable to have to resort to that. Never- 
 theless, I took up my pencil, sat down to my 
 blank sheet, felt my paralysis creeping over 
 me, and quickly traced my opening words : — 
 
 " My dear Boy, — 1 write to you in the 
 sincere hope of telling you something amusing. 
 
 1 1 
 
My Son and I 
 
 ^' Many, many years ago, when the daisies 
 had just been invented, and every one in the 
 world was still fresh and young, there lived a 
 beautiful little Princess. . . ." 
 
 When I paused it was only because my 
 pencil wanted re-pointing, and soon I saw to 
 my surprise that I had covered many sheets 
 of notepaper. I glanced at the clock — I had 
 been writing for two hours ! So, then, I was 
 able to write — if only on notepaper. My 
 cheeks were burning and my feet were like 
 lumps of ice. But, thought I, how about the 
 quaHty of the story ? I feared to read it over, 
 yet I did it with eager curiosity, and came to 
 the conclusion that I was no judge ; so I 
 enclosed it with a few lines of apology to 
 Mr. Ryan, rang the bell, and sent the heavy 
 envelope next door. In half-an-hour it came 
 back, with the marginal note : '' By all means 
 go on with the tale, and we'll see to the 
 polishing together." 
 
 Thus, steered by the advice and knowledge 
 of my friend, the fairy story was sent to a 
 children's magazine, and for the whole of the 
 following week my heart thumped every time 
 I heard the postman's knock. At last came 
 a business-looking note. It was from the 
 
 12 
 
We Two 
 
 editor of the magazine, accepting the little 
 story, and offering what I considered princely 
 terms. '' Sweet man ! " I thought to myself. 
 
 '' I don't think much of the terms," said 
 Mr. Ryan. '' Next time I shall take the MS. 
 myself." 
 
 ^' It is good of you — but unfortunately there's 
 not going to be a ' next time ' ; the little imagina- 
 tion I possessed is completely used up." 
 
 '' I'm sure there'll be a ' next time,' " he 
 said quietly. And there was, and many other 
 ^^ next times " ; and when I stuck a little flag on 
 my door outside, it meant that I was in fairy- 
 land and must not be disturbed, and nothing 
 less important than a telegram should bring 
 me back. 
 
 I was constantly in and out next door seek- 
 ing literary advice when 1 knew I should not 
 be disturbing Mr. Ryan at his work. The 
 artistic biography which he was writing in- 
 terested me, too, and I felt very proud when 
 he began to show me its daily progress, and 
 read me bits, and even consulted me at times. 
 I found that I could be of help, and I eagerly 
 busied myself with what w^e called ''research 
 work " for him ; and when he had shown me 
 how to correct my own proofs, I was able to 
 revise his too. 
 
 13 
 
My Son and I 
 
 One afternoon when we were at work I re- 
 marked wistfully, '' I believe you only let me 
 help you because you know how sad my leisure 
 time is." 
 
 <' No, no ! " he rapped out. '' It is a great 
 boon to a man to find some one interested in 
 his work. I might as truly say I believe you 
 only help me because you feel you must return 
 a thousand-fold the little I have been able to do 
 for you ! " 
 
 ''Don't be absurd, Mr. Ryan. It is a privi- 
 lege to me, besides being a lesson in literary 
 style, and the busier I am the happier I am. 
 The difficulty I find," I added, with a smile, '' is 
 learning the golden rule of silence, not interrupt- 
 ing or asking anything during secretarial work." 
 
 *' Yet, with hard training, I suppose even the 
 feminine mind — But your collaboration is too 
 precious for any chaff or criticism whatsoever." 
 
 I was using his typewriter to make a fair 
 copy of my new MS. that he had approved, 
 when Mrs. Ryan entered ; as usual, with a 
 nice smile for me, but never realising or never 
 troubling whether she was interrupting work 
 or not, she sat down and began to chatter 
 domesticities in no very congenial spirit. Her 
 husband put aside his pen and lighted another 
 cigar; for a cigar at some stage of consumption 
 
 14 
 
We Two 
 
 seemed part of the man. He was always 
 patient and courteous. She was a restless, 
 sharp-featured woman, with a faded appear- 
 ance, and hair done too much off her forehead. 
 I didn't care for her ; it puzzled me why he 
 ever married her. I did hear a rumour that 
 there was some misunderstanding with her 
 father and he was trapped into it. They had 
 nothing in common. She didn't sympathise 
 with, or even understand, his beautiful books, 
 and she was always dissatisfied with their own 
 social position. 
 
 '' Can you take me to the theatre to-night, 
 Alex?" she suddenly asked. 
 
 '' I could to-morrow, but I've undertaken a 
 long article on the new acquisitions at the 
 British Museum ; it is overdue, and I must get 
 it finished, take it to the office to-night, and 
 correct the proof there." 
 
 ^' And I have to be sacrificed ! And what 
 will you get for it ? Four or five guineas ! I 
 always say the Stock Exchange would be a far 
 more sensible career, and leave your evenings 
 free. Books are no use, either, for bringing 
 in money in large enough sums. — Now, if that 
 eccentric German cousin of his," she continued, 
 turning to me, '^ old Josef Blum, would only 
 die and leave us all his money, then I should 
 
 15 
 
My Son and I 
 
 say, ' By all means take up literature as a 
 recreation.' " 
 
 '' My dear, how can you go on talking like 
 that ! " exclaimed her husband, trying to hide 
 his vexation. '' He is practically a stranger to 
 me, a remote relation. I don't want his money ; 
 personally, I am quite satisfied with health and 
 occupation. Our position is without anxiety, 
 and our child is brought up in comfort." 
 
 Finding no adequate reply, she said, again 
 turning to me, '' Oh, do please stop that machine; 
 it does go so on my nerves ! What are you 
 doing with it ? " 
 
 '' Typing my little story," I replied meekly, 
 gathering the sheets together. 
 
 " Well, it has seemed to me odd," she re- 
 torted curtly, " for you to go in for that sort 
 of thing. Paupers like us are glad, after all, 
 of a guinea or two ; but you " — I smiled in- 
 wardly at the word ''paupers" — ''you do it 
 to kill time, I suppose ? It seems to me quite 
 peculiar." 
 
 " I do it partly for occupation, partly for my 
 son's future amusement." 
 
 " Do you give your earnings in charity ? You 
 can't want them, can you ? " 
 
 '"' I'm afraid they are not very great at 
 present," I answered gaily. I didn't tell her 
 
 i6 
 
We Two 
 
 that I had bought a little handbag for Aunt 
 Prue, and, reluctantly, one for Aunt Rose, who 
 otherwise would have been offended. Nor did 
 I mention that the three first sovereigns w^ere 
 given to my son with the explanation that he 
 was to buy toys for the poor little children who 
 were ill. I remember how joyously he and I 
 went alone to the toy-shop, he having quite 
 grasped the idea. Nevertheless, he looked 
 rather bewildered when the toys he chose were 
 put on one side and he was not allowed to 
 touch them. In fact, he looked more and more 
 woebegone, until at last he blankly refused to 
 surrender a woolly ball with a bell inside that 
 had taken his fancy immensely. I thought of 
 how he wept over it, and how I was getting 
 such a headache that I weakly gave in. I had 
 intended buying him a toy, so from my point 
 of view it was all right ; but he showed such a 
 gleam of triumph at having obtained what he 
 screamed for, that I feared future struggles for 
 supremacy. 
 
 '' I repeat," said Mrs. Ryan, '' you're only 
 taking the bread out of other people's mouths." 
 
 I apologised for my inattention. ''Then how 
 about the'great novelists," I asked, ''who made a 
 fortune and still went on writing ? Would you 
 have had them stop ? Our literature would lose." 
 
 17 B 
 
My 
 
 Son and I 
 
 ^' No. I'd have them give the money in 
 charity." 
 
 '' How, then, about other professions ? The 
 successful lawyer, the doctor, and others — even 
 your successful stockbroker ? Where's your 
 stopping point ? People might even say you 
 have quite enough, living in comfort in your 
 artistic home, and that your husband's earnings 
 should go in charity ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ryan sniffed, and her husband burst 
 out laughing. 
 
 '^ Please forgive my bluntness," I begged, 
 ^' but I've heard the same view from others, 
 and I have thought it over, and find it social- 
 istic and kind, but too theoretical for practice." 
 
 She replied that, never mind, it was a fact, 
 and it did take the bread out of other people's 
 mouths ; and 4:here the matter ended, for she 
 changed the subject by adding, '' And I under- 
 stand that you are good enough to help my 
 husband — it's a shame to trouble you. I tell 
 him that by now he ought to afford an ex- 
 perienced paid male secretary." She didn't see 
 his anger rise as he began : 
 
 '' Never " 
 
 '' How's little Dulcie getting on ? " I inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 '' She is ailing slightly." 
 
 i8 
 
We Two 
 
 ^'Then call in Dr. Charleston," said Mr. R^^an. 
 
 <' He's very clever," I urged from my side. 
 
 '' No," she replied emphatically, '' I don't 
 care to employ him. He's one of those fashion- 
 able practitioners, and I've made our man under- 
 stand I don't want him unless I send for him. 
 Come and see her ; this room is too stuffy for 
 any one with all this smoke. — Alex, you'd better 
 open the window wider ; but don't take cold." 
 
 I followed her upstairs. The little daughter 
 was a great interest to me, and it was pretty to 
 see her sleeping so sweetly. i\Iy son, curiously 
 enough, had taken an instant dislike to the child; 
 as, indeed, he did to anything in human shape 
 younger than himself. I love babies ; I won- 
 dered if that was his reason. 
 
 " I suppose you are both going to the Royal 
 Academy soiree next week ? " I said, when I 
 took my leave. 
 
 '' I shan't go, so Alex says he won't. Artists 
 will talk shop," she explained, with a shrug of 
 her shoulders, '' especially when they meet him, 
 and I do get so bored." 
 
 It was a wonder, to me how he could per- 
 severe in spite of her constant discouragement 
 and opposition to his advancement. He was 
 already looked upon as a leading authority 
 on many artistic matters, and his fine literary 
 
 19 
 
My Son and I 
 
 style was making an excellent impression, as I 
 gathered from the reviews that I cut out and 
 pasted in a book with so much admiration and 
 pride. Of course, he didn't know that. 
 
 ^' Well, good-bye ! I won't disturb your hus- 
 band by fetching my MS. now ; I'll come round 
 about it to-night." 
 
 " Don't you trouble to do that," she replied ; 
 " I'll send the maid with it ; " and it was clear 
 that she must have private matters to discuss 
 with Mr. Ryan before he went off to the print- 
 ing office in the City. So I lost a couple of 
 hours' typewriting, and spent my evening alone, 
 brooding over the past, and longing for those 
 dear arms that would never clasp me again. 
 
 20 
 
CHAPTER II 
 IN BARBARA'S GARDEN 
 
 My son's upbringing gave me serious matter for 
 thought. I conscientiously tried to do my best, 
 but I fear that my best seethed with mistakes. 
 Perhaps I ought to have been more severe, but 
 I couldn't bear to see him unhappy, and he 
 seemed somehow to have realised at the ten- 
 derest age that he was master of the house. 
 Some memories of his youth stand out distinctly 
 in my mind ; other periods are but hazy 
 recollections. I know we always understood 
 one another thoroughly as only a mother and 
 son can understand one another ; for there is 
 an afhnity, an undefinable sympathy, in their 
 dual temperaments, as a general rule, that no 
 other two human beings can ever possess. 
 
 It was on his third birthday that my son first 
 called me '' little mother." Very many years 
 have passed since then, and I have heard him 
 repeat it in many keys — treble, cracked, gruff, 
 and bass. My memory recalling that term of 
 
 21 
 
My Son and I 
 
 endearment which sounded so sweet in my 
 ears brings back Charhe too. He had come to 
 constitute, in his small person, the tea-party on 
 that festive occasion. The curly-headed child 
 sat on the other side of me at table, and showed 
 his affection by stroking my black silk dress 
 with buttery fingers, while his eyes danced with 
 friendliness and good humour. 
 
 That he should divert my attention at all 
 roused my son's righteous anger. The young 
 host was jealous. He suddenly scrambled off his 
 chair with the agility of a kitten ; with a chubby, 
 revengeful hand he attached himself to the 
 beautiful golden top-knot of his guest, and his 
 whole body quivered with excitement as he tried 
 to walk away with his capture, as a wild man 
 would have done with his quarry. I quickly 
 separated the infant Hercules from his victim, 
 and taking the affrighted child in my arms, I 
 kissed away his tears. Then I soothed the 
 ruffled feelings of both babies, and friendship 
 was restored. But there was no doubt that 
 Charlie's respect for his friend was greatly 
 increased by the incident. 
 
 When he was seven years old my son made 
 the discovery that Charlie was eight months 
 younger than himself. On that account solely, 
 and for several years, he considered his old 
 
 22 
 
In Barbara^s Garden 
 
 friend entirely outside the pale of invitations, 
 and unworthy of association with any one eight 
 months his senior — to be spurned incontinently 
 like any outlaw. He was designated '^ only a 
 kid/' and that, seemingly, brooked no argument. 
 I had heard of such phenomena as crazes in 
 youths, so I put this down as one, like childish 
 jealousy, to be grown out of. I was sorry, be- 
 cause Charlie, of all the boys who came to us, 
 was a favourite of mine, a merry little fellow, 
 too young to understand the awful calamity on 
 the railway that had bereft him of both parents 
 when he was an infant. He lived at Rich- 
 mond with his strict old grandmother, who was 
 not sufficiently grandmotherly to appreciate the 
 significance and the beauty of such an inherit- 
 ance. Dulcie, also, was a particular favourite 
 of mine — now a pretty, shy little thing of five 
 years old. I frequently wanted to invite her to 
 tea, but my son would cut me short with the 
 •utmost contempt. '< She's only a girl and a baby ! 
 I don't like girls, and I don't want them ! " 
 
 I intended to fight this, especially as he had 
 never altered his dislike of her since first he 
 saw her as an infant, simply because he would 
 never cultivate her acquaintance. 
 
 ''Very well," I said at last; ''she is a sweet 
 child, and I shall invite her to come and have 
 
 23 
 
My Son and I 
 
 tea, not with you, but with me." But when he 
 pleaded, ''We're much comfier together, just 
 you and me," I was disarmed, and the matter 
 was again closured. After all, misogyny is 
 surely the exception, and he would grow out 
 of this phase too. 
 
 '' Antics ! " he would shout when he came to 
 me for our evening romp, and rush on to a 
 chair, especially if he thought there was going 
 to be a new ''turn." Then he would present 
 an eager face towards me, and chuckle in antici- 
 pation. Whenever I did anything to amuse 
 him, it seemed he must always scramble on to 
 the nearest chair first, the better to enjoy the 
 spectacle. 
 
 On this occasion I remember that I tried a 
 few steps of a minuet as an introduction, and 
 his verdict was "very pretty." Then I was my 
 son, stooping badly and staring about me and 
 falling over obstacles. This brought down the 
 house, and had to be repeated, until I firmly 
 refused to respond to any further ovation. In- 
 deed, there never lacked a variety of " turns," 
 for I invariably chose this method of bringing 
 his little faults and foibles to his notice. He was 
 not cognisant of the subterfuge of these early 
 lessons, and so he laughed himself out of any 
 number of the usual fidgety or careless habits 
 
 24 
 

 A Few Steps of a Minuet 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 that always keep cropping up, and which child- 
 hood has somehow to be rid of. 
 
 Now that he was older, I appointed Lambert 
 housemaid, and engaged an afternoon governess. 
 Fraulein Heinrich was a gaunt, pleasant, weak- 
 minded lady, who, unfortunately, could speak 
 English well, as I found out to my cost ; and as 
 my son informed me at regular intervals that 
 he hated German, and couldn't bear the sound 
 of it, and didn't intend to learn it, I understood 
 what I might expect when I saw them start 
 amiably on their walks for fresh air and Ger- 
 man conversation. But they were happy ; so 
 I implored, and shut my eyes, and kept on 
 imploring and shutting my eyes, and they didn't 
 talk German. In the end I had to dispense with 
 her services, and appointed as her successor 
 Monsieur Toudouze, a portly young Frenchman. 
 He was somewhat apathetic and far too good- 
 humoured. On the very first day, during a play- 
 ful skirmish, the study arm-chair was broken, in 
 consequence, I understood, of his having been 
 too suddenly pushed into it. As he knew no 
 English, the new pupil at once constituted him- 
 self his instructor, and kept me au courant of 
 the progress made. In the process, fortunately, 
 much French was imbibed, and when the fol- 
 lowing year I found that Monsieur Toudouze 
 
 25 
 
My Son and I 
 
 could talk English quite nicely, I engaged no 
 other tutor in want of English instruction, but 
 placed my son as a daily pupil at one of the 
 best London schools. 
 
 My time was consequently more free, and 
 hung heavily enough, so I was constantly up at 
 Highgate. Dulcie often lunched with me, and 
 I spent more time in writing and in helping 
 Mr. Ryan. His wife seemed to become daily 
 more and more nervous and irritable, but not 
 with me ; and it struck me that she took no 
 pains to control or conceal her ill-humour. 
 She certainly was not an agreeable woman, 
 yet she had her good points, for she was a 
 devoted mother and, in her own peculiar way, 
 a solicitous wife. 
 
 One afternoon my son returned from school, 
 full of pride. 
 
 '* Muz," he said joyfully, '< Simpson will come 
 to lunch on Saturday. I didn't think he would. 
 It's awfully good of him, you know, because 
 he is eleven four — four months older than 
 I am." 
 
 The important guest, whose age was thus 
 measured like a horse's height, duly arrived. 
 He was rather shy about talking before me at 
 luncheon, and I noticed that my son seemed 
 reserved and anxious. I did my best to interest 
 
 26 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 them both. I was not very successful. My 
 son showed that he disapproved of my talk, 
 and he was materially helped by the stolid 
 indifference of Simpson, Esq. The roast duck 
 and jam-tarts, however, had been greatly appre- 
 ciated, so turning to our guest, I said : 
 ^' My dear, will you take an orange ? " 
 At this apparently harmless question I was 
 puzzled to see the two boys suddenly look at 
 one another, startled, and grin, and then flush 
 up. I flushed also ; I don't know why, except 
 that I was getting nervous and ill at ease. Per- 
 haps I had not quite got over a blunder I made 
 the previous winter when one of my son's friends 
 was leaving after spending a Sunday with us. 
 He wore an Eton suit and a red nose, and he 
 sneezed continually. '' I don't see your over- 
 coat and muffler," I had remarked. Whereupon 
 confusion ensued ; and it took me a little time 
 to grasp that it was an age when prudence was 
 unfashionable, and that it was offensive in me 
 to suppose it otherwise, or to imagine that 
 boys w^ere human — and I should have known 
 that overcoats and mufflers were considered 
 '' unmanly." After Mr. big Simpson had also 
 enjoyed a good tea, he expressed his thanks with 
 some condescension, his shoulders well hunched 
 up to bear the weight of his importance. No 
 
 27 
 
My Son and I 
 
 sooner had he gone than my son took me 
 seriously to task. 
 
 *' Mother, how could you ? " 
 
 <' How could I what ? " I inquired innocently. 
 
 '' How could you talk to Simpson as though 
 he were a baby ? Fellows don't like being 
 called ' my dear.' And please remember never 
 to call me anything but my surname when any 
 of the fellows are present. They don't know 
 my first name. And it isn't usual, you know. 
 And it does sound so stupid." 
 
 This came as a revelation. My son's name 
 is such a pretty one ; but I was evidently in 
 the wrong, and in consequence I was conscious 
 of a breach of etiquette. I also felt that a 
 novel sort of education was about to begin for 
 me ; and I hoped that we should soon outgrow 
 this uncomfortable sense of awe before a four- 
 months' seniority. Otherwise, the neglect of the 
 child of the golden top-knot appeared more 
 irrevocable than ever. 
 
 That summer a cordial invitation came from 
 Aunt Prue for both of us to spend our holiday 
 as her guests in Bath ; and Barbara was to be 
 Aunt Rose's guest at the same time, which she 
 knew would please me. We hadn't met for 
 many years — not, in fact, since my trouble. Aunt 
 Prue couldn't leave her sister. I couldn't leave 
 
 28 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 my boy. Aunt Rose loathed boys, but as we 
 should only meet all together at dinner and he 
 was too young for late dinner, he would not 
 inconvenience her, inasmuch as she always kept 
 to her own quarters. The real solution of the 
 difficulty lay in the fact that, as she would have 
 Barbara's company, she would not feel neglected 
 or lonely when her sister was with us. Aunt 
 Prue had always wanted Aunt Rose to think 
 more of Barbara, but she always seemed to 
 think rather of herself, and of no one else if she 
 could help it. Evidently she had allowed her- 
 self to be persuaded. 
 
 We both hailed the treat joyfully. My son 
 had often heard me speak so much of Aunt 
 Prue and the old house at Bath with its 
 delightful surroundings. The next morning I 
 had a note from Barbara telling me she had 
 heard of the holiday plan, was longing to talk 
 it over, and expected me to tea. That afternoon 
 I went up to Highgate, and found my cousin 
 sitting under the beech-tree in her small garden, 
 and, as usual at that hour, knitting a gigantic 
 stocking for her tall brother. Her homely face 
 brightened as she rose and came towards me. 
 Her whole appearance was homely, though 
 touched with little points of coquetry, such as 
 the jet combs in her black hair, and the latest 
 
 29 
 
My Son and I 
 
 cut of her dainty collar and cuffs, and trim 
 waistbelt. 
 
 <^ We've lots to talk about to-day," she said, 
 kissing me. '' But how sweet you look in 
 mauve ! It /s a nice surprise ! We all thought 
 after all this time that you were never going to 
 wear anything but— I wonder," she broke 
 off, ''how many new dresses you've had this 
 year." 
 
 I laughed guiltily, and pirouetted round. 
 ''Like the back of it?" 
 
 " Most elegant ! " 
 
 " It's the boy's doing. He begged me to get 
 ' a flummery dress with colour ' ; he has said 
 so often that he can't bear black that I've given 
 in at last. I never intended to, but he has been 
 so persistent. It doesn't seem quite right, you 
 know." 
 
 " I'm sure it is quite right. No doubt 
 about it." 
 
 Barbara's voice had a curious monotony; 
 it was soothing, nevertheless, and quaintly 
 pleasing in its genuine expressiveness. 
 
 " We'll have tea at once, so as to be more 
 comfortable. I'll fetch Aunt Rose's letter, if 
 you'll excuse me one moment. Sit down, 
 Dearie." 
 
 My old name, Dearie, was always pleasant 
 
 30 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 to hear. It was only my own family circle 
 who called me that — and he always used to call 
 me by it. Aunt Prue started it first when I 
 was little, and then I called myself by it when 
 I first began to talk, and then it remained as a 
 pet name for always. 
 
 It was very nice sitting with Barbara under 
 the close red leaves discussing the enjoyable time 
 we should all spend together. I had read to 
 her Aunt Prue's letter, and she now took her 
 own invitation from its envelope. 
 
 ^' It's not such a genial one as yours," she 
 said; ''but, of course. Aunt Rose is so altogether 
 different" — and we both smiled. '' Listen ! 
 
 '' ' Dear Barbara, — Your aunt Prudence is 
 inviting Dearie and her boy to spend August 
 here, and it would afford me much satisfaction 
 if you could accompany them and be my 
 guest. I understand that she wouldn't come 
 without the boy. Kindly impress upon her 
 that my nerves are just now peculiarly sensi- 
 tive to noise ; the twittering of birds at dawn, 
 or any tramping up and down the stairs, brings 
 on nervous headache and consequent ex- 
 haustion. I thought you might like to take 
 the opportunity of travelling in company, and 
 being with me when Prudence is otherwise 
 
 31 
 
My Son and I 
 
 engaged. It is ages since you have honoured 
 us here. I beg you will convey to your 
 brother my kindest remembrance. — Yours af- 
 fectionately, Aunt Rose. 
 
 '' ' P.S. — Would you please select and bring 
 with you, if you come, 2 lbs. of the best salmon 
 from that shop in Regent Street — I forget the 
 name ; we can't get anything like it here. If 
 you can't come, please call there and have it 
 forwarded to me with the account.' " 
 
 '' I'll do the commission for you, Barbara ; 
 it's a journey in itself from here to Regent 
 Street, and out of our way to the station, and 
 I have other commissions to do for her." 
 
 ^' I can't go with you at the beginning of 
 August." 
 
 ^'What!" I cried. ''That is too bad. Why 
 didn't you say it at once ? Aunt Rose won't 
 like that." My cousin looked confused, and 
 didn't reply. 'Ms it indiscreet to ask why?" 
 
 " It is only that Lawrence has a few medical 
 friends coming informally to dinner on the 
 seventh, and I must be here to arrange it for 
 them — doctors think such a lot of their food, 
 you know." 
 
 '' Barbara, my dear, if you remain for that, 
 Aunt Rose is sure to be curious, and won't 
 
 32 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 hesitate to ask me the question she ah^vays asks 
 you; and what shall I tell her? Because — 
 because I have my doubts." 
 
 " What question ? " 
 
 '''Is Barbara going to be married?' Per- 
 haps, Barbara, there is going to be something 
 happening in August," I said, " and that vou 
 intend to oblige her." I was sorry as soon 
 as the words had escaped me, for her face 
 flushed painfully and she turned away her 
 head. I put my arm in hers. 
 
 " Every one can't be happy," she murmured. 
 
 "/know that, dear, and Aunt Rose knows it 
 too, by her own experience ; and I often wonder," 
 I added dismally, '' if it is better to have ever 
 known what happiness means." This led to 
 an argument, and then we had to console one 
 another, and when I took my leave we were 
 both as serene as ever, at any rate outwardly. 
 
 That evening was a dreadful one. I went 
 round next door to help Mr. Ryan with the 
 index of his new book. Mrs. Ryan was in a 
 particularly peevish humour. She came in, 
 after we had started work, with a small parcel 
 that had arrived for him, sat herself down, and 
 as usual started bemoaning things, railed at her 
 fate, poured voluble scorn on literature as a 
 profession, and had arrived at lamenting lost 
 
 33 c 
 
My Son and I 
 
 opportunities in the direction of the Stock 
 Exchange, when her husband smiUngly placed 
 an open jewellery case in her lap. She stopped 
 in astonishment. " Alex, what have you been 
 doing ? Good gracious, diamond earrings ! 
 I — I certainly did want diamond earrings." 
 The usual pallor was leaving her face, and 
 her voice increased in strength. ''But these! 
 You don't expect me to wear these, do you ? 
 These diamonds are not nearly fine enough ! Of 
 course — you — couldn't afford it!'' And in a 
 fury of passion she flung them away on the 
 floor, and burst out of the room. 
 
 The silence that reigned whilst Mr. Ryan 
 quietly picked up the jewels and restored them 
 to their case was at last broken by his saying 
 sadly : 
 
 '' It was an inopportune moment, evidently ; 
 and I didn't know she had set her heart on 
 larger stones. These are of finer quality and 
 less showy than others the jeweller had." I 
 was too scared to venture on a reply, and was 
 glad that Dulcie entered and made us settle at 
 the table to play a game of dominoes with 
 her. Mr. Ryan sat smoking and gazing at his 
 dominoes in a vacant sort of way, and Dulcie 
 was laughing because I was losing. It was not 
 that my concentration was at fault ; I was 
 
 34 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 thinking of the painful exhibition of fury we 
 had just witnessed. And yet, it seemed to me, 
 how infinitely more painful it must be for the 
 person who was the victim of it and of the 
 impotence to control it, let alone the physi- 
 cal nervous suffering and ensuing loss of self- 
 respect. These reflections were passing through 
 my mind when the servant broke in with an 
 urgent summons to come upstairs to her mis- 
 tress, who was ill. We hurried to her room, 
 and there found Mrs. Ryan in a fit ; and before 
 the doctor could arrive — she was dead. The 
 terrible suddenness and the awful circumstances 
 seemed to petrify us. 
 
 During the first sad days that followed I did 
 all I could to help — to arrange for the house- 
 hold and take care of Dulcie. It was extra- 
 ordinary how thoughtful the child was for her 
 nine years, so pathetically anxious for her father, 
 who was quite prostrated. Dr. Charleston ad- 
 vised his usual panacea for sorrow^ — change 
 of scene — and as soon as possible the father 
 and daughter left together on an absence of 
 several months. 
 
 On the ist of August my son and I were 
 whirling along in the train to Bath, enjoying 
 the sight of the golden fields and ever-changing 
 landscape as we fiew past them in the express. 
 
 35 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Looking out of the window, however, didn't 
 amuse him for long, and he soon took advan- 
 tage of our being alone to kneel on the seat 
 and execute a legless dance in that position, 
 after which he sprang to his feet and danced 
 a bit of a reel on every seat except mine. After 
 all, if one lets a young colt out into the fresh 
 air he cannot be expected to keep sedately quiet 
 until a preliminary canter has got his spirits 
 out. I warned him of the cost of re-covering 
 the cushions and paying damages to the com- 
 pany ; and partly by way of showing how much 
 he was impressed, and partly because I couldn't 
 help laughing, he repeated his performance, and 
 was trying to persuade me to get up and join 
 him in the step of the Highland Fling, when an 
 official made a timely appearance and delighted 
 him by gravely asking him, and not me, for our 
 tickets. 
 
 As soon as the train had come to a halt at 
 our destination — 
 
 '' Here, let me do it, Muz," he exclaimed, 
 jumping out ; '' you're so helpless. — Hi, porter ! " 
 I let him manage, really because I wanted him 
 to learn to be manly and self-reliant. '' And you 
 stay there ; I'll go and show him the luggage." 
 So I let him do that too ; but I counted our 
 baggage at every possible opportunity, and 
 
 36 
 
In Barbara's Garden 
 
 when he forgot the tea-basket, his book, and 
 my bonnet-box, 1 surreptitiously pointed them 
 out to the porter, and so saved my young 
 pioneer any mortification. 
 
 In the old-fashioned carriage which had been 
 sent to meet us — it had been called a ''coach" 
 in its vouth — I warned mv son earnestly not 
 to do anything to upset Aunt Rose, who was 
 so easily upsetable, and I was still anxiously 
 harping on the same theme when we drew 
 up at the dark, flat-fronted house, which looked 
 to me just the same as eyer. I remembered 
 so well the forbiddingly gloomy appearance 
 of the ground floor, and the whole imposing- 
 looking building would have had its old- 
 fashioned mournfulness about it had it not 
 been for the delightfully joyous air of the 
 first floor. That first floor put an altogether 
 brighter complexion on the whole establish- 
 ment. It was Aunt Prue's domain, and the 
 windows were rich in flower-boxes with 
 gorgeous nasturtiums trailing over them ; and 
 a large gilt birdcage was just perceptible hang- 
 ing as of yore between the maroon curtains 
 in one window and a hanging basket of ferns 
 to balance it in the other. And there was dear 
 Aunt Prue herself, all smiles, standing in the 
 hall to welcome us. 
 
 37 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 AUNT PRUE AND AUNT ROSE 
 
 There was no woman on earth I loved more 
 dearly than Aunt Prue. She lived with her 
 sister, Aunt Rose, her junior by five years, in 
 a fine house in the best part of Bath — two 
 maiden ladies as unlike in appearance and dis- 
 position as two sisters could be — and without 
 other relations than Barbara, her brother, and 
 myself, who all lived in London. 
 
 Aunt Prue was of ample and dignified figure, 
 but not too ample to hide a waist that still had 
 shapeliness. Dressed in black, with her kind 
 face and prematurely white wavy hair peeping 
 from the front of her mauve-ribboned cap, she 
 looked like a dear fairy grandmother, and 
 strangers were surprised to hear her called 
 Miss Whyte, or '' our Miss Whyte," as she was 
 frequently'styled by her poor proteges. Indeed, 
 it w^as a mystery to all how^ this amiable, lovable 
 woman had ever remained Miss Whyte. 
 
 Capricious and spoilt, Aunt Rose had been 
 
 38 
 
Aunt Prue and AuxNT Rose 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 the beauty of the family. She was sHght in 
 stature, and wore side curls, which she would 
 shake at times to the accompaniment of a little 
 affected laugh. She also wore a soiipcon of 
 rouge, and didn't like kissing. She worried 
 around in the daytime, and in the evening 
 arrayed herself in coloured satin and fringe — 
 always fringe — and revelled in recording coin- 
 cidences or in playing a game of cribbage, 
 while Aunt Prue was her devoted slave, and 
 was not allowed to forget it. 
 
 '^ Poor Aunt Rose!" her sister used to ex- 
 claim to me in a 'hushed, confidential way. 
 '< She has had such trials ! However — " 
 '' However," accompanied with a shake of the 
 head, would come in a cheerful, comforting 
 tone, implying, " It's no use, after all, to dwell 
 on what cannot be mended, and Heaven knows 
 best what is ^ood for us." And then she 
 would turn to some bright topic of conver- 
 sation — not clever, for she was not what you 
 would call a clever woman ; but she knew what 
 humour was, and no one ever felt bored in her 
 cheery company. 
 
 The " trials " of Aunt Rose were no secret. 
 Whenever — which was often — she indulged in 
 tantrums, they generally began, culmmated, 
 and ended with lamentations on her <' trials." 
 
 39 
 
My Son and I 
 
 In a remote past she had bestowed her affec- 
 tions, against all advice, upon a cavalry officer, 
 had paid his debts, and almost took a pride 
 in his escapades. But her cavalier at last 
 escapaded away altogether, without a word of 
 apology or of gratitude. 
 
 In my youth, I remember, Christmas used 
 always to be kept up in fine style at that old 
 house in Bath, presided over by Aunt Prue, 
 who, with homely hospitality, insisted that there 
 was plenty of room for us all as long as we 
 liked to enjoy the delights of the old-world 
 place. 
 
 At those times Aunt Rose developed nerves, 
 and was unable to bear a sound ; so she kept 
 much to her own suite of rooms on the ground 
 floor, tended by that special month's new maid. 
 Shut up with her, too, was her little King 
 Charles spaniel, whose face was lined with 
 aristocratic crossness not unlike that of his 
 mistress, aggravated by a surfeit of sugar and 
 rich food. 
 
 '' I'm so glad vou've been able to come ! " 
 exclaimed Aunt Prue once more ; and I was 
 again folded in her warm embrace, where I 
 found that sense of love and peacefulness to 
 which I had looked forward so eagerly. Then 
 she said such nice, tactful things to my son 
 
 40 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 which made him feel at home at once, and 
 what she whispered in my ear about him when 
 he wasn't looking made me flush with pride. 
 After she had inquired anxiously if I had 
 executed all Aunt Rose's commissions which 
 in her letter she had begged me to bring, she 
 counted the parcels over carefully, and find- 
 ing them right, she smiled once more and 
 marched us in triumph into the boudoir. The 
 royal spaniel growled and snapped at my son's 
 legs as Aunt Rose greeted us. This little idol 
 of Aunt Rose's was even more overfed than his 
 predecessor, and bore an ugly family likeness 
 to the old pet, who had been gathered full of 
 ills to his absurd forefathers. 
 
 ^' How de do ?" she said, without enthusiasm. 
 '^As soon as I heard the bell I felt sure it must 
 be you, although I am expecting the post. 
 There's his knock ! Curious ! Intuition or 
 something ! " 
 
 She examined the parcels critically, and 
 turning over a piece of embroidery I had 
 worked for her, pronounced a staid little 
 sentence, supposed to indicate gratification. 
 A grateful look came my way from Aunt Prue. 
 
 ''Have you been working anything else?" 
 she asked quickly. 
 
 I had done the same, Aunt Prue hastened to 
 
 41 
 
My Son and I 
 
 say — exactly the same — for her. I knew from 
 experience my Httle offerings must be identical 
 to please both. Aunt Rose was so quick to 
 feel slighted ; and Aunt Prue — ^well, I needn't 
 explain. 
 
 When these first greetings were over, my son, 
 who had stood unnoticed, was introduced. 
 
 ''How de do?" said Aunt Rose. '' I am 
 glad to see you." She certainly didn't look 
 it, nor was her voice convincing. 
 
 '' Thank you — I am glad to come," replied 
 my son ; '' and I'm very glad we've arrived all 
 right — mother was a great responsibility." 
 
 Aunt Rose opened her eyes at him, and then 
 burst out laughing. He grew hot and un- 
 comfortable, and seemed snubbed, and 1 felt 
 troubled, for it suddenly struck me that his 
 upbringing must be at fault, and that I had 
 thrust him forward too soon. I almost ad- 
 mitted it to myself. Aunt Prue promptly came 
 to the rescue with a '* little surprise she had in 
 store for him " — a silver watch, his first, and 
 it nearly took his breath away with pleasure. 
 Nevertheless, when he went to bed he kept me 
 by him to impress upon me that he hoped that 
 something horrid might happen to Aunt Rose. 
 I told him I was shocked, but I fancy he saw 
 me smile. 
 
 42 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 He made me late, and I came in to dinner 
 five minutes after the gong had sounded. Aunt 
 Prue was seated before the old Crown Derby 
 soup-tureen, looking perturbed, and Aunt Rose 
 sat opposite, silently indignant at being kept wait- 
 ing. ^' I'm so sorry ! " I said, as I hurriedly 
 took my place ; '' I was with my son." There 
 was an ominous silence. Aunt Prue evidently 
 feared whatever she said might cause dis- 
 pleasure, and feeling that a glare from Aunt 
 Rose was imminent (Aunt Rose's glare was a 
 thing to be remembered and avoided), she 
 turned attention to herself. 
 
 <' Rosie, / made those balls in the soup. 
 You always like them best, my dear." 
 
 *' More's the pity. Prudence. They are sure 
 to be cold now. In fact, I can't fancy any- 
 thing now — my appetite's gone off." 
 
 ^' I am so sorry. Aunt Rose," I said. The 
 conviction that was in my voice seemed to give 
 Aunt Rose some slight gratification. She knew 
 I was justly uncomfortable. 
 
 The cover was removed, and I was relieved 
 to see a cloud of steam go up as the venerable 
 butler handed round the soup. 
 
 '< Yes, icy cold!" remarked Aunt Rose, with 
 an affected shiver, as she burnt her tongue. 
 
 When we all adjourned to the boudoir, Aunt 
 
 43 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Rose settled herself comfortably, and she and 
 I began a " cribbage fight," while Aunt Prue 
 quietly knitted in a corner, pleasure floating 
 over her face. Those games were simply a 
 martyrdom to me. 
 
 Aunt Rose never played for '^ love," and was 
 furious if she lost ; there was not much fear 
 of that with me. I was no more of a card- 
 player than Aunt Prue, and Aunt Rose would 
 keep on reminding me of the fact while she 
 annotated her score — much like this : 
 
 '< And one for his nob. You haven't the 
 bump for cards ! Your thoughts are wander- 
 ing. Lay out for crib. Dear me ! How little 
 you understand the game — not a glimmer ! " 
 
 She continued her amusing, but nevertheless 
 rather galling, remarks at frequent intervals, 
 until I could scarcely help relieving my pent-up 
 feelings with a shriek. Her winnings were 
 always piously bestowed on a crossing-sweeper, 
 who styled her '^ my lady " before her face and 
 '' the queer old gal " behind her back. So I 
 felt I was helping to support the poor of Bath 
 — the only interest she had left me in the game. 
 
 just then mulled wine and biscuits were 
 brought in. The brief respite was seized upon 
 by Aunt Prue to say : 
 
 '' Ah, my dear, how I wish you could live 
 
 44 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 with us, instead of being so lonely ! " Where- 
 upon Aunt Rose frowned at her, thinking I 
 didn't see her ; then turning her head, she ex- 
 claimed, " Curious ! I was just thinking that 
 moment it's a good thing you cio/i't live here. 
 Why, you'd be bored to death ! And what 
 would you do with that boy ? " 
 
 I assured them I was not at all lonely, but 
 my voice was unsteady. That night I pegged 
 wrong twice, and Aunt Rose informed me I 
 must do it on purpose. I glanced at Aunt 
 Prue, knitting for '^ the most deserving case I 
 ever knew." She sent me her old look of 
 comic pity, with lips compressed and eyebrows 
 raised in surprise. Once, and once only, in 
 the old days she had made excuses for me, 
 whereupon Aunt Rose, offended at the '' un- 
 warrantable interference in the game," had 
 flounced off to bed. 
 
 We really saw very little of Aunt Rose, as I 
 had hoped and expected. Aunt Prue's thoughts 
 were ever for our comfort and amusement, and 
 the days were passing all too quickly. It was 
 a quiet, delightful time, and callers were fortu- 
 nately scarce ; only Mr. Harkspur, the new 
 lawyer, whose genius Aunt Rose claimed to 
 have discovered, and his confidential clerk came 
 constantly, whereat I wondered until Aunt Prue 
 
 45 
 
My Son and I 
 
 explained : '' It is about some transfer of stock 
 or something. Rosie sees to all that, for that 
 sort of thing is quite beyond me, Dearie. She 
 actually revels in it, and he's so clever, she says, 
 and does so well for us." 
 
 The morning before Barbara was expected, 
 Aunt Rose begged I would step down to her 
 boudoir for a long chat. My son grumbled, 
 for we intended going for a walk together, and 
 he would be obliged to go alone. 
 
 " Sit down, please," said Aunt Rose. '' Now 
 I am going to tell you a secret — Prudence has 
 no head for such matters, but I understand 
 you have some experience which might be of 
 use." I wondered what could be coming. ^' My 
 dear, I have just finished writing a story for 
 children." 
 
 " A story for children ! " I repeated, with 
 unnecessary surprise and amusement, I fear. 
 But it was so comic, for Aunt Rose had no 
 shred of sympathy with anything in the shape 
 of a child. 
 
 '' Yes. The handbags you earned for us 
 fired me to it ; and I wanted you to come to 
 Bath so that I might get to know more of the 
 ins and outs of these matters — and besides — of 
 course — I hadn't seen you for so long." 
 
 1 inclined my head in sober appreciation of 
 
 46 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 the sentiment. "Who's going to publish it?" 
 I inquired, without any evident sarcasm. 
 
 '' I haven't decided yet ; I thought you might 
 know what method of pubUcation would be 
 best, from the point of view of the largest cir- 
 culation. The title bothered me, but I got a 
 good one at last. I call it * The Wisdom of the 
 Waiting Owl, by Rosie Whyte ' ; or I may 
 take the pseudonym of ' Horatio Marchmont.' 
 I'm not sure. Do you advise a pseudonym in 
 my case ? " 
 
 '' I should hardly think it necessary ; but you 
 could decide that later." 
 
 ^*The plot is about an Owl, a Fairy God- 
 mother, and a Wizard," she continued, with a 
 flush of excitement under her rouge, " who live 
 together in a fiat." 
 
 '' In a what ? " I interrupted. 
 
 *' In a flat," she repeated. 
 
 By the time she came to the end I had taken 
 out my pocket-handkerchief and was coughing 
 uncomfortably — in fact, I was choking. " Ex- 
 cuse me — a moment," I gasped, pointed to my 
 throat, and with my eyes watering, and feeling 
 as though every vein in my body was bursting, 
 I fled to my room, where I buried my head in 
 the pillow and laughed till my sides ached. 
 After a struggle I recovered my equanimity. 
 
 47 
 
My Son and I 
 
 I returned to Aunt Rose, apologised for the 
 '' sudden spasm," and told her the address of 
 a typewriter as a preliminary to sending round 
 to the publishers, perhaps through a literary 
 agent. She was making a note of it when in 
 burst my boy, to my consternation, with his 
 cap on. 
 
 '' I say. Aunt Rose," he cried, out of breath, 
 '' I thought you'd like to know at once. I've 
 seen Mr. Harkspur with his man in the Pump 
 Room Gardens — they didn't see me. I heard 
 him say you are going to lose all your money ! 
 He did, really y mother ! He said like this : ^ 1 
 shall hoodwink the two old ladies as long as I 
 can, and then we'll have to cut for it.' So I 
 thought Aunt Rose ought to know." 
 
 I fancied I saw a twinkle in my son's eyes. 
 I was horrified. My aunt had turned pale. 
 '' Dearie,'' she exclaimed, glaring, yet speaking 
 not without dignity, " if this is a joke, I shall 
 never forgive your bringing that boy here. I 
 shall make inquiry." I led him away with 
 dreadful doubts in my mind, and a feeling that 
 I should never be forgiven, and might even be 
 forbidden the house ; for the boy, who was 
 certainly mischievous at times, heartily disliked 
 the old lady, as she could hardly help seeing. 
 
 In a few days Aunt Rose informed me that 
 
 48 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 she had gone still more deeply into the securities 
 question, that she found Mr. Harkspur's answers 
 unsatisfactory ; and later, that having become 
 thoroughly uneasy, she was going to make other 
 arrangements, and was advising her sister to do 
 the same. I was glad to see that my son had 
 consequently gone up in her estimation, and 
 that she now regarded him with a certain 
 respect ; but he liked her none the more for 
 that, and confided to me that it would be quite 
 nice if she did lose all her money, if only Aunt 
 Prue could get it. 
 
 Regarding money matters, it was Aunt Rose 
 who enlightened me about my own affairs. It 
 was one evening after dinner in her boudoir, 
 just before cribbage time, that she remarked : 
 
 '' I suppose. Dearie, that your monetary affairs 
 are thoroughly well looked after, and you know 
 all the ins and outs of them ? " She had evi- 
 dently been thinking over the matter, she was 
 so deliberate. 
 
 ^' I ' fear I don't understand much about 
 them," I admitted. '' My poor husband always 
 said there was nothing to do but get the divi- 
 dends, so far as my father's money is con- 
 cerned, and those our old lawyer has always 
 seen to." 
 
 " Dear me, child ! But about the future — 
 
 49 D 
 
My Son and I 
 
 about your boy ! Don't you know the terms 
 of my brother's will ? " 
 
 '' I know that my inheritance from my father 
 is all tied up for my life-time and then goes to 
 my son." 
 
 '^ Only if he lives to be twenty-one," corrected 
 Aunt Rose. 
 
 This was new to me. I glanced at Aunt 
 Prue. 
 
 '' Rosie," pleaded the latter in embarrassed 
 tones, '' there's surely no need — for her to " 
 
 '' Of course she ought to know, Prudence. 
 You always think money matters of no account, 
 but she has had no one to tell her, seemingly, 
 and as the business head of the family I must 
 do my duty. If, on the death of your husband, 
 you had had no son, Dearie, or now, if your 
 son doesn't attain the age of twenty-one, half 
 the fortune your father left you goes to his 
 two sisters — myself and Prudence." 
 
 She delivered all this with such unction that 
 I was quite taken aback ; the matter, too, had 
 been so crudely put before me, and the mere 
 notion of being bereft of my boy struck at my 
 heart ; but I merely replied, '' Let us hope. 
 Aunt Rose, that my son will live at least until 
 he attains the age of twenty-one." She moved 
 to the card-table without making any reply, 
 
 50 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 when, I fear, I took pleasure in asking to be 
 excused on the plea of headache. I begged 
 Aunt Prue to come with me to my room, and 
 Aunt Rose spent the lonely evening she hated. 
 
 Barbara's arrival was the next event. 
 
 ''How de do, Barbara?" said Aunt Rose. 
 '' Dear me ! you don't grow younger. Now 
 they can call us 'the three old maids of Bath,' 
 for Dearie says you've still no news for us." 
 Barbara smilingly shook her head, and Aunt 
 Prue's beams of w^elcome made up for much. 
 
 It w^as on the following evening, after I w^as 
 in bed, a tap came at the door, and my cousin 
 sought admittance. 
 
 "Come in," I said; "I'm only looking at 
 Punch r 
 
 " I thought you might be reading ; I saw 
 the light under your door, Dearie. I want an 
 opportunity for a chat alone." She was in 
 her dressing-gown ; she took my volume away, 
 begged permission to put the lights out as 
 she " could talk to me better so," lighted the 
 night-light, and seated herself in the arm-chair 
 by my side. 
 
 " I am all attention, Barbara. No trouble, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " Something very confidential," she answered 
 softly. " I've been having a long talk with 
 
 51 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Aunt Prue late this afternoon in her parlour 
 whilst you were all out." The weather was un- 
 usually cold for the time of year, and I knew 
 well that 'cosy combination of tea, twilight, and 
 bright fire which was always lighted on the very 
 sHghtest provocation in that sanctum which 
 Aunt Rose never entered. The red carpet and 
 draperies, she declared, were hideous and made 
 her eyes ache ; but Aunt Prue clung to every- 
 thing in that room, and would have nothing 
 altered in it, for it was just as their mother 
 left it. I could imagine the two chatting in 
 the gathering darkness, with the kettle singing 
 drowsily on the hob, as it would for hours 
 together, out of sheer good fellowship. I could 
 see the thumbs of Aunt Prue's clasped hands 
 twirling away slowly, a habit which irritated 
 Aunt Rose beyond endurance, but which she 
 couldn't break herself off. How often had I 
 myself enjoyed such confidential moments and 
 been soothed and cheered by them ! I re- 
 membered that once 
 
 '< Dearie ! I'm waiting for you to open your 
 eyes — I can see you, you know." 
 
 " O Barbara ! that old habit of mine — I 
 was picturing you both together — indeed, I'm 
 all attention." 
 
 '' Well then, as I want you to know it all, 
 
 52 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 and as I want you to know how kind Aunt 
 Prue was, this is what happened. I had in- 
 vited myself, you must know, so when we had 
 finished tea Aunt Prue began twirling her 
 thumbs, and though she expressed no curiosity, 
 she smiled encouragingly at me, for I felt 
 awkward and she noticed it. 
 
 "'Aunt,' I murmured, 'I really have a con- 
 fession to make ; ' and my cheeks glowed so, 
 I was glad the firelight could reveal so little. 
 
 " ' Ah, at last ! ' sighed Aunt Prue — such a 
 sigh of relief it sounded — ' in love at last — 
 really ? Quick, my dear, tell me. Who is 
 it?' 
 
 '' I knelt and folded my arms round her as 
 I half whispered, ' Don't be surprised. He's 
 heaps older than I am — quite heaps and heaps. 
 It's your friend. Dr. Alan Charleston/ I felt 
 her tremble. Then, hearing no reply — 
 
 *' * Aren't you pleased, aunt ? ' I asked. 
 
 " She stooped and kissed me — once, twice, 
 oh, many times — before sh-e spoke. 
 
 " ' Does he — does he care for you ? ' she 
 asked at last. Her face was in shadow, so 
 that I couldn't read it. She was evidently 
 labouring under emotion, for her voice was 
 unsteady. I was rather surprised, for I never 
 knew she was so anxious about me, or could 
 
 53 
 
My Son and I 
 
 be so sympathetic — you have always been her 
 favourite niece, and always will be. 
 
 '' ' That's the trouble,' I replied ; ' I don't 
 know if he does.' Then ! became excited and 
 voluble, and I burst out with, ' I do love him 
 so — you can't think ! Our acquaintance has 
 been comparatively short — but — I wanted so 
 much to tell you — but — O aunt, somehow I 
 think you can't understand what I feel.' " 
 
 " What did she reply to that, Barbara ? " I 
 asked earnestly. 
 
 " She replied gently, ' I think I can.' Then 
 she rose and opened the window slightly. I, 
 too, thought the room was getting close. Just 
 then Myles brought in her reading-lamp and 
 drew the curtains. When we were alone once 
 more Aunt Prue said, ' Dr. Charleston is the 
 best of men. Surely I ought to know. I have 
 known hmi since his childhood. I believe you 
 would be very happy — and,' she added, smiling, 
 ^ I admire your taste.' " 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Prue took it like that, did she ? " 
 1 muttered, pondering. 
 
 ^' Dearie, you are exasperating to-night." 
 Barbara was really hurt as she added, ''The 
 point is what you think about it, not how 
 Aunt Prue took it. Aunt Prue said at the 
 end, ' Tell it all to Dearie ; she knows him, 
 
 54 
 
Aunt Prue and Aunt Rose 
 
 too, very well ; and she sees him often, and 
 she may perhaps know more than I, and be 
 of help.' O Dearie, he can't care for me, 
 can he ? " and she burst into tears. '' I'm so 
 unhappy ! " she sobbed. ** If only I knew one 
 way or the other ! " 
 
 '' My poor Barbara ! I thought it was some 
 one else you cared for. I fear he is a con- 
 firmed bachelor — at least he always says so, 
 and a man of that age often means what he 
 says." 
 
 " Do you think he has ever cared for any- 
 body ? " asked Barbara tearfully. 
 
 '•Well, Dr. Charleston was a great friend 
 of my poor husband, who told me that before 
 our marriage he had noticed that a young girl 
 seemed to be in love with his friend. My 
 husband had introduced him to her mother's 
 house in Mayfair. But he soon found that 
 the mother was against the visits of the hand- 
 some young doctor, who had no private means, 
 as she had a rich cousin in view for marriage 
 with her only child. Dr. Charleston was 
 offended, and discontinued his visits to May- 
 fair. The girl was very unhappy, and after 
 the lapse of some months she wrote to him, 
 reminding him he had not called to see them 
 since the New Year, and alluding to the 
 
 55 
 
My Son and I 
 
 pleasure some flowers of his had given her. 
 He showed this letter to my husband de- 
 jectedly, and wrote a few distantly polite lines 
 in reply. Then — there's no harm in telling 
 you, it's so long ago — she married her cousin, 
 who was longing for her. Since then Dr. 
 Charleston has advanced step by step to the 
 head of his profession, through making tuber- 
 cular disease his speciality, and has excelled in 
 his ambition. I should dearly Hke to see you 
 happy, Barbara, and you would be, married 
 to him. Leave it to me — he won't be offended 
 with me. I shall try and find out. So pull 
 yourself together — it's not like you to give 
 way ; " and I drew her down on my pillow. 
 
 " Who was the lady ? " asked Barbara, after a 
 time, looking up. " Do you know ? " 
 
 *' Her name was Marcella EUismere." 
 
 " What has become of her ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 It was so late when Barbara left me that my 
 night-light was spluttering in the dawn. 
 
 ^6 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A CONFIRMED OLD BACHELOR 
 
 One of the first things I did after returning 
 home was to imagine a bad headache and send 
 for Dr. Charleston. 
 
 '' Well, little lady ? Are we in pain to-day ? " 
 he asked on entering. 
 
 << Not much." 
 
 ''Why, you're looking very well. You could 
 hardly look better if you were shamming." 
 
 '* O Doctor ! " I exclaimed reproachfully. 
 
 ''Well, well !" 
 
 " I want cheering up, I think ; but sometimes 
 my head really seems to take leave of its 
 senses." 
 
 " When you are writing ? " 
 
 " I won't be chaffed." 
 
 " Now look here, my dear lady ; it's all 
 very well to want cheering up, but you must 
 remember I am a very busy man, that the 
 afternoon has a habit of slipping away, 
 
 and " 
 
 57 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '* But my head " 
 
 <' My advice is, put on your hat. I'm going 
 Highgate way, and I'll drop you at your 
 cousin's, and she 11 cheer you up." 
 
 . '< But she's away still, at Bath. Lawrence 
 has spared her for another week — I suppose to 
 play cribbage with her hostess. Aunt Rose 
 must have been losing, and wants to recover 
 her luck." 
 
 '< Don't be malicious, but come for the 
 drive," he said, laughing. '' You can wait in 
 the brougham whilst I pay just the one visit, 
 and I'll bring you home again. It's that boy 
 being at school makes you more lonely and 
 nervous." 
 
 I readily complied. 
 
 It was only on our return that I got him 
 to talk about his patients, and learnt that the 
 crowd of recent ones were all consumptives. 
 Then I got him to talk of his youth, and how 
 he aspired to become a specialist in that branch 
 of the profession. 
 
 << It is a fine thing," I remarked, '' to achieve 
 such special knowledge and be able to do so 
 much good." 
 
 '' I suppose so. To give people back their 
 health is an immense self-gratification in this 
 grey world — when one can do it," he replied. 
 
 58 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 '< Grey world, Doctor ? " I ventured at last, 
 but very nervously. '' Don't you find it grey 
 through living in that big house in Harley 
 Street all alone ? " 
 
 ^' I'm too busy an old bachelor to be 
 lonely." 
 
 *' I wonder you have never married," I per- 
 sisted. 
 
 There was a pause. His eyes were fixed on 
 me, surprised ; his mind seemed to be working. 
 I pretended to look out of the window dreamily, 
 but feared I had committed an indiscretion and 
 felt uncomfortable. Soon he took my, hand in 
 his and said gently : 
 
 *' I thought there was only one saint on 
 earth, and that was your aunt Prue. She is 
 older than I, and seemed to consider herself 
 older still, or during my young days I might 
 have enrolled myself one of her numerous 
 suitors of that time. It has always puzzled me 
 why she never married. Her one idea appeared 
 to be that her sister should marry. Whenever 
 we talked in a confidential humour she was 
 sure to turn the conversation on to Rose, who 
 had been so cruelly forsaken, and whose alleged 
 virtues ought to be appreciated. But there was 
 no admiring her sister Rose." 
 
 At this I laughed ; it really seemed too 
 
 59 
 
My Son and I 
 
 ridiculous to think of Aunt Rose married to 
 Dr. Alan Charleston. But with this confirma- 
 tion of the light that had dawned upon me 
 after what Barbara told me of her confidential 
 interview, it was no longer a puzzle to me 
 why unselfish Aunt Prue had preferred the 
 martyrdom that was the portion of '' our Miss 
 Whyte." 
 
 "And all this time, no one else?" I per- 
 sisted, though falteringly, in my staunchness 
 to Barbara. 
 
 Again there was an uncomfortable pause ; 
 then he dropped my hand, and said in a voice 
 that was quite clear, " She's married — I've not 
 seen her for years — we won't talk of her. 
 And," he added more gaily, '' it seems that 
 instead of the old bachelor cheering the little 
 lady, it is she who is bent on depressing the 
 old bachelor- — the absolutely confirmed old 
 bachelor." 
 
 "When a bachelor insists he is 'confirmed,'" 
 I replied, " it's the last signal he holds out 
 before he flies the white fiag." 
 
 "Indeed!" he replied; "you'll be writing 
 novels next. * Confirmed ' with me, however, 
 means — confirmed." 
 
 He laughed. I accomplished a faint smile, and 
 was forced to relinquish the matter as hopeless. 
 
 60 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 As soon as I liad taken off my outdoor 
 things I sat down and wrote a few lines to 
 Aunt Prue, informing her that I had just 
 gathered from Dr. Charleston's own lips that 
 he was ''an absolutely confirmed old bachelor," 
 and that I knew no one could comfort Barbara 
 as she could. 
 
 That night when I had composed myself for 
 sleep an awful thought suddenly flashed itself 
 into my mind and made my cheeks burn 
 madly. '' Could Dr. Charleston possibly have 
 imagined that — when I asked him why he didn't 
 marry — that he could have thought — that I 
 could possibly have meant — Oh, surely 
 not ! Oh no, no ! Surely he must know me 
 too well for that ! " Nevertheless, I buried my 
 head in the bedclothes with the conviction 
 that I could never get to know what he did 
 think, and vowed aloud in muffled tones : " I'll 
 never do a kind action of that kind again. 
 It's too ridiculous and humiliating. No, never 
 again, not for any one ! " 
 
 Six months later trouble befell Aunt Prue. 
 Aunt Rose wrote shortly that she had always 
 had " a feeling " that Mr. Harkspur was a fool, 
 if not worse, and had accordingly taken her 
 affairs out of his hands some time back, and 
 had advised her sister to do the same — (I 
 
 6i 
 
My Son and I 
 
 wondered why she hadn't the generosity to 
 put it down to my son's timely warning ; per- 
 haps she forgot, as she often did when her 
 natural conceit would unconsciously assert 
 
 itself) but that Aunt Prudence had belied 
 
 her name, entertaining a sentimental preference 
 for believing in the absconding knave for lack 
 of any absolute proof, and had been justly 
 punished, for through him all her property 
 had disappeared to the last farthing ! I was 
 horrified at the news. Poor Aunt Prue 
 ruined ! 
 
 A pathetic letter followed from Aunt Prue, 
 telling how her sister had scolded so that she 
 had quite upset herself, and how, unfortunately, 
 she was going to be a burden on dear Rosie 
 for the rest of her days. (Ah, thought I, I 
 know what that means — hourly sacrifice and 
 daily pin-pricks.) 
 
 It was not long after, that Aunt Rose died 
 suddenly from heart failure, and she, who had 
 always prided herself upon her pious public 
 giving, had left her large fortune to charity, and 
 an annuity of just ^fioo a year to her sister! 
 Once or twice in my life I have fairly boiled 
 with indignation. I boiled then, and in con- 
 templating Aunt Prue's position I suggested the 
 will should be contested. But what was the 
 
 62 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 use ? It turned out that Aunt Prue was 
 actually grateful, for " Rosie was such a good 
 woman ! " Overwhelmed with grief for the 
 loss of her sister, she wrote the sweetest letters, 
 discovering the nicest traits of character in 
 '^ your poor dear aunt " that only lived in her 
 own gentle imagination. And so she fretted 
 and fretted. I wanted her to come on a visit 
 to me — a permanent visit. I intended mooting 
 this idea when I attended the funeral, but a 
 severe chill, which for some days had kept me 
 in bed, prevented my undertaking the journey. 
 So, as a preliminary, I wrote to her that I was 
 still feeling weak and depressed, adding, " I 
 want you so, dear Aunt Prue." The following 
 day I had her with me safe and sound, with 
 the intention of kidnapping her for ever. 
 I was, therefore, not a little surprised when, 
 after a month had elapsed, she remarked, 
 nervously putting her cap straight : '' My dear, 
 I have been having a very long and earnest 
 conversation with your kind friend Mr. Ryan, 
 and I gather that a relative of his who lives in 
 Berlin is anxious for the companionship of an 
 English lady of experience, to keep house, and 
 
 I am debating if — if I " 
 
 '' Certainly not ! " I burst out. '' What could 
 have possessed Mr. Ryan — oh, did you ask him?" 
 
 63 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Aunt Prue smiled guiltily, and nodded her head. 
 '^ I thought I might — " she faltered. " Of course, 
 for no monetary payment. There certainly is a 
 large family, and wealth and society, and so on ; 
 after all," she admitted lamely, '' I don't see quite 
 that I could be of much use." 
 
 *' You preposterous aunt ! " I exclaimed. I 
 was thankful she did not pursue the matter 
 but it gave me an inkling that the " permanence " 
 was going to prove a myth. I implored her 
 never to leave me. '* Why not let me smooth 
 your old age, when it comes," I pleaded, '^ and 
 you soothe mine ? " 
 
 She smiled, but she shook her head. , " Yes, 
 Dearie. I'm getting quite old now, which is 
 all the more reason and the better excuse to 
 choose my alternative and go and live in some 
 quiet spot where there are flowers — plenty of 
 flowers ! In your bright home I couldn't help 
 feeling I should be a trouble and out of place, 
 even if I weren't." 
 
 " Aunt Prue ! " I protested reproachfully. 
 
 " No, Dearie. I'll take a couple of rooms in 
 some cottage in the middle of a garden. With 
 what dear, kind Rosie has left me I shall be 
 independent again — indeed, quite rich. A hun- 
 dred a year will more than suffice for my wants. 
 Why, I can live like a queen ! " 
 
 64 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 Her heart was absolutely set on the idea, so 
 fixedly that there was no gainsaying her. She 
 was not a woman easily to be dissuaded from 
 what she thought was right. And now she took 
 a childish delight in carrying out her plans. 
 
 In a pretty cottage belonging to Lambert's 
 parents my Aunt Prue was duly installed. The 
 choice appeared in every way satisfactory, for 
 the cottage was situated not very far from 
 Barbara — and she and Barbara seemed to have 
 closer bonds of sympathy than ever before. 
 The owner, too, was a nursery gardener, so 
 that there were flowers in plenty. My aunt's 
 pleasure knew no bounds. Her sitting-room 
 was on one side of the porch, and her bed- 
 room was above. The house at Bath had been 
 sold, but her cherished furniture from its cosy 
 parlour had been removed, and was now arranged 
 at Hawthorne Cottage as nearly as possible as 
 it used to be. I often went to see her, and so 
 did Barbara and her brother. It was always 
 a treat for me, though she would never believe 
 it ; and I humbly took from her a mental lesson 
 of how to grow old sweetly. Sometimes on a 
 Sunday my son would accompany me, and 
 enjoy himself immensely. 
 
 Aunt Prue was as happy in her retreat as the 
 days were long, or short, as the case might be. 
 
 65 E 
 
My Son and I 
 
 The neighbourhood soon knew her and loved 
 her, and again in the humble dwellings round 
 about she became ''our Miss Whyte," with an 
 emphasis on the pronoun which implied, '' not 
 by any means to be confounded with any other 
 Miss Whyte that might exist anywhere else, or 
 in whom any less fortunate persons might take 
 an interest." Lambert told me — I well recog- 
 nised the ways — that where there was trouble 
 or suffering in the neighbourhood, thither 
 Aunt Prue would trot with heart and basket 
 overflowing with comforts. The ragged chil- 
 dren would nod and curtsey to the '' great 
 lady " as she passed, and receive her customary 
 smile and coppers. Great lady she was still, 
 no maitter what her surroundings ; even though 
 her sunshade let the April shower trickle in, 
 and her gown remained untrimmed, her bon- 
 net had seen much service, and her cotton 
 gloves were darned — beautifully darned — Aunt 
 Prue was a great lady still ; and the necessaries 
 of which she deprived herself she gave to those 
 she deemed were more needy than she was. 
 
 Otherwise, she preferred always to keep within 
 the precincts of her little garden. •' I am so 
 happy!" she would remark; *' I have all I 
 want, and more. And am I not rich, too, in 
 the affection of you all ? " 
 
 66 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 During one of these visits to her she pro- 
 duced, with some mystery and considerable 
 pride, a packet which I recollected having seen 
 before. 
 
 '< Look here, Dearie, I want to show you 
 this," she said, spreading before me some sheets 
 of MS. " Just fancy ! Dear Rosie actually 
 wrote a story for children, and I never knew 
 she could write at all ! She never breathed a 
 word about it to me." (Which made me de- 
 termine to keep my recollection to myself.) 
 " Noiv I know from whom you inherited your 
 talent," she continued brightly, in delight at her 
 discovery. " Why, it was in the family all the 
 time ! " 
 
 '' Just fancy ! " I rejoined lamely, as I turned 
 over the pages, which had not been typewritten 
 after all. 
 
 '* I've read it myself, and I should so much 
 like you to read it too, and advise what should 
 be done with it. I'm anxious to know what 
 you think. I'll be guided by you." 
 
 '' I'll read it at once." 
 
 I pretended to, but I really couldn't trust 
 myself to do so with Aunt Prue's eyes on me 
 all the time. Before long I gathered the sheets 
 together and said : 
 
 '' I think that it is rather beyond children, 
 
 67 
 
My Son and I 
 
 and might not be sufficiently appreciated by 
 grown-ups." 
 
 Aunt Prue shot a rapid glance at me — it 
 was an anxious glance — but seeing I was quite 
 serious, she replied with some relief, I thought, 
 ^'Then'ril just put it carefully away, shall I ?" 
 
 '' Indefinitely," I added quietly. 
 
 My son had grown very tall, but in face he 
 looked more youthful than his fifteen years 
 warranted. Charlie had been forgiven, and 
 came to us frequently, as of yore. Now I 
 had to look up at my son as he said : 
 
 " Angel " — (it would have been quite a ridicu- 
 lous reputation to live up to, from a woman's 
 point of view, but for the half-bantering, half- 
 affectionate manner in which it was said) — ^' I 
 have asked Wallace to afternoon tea next 
 Saturday. You will like him. He is very 
 artistic in his tastes. And, by-the-by, would 
 you please just mention casually afterwards that 
 you have no objection to smoking ?" 
 
 " Smoking ! " 
 
 *'Yes. He smokes cigarettes. I tell him it 
 
 is awfully bad for him. He isn't any older 
 
 than I am, but," added my son rather ruefully, 
 
 " he seems so somehow ; so, please, don't give 
 
 him any of your views on smoking. And do 
 
 be careful." 
 
 68 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 Before Saturday arrived I had been so ad- 
 monished that I began to feel like expecting 
 Royalty. 
 
 When the friend entered, my maternal pride 
 was flattered to find that he was not nearly 
 so tall nor so well developed as my son. My 
 mind fiew to the '* smoking" as the cause ; but 
 I kept my thoughts to myself — I was very care- 
 ful. Moreover, he was not so intellectual, but 
 he was certainly more manly. His collars, 
 too, were '* a great attraction," and they 
 were of the newest style ; so was his beautiful 
 neck-tie. 
 
 He made me feel quite at home. My son 
 was right — I did like his friend. After I had 
 poured out tea, and they had seen to my com- 
 fort, I suddenly turned hot all over, for the 
 thought occurred to me that I had not been 
 instructed as to the necessity or not of saying 
 Mr. Wallace. Here was an opportunity for a 
 terrible faux pas. I was at my wits' end. I 
 chose a favourable second, and, unobserved by 
 his friend, I attracted my son's attention, and 
 elevating my eyebrows to their utmost capacity, 
 I mouthed the word " Mr." It certainly is a 
 difficult word to convey, and that may account 
 for my son's dulness. He looked puzzled and 
 desperately anxious. I tried again ; this time 
 
 69 
 
My Son and I 
 
 it was even more of a fiasco, for I was all but 
 caught. So I smiled sweetly, and gently cough- 
 ing, I decided to be on the safe side and call 
 young Wallace ^'You." 
 
 This caused some slight confusion at first ; 
 and then I gladly noticed that my son under- 
 stood my dilemma. He shrugged his shoulders. 
 He evidently could not advise, but refrained 
 from replying until he had made certain that 
 I addressed ////// ; which was also somewhat 
 awkward, as I dared not, without previous per- 
 mission, call my son by his first name, and I 
 really could not bring myself to call him by his 
 surname. Fancy the Queen calling the Prince 
 of Wales '^Guelph" or '' de Wettin " to oblige 
 the Crown Prince ! 
 
 As '' You " rattled on amusingly from one 
 subject to another, his smooth cheeks so newly 
 shaven, and his whole manner so pleasing, 
 one forgave him his feverish, hot-house young 
 manliness in the certain prospect of the attrac- 
 tive man he would soon become. His laugh, 
 too, was infectious, and I felt he had been very 
 hardly used when he frankly mentioned he had 
 been '' plucked at the exam." 
 
 "There are cigarettes on that table," I said 
 composedly. '* Oh no ! I have no objection." 
 My son looked gratefully at the tablecloth. 
 
 70 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 Later, when <' You " rose to go, he said to 
 me in his easy, jaunty way : 
 
 " I've enioved our chat immensely. So ijlad 
 to have met you ! " 
 
 It was during the w^inter holidays that one 
 bleak, chilly morning — and that year seemed 
 bleaker and chillier than usual — as gusts of cold 
 air were rustling and bowling the dead leaves 
 along in front of Hawthorne Cottage, and the 
 trees were nodding and bowing us an enforced 
 welcome, we two '' surprised " Aunt Prue. She 
 liked that sort of surprise, and she laughed as 
 she folded in blue paper the old lace cap she 
 had just been washing and ironing, with the 
 remark that it hardly held together. However ! 
 it was real lace, and a remnant of the past. 
 
 After luncheon the walnuts and port wine 
 had been removed, and my aunt was so happy 
 with us beside her. We listened with delight 
 as she recalled memories of her youth, and told 
 us of the time when she went to balls wear- 
 'ing apple-blossom in her hair ; and when she 
 finished up with '' However ! it's all such a 
 long time ago ! " we begged for more. *' Not 
 about myself," she pleaded, with her expression 
 of wistful humour. 
 
 ** Then do please tell the boy about his great- 
 ^reat-aunt." She looked at him doubtfully, 
 
 71 
 
Of- 
 
 My Son and I 
 
 but as he nodded his approval, she contentedly 
 clasped her hands and laid them in her lap. 
 Then she began pensively : 
 
 ^^ Poor dear mother !' She married very 
 young, after being brought up very strictly by 
 her grandmother and her aunt^ — -two discipli- 
 narians who treated her harshly. I have heard 
 her say that when she was in her teens, as 
 she was so short, they tried the remedy, not 
 unknown in those days, of making her hang on 
 the door. It was a mercy she was got away 
 from them. I remember her as a pretty, gentle 
 little woman, and my father adored her. They 
 went together to George IV. 's coronation, and 
 her hair was dressed before dawn, as it was very 
 elaborately worn and very high ; some of her 
 friends had theirs dressed overnight, and slept 
 propped up. They started at six o'clock in the 
 morning, and their hackney-coach broke down 
 going over Westminster Bridge, and she had to 
 walk in her white satin shoes through the mud." 
 She was interrupted in her reminiscences by a' 
 vagrant black cat which had jumped on the 
 window-sill, and was looking longingly at the 
 yellow tit-bit fluttering inside the old gilt cage. 
 Aunt Prue got up. 
 
 " Sh — sh ! Go away, you horrid poacher ! " 
 she cried, tapping on the window ; cats really^ 
 
 72 
 
A Conhrmed Old Bachelor 
 
 were her betes noires, no matter what their colour. 
 ''There are so many of them," she pleaded, 
 " and they trample on the plants and kill the 
 dear birds. But if they eat up any more, Lam- 
 bert advises giving them — a little bread and 
 butter!" There was a terrible significance in 
 her words. Just then the garden gate swung 
 open, and the postman slouched up the path. 
 He left a letter for Aunt Prue. When she opened 
 it 1 noticed it was a few lines in Mr. Ryan's 
 handwriting, with an enclosure on foreign paper. 
 I felt curious as I nodded acquiescence to her 
 '' Excuse me a moment ! " and watched her ex- 
 pressive face. '' Oh dear me — dear me ! " she 
 ejaculated once or twice, then handed it all to 
 me without comment. 
 
 *' Why did Mr. Ryan send you this ? " I asked, 
 much concerned, after I had read it. (My son 
 raised his eyebrows ; I nodded, and he discreetly 
 withdrew. I do like boys to have tact.) 
 
 '' Dearie, I made Mr. Ryan promise to let me 
 know if at any time I could be of any special 
 use in this world. After reading this letter it's 
 quite clear that I cannot go on leading a selfish 
 and purposeless existence such as mine has been 
 since dear Rose died. I must go." 
 
 " But, my dear Aunt Prue, how can you 
 be so quixotic?" I protested, alarmed at her 
 
 73 
 
My Son and I 
 
 attitude. '* You want to go off like a firework, 
 with no adequate reason. It would be perfect 
 madness for you to go and devote yourself to 
 an eccentric old creature like this Herr — Herr 
 Josef Blum. If he has a quarrel with his re- 
 latives, and insists upon living like the miser 
 he is in a garret in Naples, it's not for you 
 to interfere. You can't realise what it w^ould 
 mean. And if he prefers it, w^hy not leave him 
 alone?" 
 
 *' But it would be a charity, as his sister 
 writes, if some one could be found to stop such 
 a scandal and to look after him. You see, he 
 must be a w^orthy man, and he has consented 
 to interview a stranger about the arranging of 
 some abode, only it must be an English house- 
 keeper, which is curious ; and you see he ad- 
 heres to his resentment against the whole of his 
 family, from whom he seems to have separated 
 finally — I wonder why ! " 
 
 '' I cannot forgive Mr. Ryan," I said, with 
 rising tears. 
 
 '* Dearie pet, a man of . honour cannot go 
 against his word." 
 
 <'Then you ought never to have made him 
 promise," I protested, with the vision of losing 
 Aunt Prue looming so large and so near. ** I 
 want you to stay here ; we all want you here ; 
 
 74 
 
A Confirmed Old Bachelor 
 
 ♦ 
 
 and you are happy here — you always say so," 
 I continued, with rising excitement. 
 
 '' But I can be of real use there ; think of 
 that!" she said enthusiastically; ''and all this 
 time has been wasted in growing selfish." 
 She folded me in her arms, adding soothingly, 
 '' We'll talk it all over some other time," and 
 her dear hand wandered like a caress amongst 
 the little curls on my forehead. 
 
 Of course she would go — nothing would dis- 
 suade her from starting off to the rescue of 
 the horrid old creature who had fled to an 
 inn garret in the cheapest and dirtiest part of 
 Naples. His family abroad had always been 
 very reticent about him, and now all we could 
 gather was* that he had fabulous wealth and 
 was *' very eccentric." We used every argu- 
 ment to dissuade her. Mr. Ryan himself was 
 penitent and apologetic, and strove to turn 
 her from her purpose. He had imagined she 
 would never seriouslv consider the matter, 
 especially as she had relinquished the former 
 offer, which would have been far more suitable. 
 But no, Aunt Prue liked the idea of reclaiming 
 the ''poor old man," and, if possible, making 
 him a civilised being again. 
 
 So all I could do for her was to find a tem- 
 porary tenant, which I reluctantly did, to take 
 
 75 
 
My Son and I 
 
 immediate possession of her cherished rooms 
 in Hawthorne Cottage. Then I insisted upon 
 handing over my Lambert as Aunt Prue's maid 
 — Lambert kindly " obhging " me ; and then my 
 misery was crowned by being present with the 
 others to see them both off one foggy, depressing 
 February morning. Anything more hare-brained 
 than this departure I could not conceive ; and 
 whether I was more angry or sad at the parting 
 I could not say. I felt that I should never see 
 her ever any more, even while I was dismally 
 promising to visit her at Naples when my son 
 was older and would have to carry out the plan 
 of finishing his scientific studies in Germany. 
 The affectionate adieux were over, and Aunt 
 Prue, the personification of cheeriness, was 
 standing at the open window of her compart- 
 ment. The guard waved his green flag. She 
 leant forward and repeated earnestly : 
 
 " Good-bye, Dearie ! God bless you and your 
 boy ! " 
 
 "Good-bye, Aunt Prue; God bless you too !" 
 I faltered, forcing a smile, and the train quickly 
 bore her out of sight. 
 
 76 
 
'^Qfu.M,.,^^-. 
 
 They Lighted their Pipes 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MY SON'S FRIEND 
 
 Charlie was at college, and we had seen 
 nothing of him for a long time ; but he had 
 written that he, like my son, had decided on 
 electro-chemistry as a profession. One evening 
 he took us by surprise, and we were all very 
 happy to be together again. He was just nine- 
 teen, and had grown taller than my big boy. 
 At my invitation they lighted their pipes, and 
 settled themselves comfortably for a long talk. 
 
 Though they discussed the play, '' the Pro- 
 fession " in general, and the actresses of the day 
 in particular, and then slid naturally on to free- 
 thought and Kant and Herbert Spencer, I was 
 not alarmed, for I recognised the phases. Be- 
 sides, it amused me to watch the contrast in the 
 appearance of the two — the one, fair and fresh- 
 looking ; my son, dark and serious. But their 
 tastes and hobbies were similar, and they were 
 as firm chums as ever. Then my attention was 
 powerfully attracted by Charlie's boots ; they 
 
 77 
 
My Son and I 
 
 were most elegant, and as pointed as the ace 
 of spades. My son had just emerged from the 
 boot craze. Like his childish ailments, he 
 always took his crazes mildly, and had lately 
 recovered, relapsing into round-toed footgear 
 after well-deserved suffering, stoically borne. 
 His walking-stick craze had likewise been of 
 short duration. He had affected an inartistic- 
 looking object with a huge crook. One day he 
 came home without it. He had not seemed 
 concerned — and I heaved a little sigh of 
 relief 
 
 '' Dreaming ? " said a voice. 
 
 I raised my eyes from those shining boots 
 and joined apologetically in the laughter. 
 
 •< Oh, Mr. Lane, I forgot ! I congratulate 
 you very heartily upon gaining your scholar- 
 ship. You must have worked very hard at 
 Cambridge." 
 
 Charlie smiled and thanked me awkwardly. 
 He had grown rather nervous, and at times, in 
 eager moments, he stammered slightly — almost 
 blushed. 
 
 <' Yes, w^e boys must work hard nowa- 
 days." (^'Boys!" I thought to myself. Was 
 the '' Manly Craze " so soon over ?) '^ The 
 exams, are so very stiff ! But please don't 
 call me ' Mr.' You never used to." 
 
 78 
 
My S.on's Friend 
 
 I looked towards my son for orders. He 
 gave a surreptitious nod of consent. We spent 
 a very merry evening. 
 
 ^^ I hope I shall soon see you again," said 
 Charlie to me, with shy cordiality, on leaving. 
 
 The following evening my son went to his 
 first dinner-party. He had always refused in- 
 vitations before, on the philosophic plea that 
 society functions and scientific study were 
 antagonistic in aim and interest. But this 
 time I had persuaded him to accept; and he 
 seemed glad. 
 
 Before dressing he certainly looked discon- 
 solate, and kept on yawning immoderately. I 
 put it down to nervousness and said nothing. 
 When he reappeared on the scene in well- 
 fitting evening-dress he looked very wide awake 
 indeed, and my heart gave a little throb of 
 pride. '' I don't quite like leaving you alone. 
 Mater," he said. I gently demurred ; and his 
 heavy tread was soon out of the house, and 
 was followed by the usual little feeling of void 
 within me. 
 
 I was not in a humour to write ; nor was I 
 in a sociable mood, which was fortunate enough, 
 for I couldn't have sent for Dulcie. I knew she 
 had gone to the dinner-party too, so I resolved 
 on laziness as the easiest way out of everything. 
 
 79 
 
My Son and I 
 
 As I sat over the fire musing of how my boy 
 and I had always been all in all to one another, 
 a feeling of amused satisfaction came over me 
 when I remembered what a wrench it was only 
 a few years ago when I gave him that little 
 figurative push-out-of-the-nest needful to his 
 manliness — insisting that he should take up all 
 the responsibilities of his age and position. He 
 had thus come to see that he could think and 
 judge and act for both of us, and was all the 
 happier for it. Then I thought of how Mr. 
 Ryan had been my literary adviser to such good 
 purpose that the second volume of my fairy 
 tales had appeared. Those stories had ac- 
 complished their object, for my son when little 
 had read them with eager enjoyment ; as he 
 grew older, however, he frankly owned he 
 hated fairy tales, and loved the blood-curdliest 
 of adventure books. He would look up from 
 one panting, and with dilated eyes, and muscles 
 taut round the corners of his mouth, to inform 
 me that '' Marlow the pirate is hiding at moon- 
 light amidst the wreckage of the abandoned 
 ship, matchlock in hand, awaiting the boatload 
 of brave bluejackets singing as they drew gaily 
 alongside " I'm not fond of being har- 
 rowed, and I remember how I made up my 
 mind to look with particular care under my 
 
 80 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 bed that night. Once more absorbed in this 
 book, he emitted a loud chuckle, and looking up 
 again, exclaimed : 
 
 '' Ha, ha ! Muz, Jock Merryfield saw Marlow 
 just in time, snatched the matchlock from his 
 grasp, broke it over his head, and kicked him in 
 the stomach. Wasn't it splendid of him ? " 
 
 ''Glorious, indeed," I replied, and added 
 something about ''it's getting late," and "bed"; 
 but at such a juncture he would go stone-deaf, 
 and bed never existed for him until he was 
 forced to tumble into it or read in the dark, as 
 I had " a beastly trick," he protested, of ringing 
 for the lights to be turned out. 
 
 I discovered soon after that he had dropped 
 this form of literature by his alluding to it with 
 contempt, and glowing with enthusiasm over 
 Milton. I don't know whether I was more 
 pleased or surprised to find that another link 
 had suddenly sprung up between us. Mr. 
 Ryan's library offered a fine choice, and when 
 my son accompanied me to dinner next door, 
 our host would discuss with him the last volume 
 of poems or the classic he had lent, and took 
 delight in changing it for another. There were 
 important discussions, too, at these times about 
 my son's studies and career. Mr. Ryan and 
 Dulcie frequently dined with us, alternately, 
 
 8i F 
 
My Son and I 
 
 more or less, and we parents both remarked 
 with regret how shyly reticent the young people 
 always remained towards one another. 
 
 With Aunt Prue continuously away year after 
 year, and Barbara quieter and less sociable than 
 of yore, I should have felt neglected had it not 
 been for that neighbourly intercourse ; for, with 
 the exception of one or two others, every one 
 else of my circle came more or less under the 
 category of mere acquaintances. Barbara, in- 
 deed, was greatly changed. I have known several 
 instances of a love disappointment causing a 
 girl to soften in her nature and to give her- 
 self up to the care for others, but it was 
 exactly the opposite in Barbara's case. She, 
 like the greater number, became morose and 
 discontented under suffering, and her brother's 
 recent marriage brought about no improve- 
 ment. Barbara got on indifferently with her 
 sister-in-law, and but for Lawrence's entreaties 
 she would have left them both to live alone 
 in the little house in Highgate. He couldn't 
 bear the idea of her leaving her old home and 
 cherished garden to take lodgings or live at 
 a boarding-house after all her past devotion 
 to him. He guessed at her trouble, and so he 
 was constantly patching up the little dissensions 
 between the two young women. There was no 
 
 82 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 longer an angel in the house. Barbara seemed 
 to lose her taste for visitors, so I rarely went, 
 and then only by special invitation. 
 
 I had trained Dulcie in secretarial work so 
 that she was able to help her father as I had 
 done in the early days, and she was devoted to 
 him and his career. As I had been continuously 
 consulted with regard to her education, and was 
 glad to be of use in choosing her governesses 
 and superintending her finishing studies, her 
 affection was very dear to me indeed. My son 
 no longer hated fairy tales, and his '' higher 
 criticism " was often useful. He continued 
 always to take interest in discussing and advis- 
 ing on those little fancies, and was apt to get 
 tragically aggressive if I differed from him — 
 out of all proportion to the importance of the 
 subject. '' Because you arc so obstinate," he 
 would insist. He, also, had literary aspirations, 
 but they were of a surreptitious kind. He was 
 not a very tidy person ; in fact, the topsy- 
 turvydom of his own sanctum, throughout 
 the gamut of nursery, schoolroom, study, and 
 smoking-room, had combined to give me the 
 first grey hair I ever pulled out. It was in the 
 personal tidying of the said den, in which life- 
 long habit had given me a right-of-way, that I 
 found some lines bv him in MS. I didn't quite 
 
 83 
 
My Son and I 
 
 grasp their meaning, which perhaps led me to 
 think them excellent parody — at least good 
 enough to be rescued from chaos and oblivion ; 
 and after a deal of worrying and insistence 
 that they were not " awful rot," I prevailed 
 upon him to send them to his College magazine, 
 where I had often longed to see something by 
 him amongst the effusions of the other students. 
 It was on the table near me now; I took it up 
 and read the lines with pride aloud, trying to 
 remember their application, which he had ex- 
 plained to me fully and with care ; — 
 
 THE ASSOCIATESHIP COURSE IN 
 CHEMISTRY 
 
 (A First Approximation) 
 
 All our world's a lab., 
 
 And all the men and women merely students : 
 
 They have their failures and their passes, too ; 
 
 And one man in his time takes many " Parts," 
 
 His course being seven sessions. At first the fresher, 
 
 Cooking and guessing through his Part I. Chem., 
 
 And then the wary student, finding wave-lengths, 
 
 With sulky, sultry face, groping like mole, 
 
 Ahead of lectures, far. And then the " Asset," 
 
 Sighing like furnace, with a wistful sorrow 
 
 Caused by his Wednesday's lecture. Then a scrambler 
 
 Full of strange oaths, and rushed like an express, 
 
 Guessing at crystals, lucky in shots at "spotting," 
 
 Seeking some learning in " Organic," 
 
 Even taking Graphics too. The Third-vear Chemist, 
 
 84 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 In high good humour with correct resuhs, 
 
 And lecturer, with beard of formal cut, 
 
 Full of wise laws and modern instances ; 
 
 And so he spends his time. And this Part shifts 
 
 Into the pale and panting " First class" man 
 
 With towel round head, and coffee near ; 
 
 His youthful cheek, well shaved, a world too white 
 
 For his good health ; and his big manly heart, 
 
 Turning again towards childish terror, sinks, 
 
 All thumping, to his boots 1 Last scene of all. 
 
 That ends this strange, eventful history, 
 
 Is passing high in list, and then a dem.-ship. 
 
 Sans peace, sans rest, sans thanks, sans everything. 
 
 I replaced the magazine. The explanations 
 had been wasted, for I was Uttle wiser ; never- 
 theless the lines had been appreciated in the 
 right quarter — I had heard that and rejoiced. 
 
 I thought of those red-letter days when he 
 matriculated first class; when the first envelope 
 came addressed to him with A.R.C.S. after his 
 name ; and again, in due course, with the 
 augmentation, A.l.C. He never was sanguine 
 about any exams., and 1 have often laughed at 
 all the good sympathy 1 have wasted in trying 
 to cheer him over the coming failure. " How- 
 ever ! " as dear Aunt Prue w^ould say — and, in 
 fact, did write when she heard — we were nerved 
 for disappointment. 
 
 At last I was roused by hearing the latchkey 
 in the door and the clock strike eleven — and in 
 w^alked the young master of my thoughts. 
 
 85 
 
My Son and I 
 
 "Now, tell me all about it," I said, as we 
 settled down comfortably side by side in a 
 favourite cosy corner. 
 
 '' Very well. Mater ; but no interruptions, 
 please." I agreed. But it was very hard. 
 " Well, first of all, to my surprise I met that 
 fellow Simpson who used to go to our school." 
 (I remembered Simpson, Esq.) "He has grown 
 a beard — looked awfully funny. Charlie was 
 there, and took in a jolly-looking girl — a Miss 
 Dryden — no relation to the poet, I believe. 
 And there was the usual crew ; only spinsters 
 and bachelors. I took Dulcie in to dmner. 
 She was very demure, and inclined to be silent. 
 I put her through her paces all right, but she 
 made it very difficult. And I didn't want to 
 talk much myself." 
 
 " I hope you were not thinking of ' catalytic 
 action/ and that you offered her your right arm 
 to take her in," I said, forgetting my promise. 
 '' Did she look nice ? " 
 
 '' Same as usual. It never occurred to me 
 that there was a wrong arm to offer — or pro- 
 bably I should have offered it." He thought 
 a moment, and then he added, '' It was lucky 
 that. And Punch, you know, Mater, helped me 
 a lot. I remembered Du Maurier's pictures 
 of smart dinner-parties where etiquette was 
 
 86 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 everything ; and I kept a sharp lookout on 
 the other fellows. When the ladies had gone 
 upstairs we talked about things in general. 
 . . . You are not to interrupt. No, I only 
 drank w^ater. Wine is apt to make one too 
 communicative, and I wanted to maintain an 
 elegant reserve. Later on the others played 
 games ; and there w^as a bit of a dance ; 
 but it w^as a bore — an awful bore. I should 
 have preferred keeping you company, Mater, 
 really." 
 
 He gave a timely yawn, and we said good- 
 night. 
 
 When my son w^as about to come of age, we 
 had grand plans of giving a ball to celebrate 
 the event. It seemed, however, that this festi- 
 vity w^as not likely to take place. His health, 
 I fear, had been strained by his forced work, 
 and was causing me anxiety, w^hich quickly 
 changed to real alarm. A w^eak throat was 
 somew^hat constitutional with him, but when 
 Dr. Charleston gently advised me in a round- 
 about way — the gist of w'hich resolved itself 
 into the fact that an operation was urgently 
 necessary — I thought the end of the world had 
 come. 
 
 " Our Scientific Department wall be all right, 
 little lady. I'll get the best speciahst to do it, 
 
 87 
 
My Son and I 
 
 and I can assure you it is nothing at all 
 complicated." 
 
 "You see, Mater," said my son, ''if it is done 
 quickly there'll still be time to have the ball on 
 the right date, and I don't mean to be done out 
 of our first dance." 
 
 He took the idea with the same sang-froid as 
 he took most things, and even entered with a 
 horrid zest that scientific minds seem to possess 
 into every phase and particular of the operation, 
 discussing with genuine interest all the arrange- 
 ments and particulars. 
 
 As the day drew near I would lie sleepless at 
 night picturing myself bereft of my son, praying 
 that my all should not be taken from me, think- 
 ing of what Aunt Rose had said long ago about 
 the eventuality of his not attaining the age of 
 twenty-one, and taking, I fear, an unholy joy 
 in her not being alive to contemplate the possible 
 spoil. 
 
 The hospital nurse had arrived — a pleasant- 
 faced girl, upon whom my son looked with 
 eyes of strong approval. In the drawing-room, 
 the lightest room in the house, appeared a 
 long table, and the place was smothered in 
 white sheets. My son and I were expecting 
 the doctors, and whilst w^e waited we played a 
 game of chess, and he was winning — which w^as 
 
 88 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 unusual. A carriage came round the square 
 and drew up, followed by another. The front- 
 door bell rang, and we exchanged glances. 
 
 '' Courage, mother ! " 
 
 I was pacing up and down my room. I knew 
 exactly when it was being done — I felt it, and 
 shuddered. The house was very still. I thought 
 I heard a cry. I couldn't stand the suspense 
 any longer. I opened the door — my hand 
 could hardly grasp the handle — and went out 
 on the landing. I saw them come out of the 
 drawing-room carrying my son inanimate, and 
 his white face and hair were all blood-stained. 
 
 '^ Go back ! " said Dr. Charleston sternly. *' 1 
 strictly forbade you." 
 
 And I thought aimlessly to myself, 
 
 ^Mt's all very well to say 'Go back!' but I 
 can't!" I must have fallen where I was, for I 
 was still on the landing, but my neck was bare. 
 
 ** He's all right, my dear lady," Dr. Charles- 
 ton was saying. " Just pull yourself together 
 and come and judge for yourself. It was a 
 beautiful little operation. 1 know it will do 
 him good if you'll come." 
 
 I didn't require any pressing, only a little help 
 to get on to my feet. 
 
 1 saw him in his bed — like a young sapling 
 stricken down. The doctors were with him, 
 
 89 
 
My Son and I 
 
 and Nurse Patrick was stanching with cotton- 
 wool the blood which oozed to his lips from 
 the wound. He opened his eyes ; he scarcely 
 seemed to know me, but he certainly tried to 
 smile at me. I kissed his hand lying so sud- 
 denly helpless, murmured a few words of satis- 
 faction and encouragement, and went back to 
 my room to pray in fervent thanksgiving. 
 Dulcie was soon by my side. 
 
 The first thing my son did was to fall head 
 over ears in love with Nurse Patrick, although 
 she insisted upon treating him as a mere child, 
 which I should have thought ought to prove 
 fatal to any such ardent passion ; and he didn't 
 seem at all thankful for his rapid convalescence 
 — he only saw the day drawing near when 
 Nurse Patrick must leave to undertake " a more 
 interesting case." 
 
 He did another thing, too, which was dis- 
 concerting. When I came in to help in nursing 
 him I always had to make my entry with my 
 eyes shut, because of the gruesome objects he 
 was sure to be handling as a scientific pastime. 
 In this way I gave him time to hide them, as 
 two experiences had been enough for me. The 
 first was when I had surprised him — or, rather, 
 when he had surprised me — with a phial of 
 spirits in which he had actually been pickling, 
 
 90 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 to cut into sections for his microscope, what 
 he had arranged for with his operator. The 
 second time he was surrounded by human 
 bones on the chairs and bed, and was handhng 
 a '' thigh-bone "; and he couldn't understand my 
 objection, '' considering they belonged to pre- 
 historic man, and have lain under sand for 
 thousands of years, and are being arranged for a 
 collection." I explained that human bones are 
 human, no matter how old or how much sand, 
 and I preferred in future to make my entry in my 
 own way and be spared further gruesome sights. 
 
 Although he turned his head away, I believe 
 he shed a tear or two when Nurse Patrick left 
 — I suppose he wasn't quite strong — and he 
 didn't seem to notice how laughing and cheery 
 she was. I asked for her address, and he visibly 
 brightened. 
 
 On the date of his coming of age, the ball 
 we had long talked of took place, as he had 
 predicted ; for, thank God, he was well again. 
 There was so much bustle and excitement 
 before the evening that his anxiety as to 
 whether my pink satin dress really had come 
 surprised me. But when I wore it and entered 
 the drawing-room, I understood his curiosity. 
 For without my knowledge he had had the 
 room transformed into a veritable bower of pink 
 
 91 
 
My Son and I 
 
 carnations while I was dressing. He looked 
 satisfied, and then tore upstairs to what he 
 called his *' tiring-room." 
 
 A still greater surprise awaited me. 
 
 The first to arrive, unfashionably early, was 
 Charlie. He glanced nervously about, seemed 
 ill at ease, and the slight stammer was again 
 perceptible. 
 
 '< You have not been well," he said, con- 
 cerned and anxious, taking a rapid, affectionate 
 glance at me. '< Do take care of yourself." 
 
 '' I was only a little tired from nursing ; it 
 was nothing," I rejoined, smiling ; '* and I don't 
 intend to be an invalid. Besides, I'm getting 
 an old lady now." (Of course I'm not.) 
 
 He didn't enter into my tone of levity, but 
 looked vexed. At that moment our neighbours 
 arrived, and my son entered by another door, 
 rather out of breath, and trying to look as 
 though he had been waiting about for ages. 
 
 We had the satisfaction of receiving, amongst 
 other guests, many *' boys from our school," 
 whose appearance certainly belied the expres- 
 sion ; but they were good dancers, and the scene 
 was very gay and animated. 
 
 Charlie, to my concern, had disappeared ; 
 but when at the end of the evening I stood 
 alone — my son having gone to see the last 
 
 92 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 two ladies to their carriage — he suddenly ap- 
 peared before me like some dejected spirit. 
 
 ^^ What is the matter, Charlie ?" I asked. '' I 
 fear you have been lonely and neglected." 
 
 <' I am never lonely with this." 
 
 He pulled a case out of his pocket, and, to 
 my astonishment, showed me my own portrait. 
 
 " You see, I wear it near my heart." 
 
 '' I never knew you had it. If I ask you for 
 it," I added, gently but firmly, '' you will give it 
 to me. And I do ask you for it." 
 
 He looked at it wistfully as I took it from his 
 
 hand. 
 
 « You — you have always been so good and 
 kind to me," he stammered. '' I shall never 
 love any one else, and my one wish is that 
 some day you would be my w^ife." 
 
 I almost lost my breath. 
 
 '' Now Usten to me, Charlie," I replied, with 
 all the serious dignity I could command. " You 
 have mistaken your feelings ; and you are not 
 the first of your age who has done so, by any 
 means. Young men are apt to become in- 
 fatuated with women double their own age. 
 You mustn't mind the expression, but it is a 
 craze, like so many others that people go through. 
 And later on those women earn the gratitude of 
 those same young men after they have realised 
 
 93 
 
My Son and I 
 
 the explanation — that the feeHng of youthful 
 sympathy, allied to a chivalrous recognition 
 of small or fancied favours, is not love. Re- 
 member, a man's part is to love and protect 
 a younger woman ; it is not for the man to take 
 experience from his wife, which she began to 
 accumulate before he was born. Is it not so ? 
 I have tried to make you realise your real 
 feelings. May I not go on trying ? " 
 
 I held out my hand, and as he bent over 
 it I thought of curly-headed Charlie of many 
 years ago. The top-knot now was only the 
 ghost of its former self ; but some hairs still 
 stuck up on end at the back in their old ludi- 
 crous, obstinate way. A tear fell on my hand, 
 and reminded me of those I had kissed away. 
 
 '' I wish I could do something for you," he 
 remarked in steady, manly tones. '' If you 
 would only let me do something for you it 
 would make me feel happier." 
 
 '' You can indeed do much for me," I re- 
 plied ; and his flushed face brightened. '' Be 
 a firm friend to my son. When you both 
 leave to-morrow to study your chemistry to- 
 gether, let me feel for both your sakes that while 
 you are in Germany you will be a friend to him 
 if necessary, in times of temptation to dissuade 
 him from doing what I would not approve ; and 
 
 94 
 
My Son's Friend 
 
 that, with your more sanguine nature, you will 
 cheer him should he feel lonely or discouraged." 
 '' I promise. Good-bye." 
 Reverently he raised both my hands to his 
 lips, and hurried away. 
 
 When my son entered he said : 
 '' Charlie has just slunk off. What's up ? I 
 know he thinks tons of you. By Jove ! Has 
 
 he been talking to you — about " 
 
 I remained silent. 
 
 '' Good Lord ! " he exclaimed, looking at 
 me curiously. Then, thoughtfully twirling his 
 moustachelette, he added : 
 ''No. Did he really?" 
 I nodded. 
 
 '' What cheek ! Silly ass, isn't he ? " 
 I nodded again and laughed. 
 '' But," he added, " I don't exactly blame him, 
 all the same, silly fool ! " 
 
 " It must be a secret," I said, '' but I tell you 
 because it is the crowning craze of youth, and 
 one you should know how to avoid. So be 
 
 warned, and " 
 
 " No preaching ! " He folded me in his great 
 arms. And when that baby of mine held me 
 tight, and told me with a smile, ''All the fellows 
 say I've a stunning little mother," I felt very grate- 
 ful to my son's friends for letting him know it. 
 
 95 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 OLD JOSEF BLUM 
 
 It was a great wrench, that first separation 
 from my son, made worse, too, by the know- 
 ledge that with rare intervals our lives would 
 have to be lived apart for some time to come. 
 For the next two or three years it was neces- 
 sary that he should study abroad, and although 
 I might have accompanied him, I reluctantly 
 saw the wisdom, as Mr. Ryan expressed it, of 
 freeing him of home influence and of letting 
 him see something of the world and there find 
 his own level. He was twenty-one. I had 
 done my best to fit him for his position, and 
 now I felt it was best for him to be without 
 me ; and those sentiments had his full con- 
 currence, of course ! I quite understood. It 
 had been arranged that he and Charlie Lane 
 should go to Rostock in Germany, which was 
 a university town, and there they would have 
 the additional advantage of lodging at the 
 
 96 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 house of his old governess, Fraulein Heinrich, 
 who hved with her father, one of the professors, 
 and let rooms to young students. He would 
 have to learn German well, and he regretted 
 now that he knew so little. 
 
 So on the morning following the ball he 
 came to my room to bid me good-bye, clad in 
 the shaggiest of new ulsters, and carrying the 
 newest of fitted bags. 
 
 '' It is natural, I suppose," I tried to impress 
 upon myself as he hugged me and didn't seem 
 at all to share my sadness at parting ; in fact, 
 he was in such especially high spirits that, after 
 all, they left an impression of being somewhat 
 unnatural, which was some comfort. He had 
 arranged to meet Charlie at the station, and 
 wouldn't hear of my getting up early after the 
 fatigue of our entertainment. 
 
 <' Good-bye, little mother. Take care of 
 yourself, now that 1 shall not be there to see 
 you don't do absurd things." 
 
 '< Good-bye, darling ; and listen," I called 
 after him as he was hurrying out. 
 
 '< Yes." 
 
 '^ Don't sit in wet boots." 
 
 " Of course, I should prefer to sit indoors," 
 he replied, laughing ; and I laughed too. I 
 heard him chuckle on the landing, and his 
 
 97 G 
 
My Son and I 
 
 heavy tread descended the stairs. The door 
 banged, and the cab drove away. 
 
 When Dulcie kindly came, and herself 
 brought in my breakfast tray, she found me 
 in tears. She came to insist upon a hurried 
 visit to the bonnet lady, so as to capture a tulle 
 bonnet she had seen for me, and which was to 
 be sent aw^ay on approval at noon unless I 
 went to see if I liked it. I protested that no 
 tulle bonnet ever created could look well over 
 a red nose and inflamed eyes ; but she argued 
 that they couldn't remain red for ever, not even 
 for an hour, so w^e went, and I was glad. 
 
 What was my surprise when I brought her 
 back to lunch to find a handsome, golden - 
 coloured colhe dog stretched on the hearthrug, 
 in quiet possession of the drawing-room. 
 
 '< Some visitor must be here," I said, as I 
 bent down and patted the furry head ; then I 
 saw that a card was attached to the collar. 
 ^' Dulcie, there's some writing. Let me see 
 what it says : * My name is MacDonald, intro- 
 .duced for kind acceptance by your old friend, 
 A. R.' Dulcie ! from your father ! " 
 
 She clapped her hands joyously at the suc- 
 cess of their little scheme, and the dear dog let 
 me hug him, and seemed to like it. It was 
 such a sensible dog. I loved dogs, though I 
 
 98 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 had never possessed one, and I felt so cheered 
 and pleased, and was more than thankful for 
 the thought that prompted this alleviation of 
 my loneliness. 
 
 j\lv son had onlv been gone a few davs when 
 a letter came from Aunt Prue urging me to 
 redeem my promise and pay her, without 
 further delay, the visit she was so greatly long- 
 ing for. As some of my acquaintances were 
 preparing to go to Egypt, 1 arranged to travel 
 in their company as far as Naples, and gladly 
 telegraphed to Aunt Prue my prompt accept- 
 ance. Preparations had to be made hastily, 
 and my kind neighbours took upon themselves 
 to look after my affairs during an absence which 
 might be of some months' duration, for Aunt 
 Prue wished in her loving anxiety to keep me 
 with her ; and there was no reason to deter me 
 from enjoying the rest of the winter and early 
 spring in her genial company and in the not 
 less genial climate which had benefited me so 
 much before. 
 
 How the recollections of long ago came 
 back to me when I started once again on the 
 journey to Naples ! How distinctly I re- 
 membered standing on the steamer watching 
 the same stretch of water widen and widen 
 away from the land, and heard the same 
 
 99 
 
My Son and I 
 
 hurrahs from the shore grow fainter and 
 fainter ; but then my baby was in my arms 
 blowing kisses, and now he was a man and a 
 long way off. The thought of his being so far 
 away was apt to start a lump in my throat 
 and bring on a nervous feeling of panic, sternly 
 repressed but constantly recurring. 
 
 Aunt Prue was not a great letter-writer, and 
 beyond knowing she was comfortably installed 
 at the Villa Bella Vista, and that Herr Josef 
 Blum was more amenable than she had antici- 
 pated, I was not much the wiser regarding her 
 welfare. For on the rare occasions on which 
 she wrote she covered the notepaper with 
 anxious inquiries about us all and our affairs, 
 and with questions about friends and acquaint- 
 ances, showing on what her thoughts most 
 dwelt, without satisfying our hunger for details 
 of herself and her surroundings. And Lambert, 
 unfortunately, was " no scholar," a fact in 
 which she took a shameless glory, with a habit 
 of mentioning it at every available opportunity ; 
 so there were no details to be gleaned from 
 that quarter. I was glad when Aunt Prue 
 wrote of Lambert's devotion to her, for it was 
 my object that she should have some one she 
 could rely upon, who knew her ways and would 
 take good care of her. 
 
 100 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 When I arrived at the Villa BeU;a: Vista }'\l]' 
 found with pleasure that it w^s smothered in' 
 flowers, and Lambert, like a, bi.t of .'niyvowii ;'. [ ' / 
 home, smilingly holding open the garden gate 
 and greeting me with, '' So glad to see vou 
 again, mem ! Hope you are very well, mem ! 
 . . . Yes, thank you, mem, but it is an 'ole. 
 So furrin !" What a joy to be in Aunt Prue's 
 embrace again, with my arms scarcely meeting 
 now around her more extended waist ! And 
 we forthwith began a chat that promised to be 
 endless, so much was there to relate. She was 
 as cheery as ever, and talked away with her 
 usual animation, and the dear thumbs twirled 
 with satisfaction while I glanced with curiosity 
 at her surroundings. They were elegant in 
 their simplicity, as the advertisements say. The 
 sun was not very hot now, but it shone straight 
 into the little sa/on, which was already so bright 
 and sunny with its scheme of glowing colour, 
 of palest yellow to deepest orange. I could see 
 the whole scale of tints in the large bowl of 
 nasturtiums on a table by the window. Out- 
 side, a frame of orange and lemon trees arched 
 over a glorious view of the Mediterannean, with 
 Vesuvius puffing out smoke in smouldering 
 sulkiness in the near distance. i\Iy eyes had 
 again wandered admiringly to the flowers 
 
 lOI 
 
My Son and I 
 
 trailing carelessly along and over the cream 
 canvas tablecloth, when Aunt Prue remarked 
 thr4' Herr Josef Blum always looked forward to 
 the pleasure of a new acquaintance. 
 
 '' I don't want to be introduced to a horrid 
 old miser," I said. '' Is there no escape?" 
 
 Aunt Prue shook her head and smiled. 
 '' I'm afraid not. Herr Blum wishes it, and. 
 Dearie, you must remember that you are under 
 his roof." 
 
 I shuddered a silent protest. '' He's only 
 eccentric and rather trying," added my aunt, in 
 a comforting sort of way. '' But he keeps to 
 his own suite of rooms. During the ten years 
 I have kept house for him he never comes here 
 into my domain except to spend an hour one 
 afternoon a week, when we take tea and he 
 grumbles about the bills, as he thinks it good 
 practice for his English, and I am hopeless at 
 any other language. He says my accent is 
 provincial." 
 
 '' But he makes you handsome presents ?" 
 '' Presents ! Oh dear, no ! Nothing of that 
 kind." 
 
 '' What ! no presents and no remuneration ? " 
 She shook her head again and smiled. 
 ^' And English conversation thrown in ! " 
 '^ Yes," she replied, laughing heartily. ''He 
 
 102 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 enjoys that immensely, and that was the reason 
 he insisted on some one English. You see, 
 dear, I have a charming suite of rooms in a 
 cUmate that suits my health, and he knows I 
 am content." 
 
 '' I think he might show a little gratitude after 
 you've rescued him from his miserly habits and 
 from living in scandalous squalor in the attic of 
 a wretched inn." 
 
 '' But," argued my aimt, '' after all, his family 
 asked me to. He is a bachelor, with only him- 
 self to consider, and I believe he really regrets 
 those days. But he's very eccentric. For 
 instance, he's furious about the beggars who 
 constantlv call at the villa. Servants will talk — 
 and it is known that he's a millionaire." 
 
 '^ He's kind-hearted, then." 
 
 '' My dear, all I know^ is that he abhors the 
 sight of a beggar — it's a perfect craze. He gives 
 strict orders that they are to be turned away 
 without a word or a ha'penny ; and he never 
 ventures into the streets, except to go to the 
 barber's close by, for fear of being accosted by a 
 beggar. Whether it is that he hates the sight 
 of poverty, or is outraged at being asked for 
 money, I can't make out." 
 
 ''How dreadful !" 
 He gives me four pounds a week for 
 103 
 
 (( 
 
My Son and I 
 
 expenses every Monday afternoon, and punctu- 
 ally to the minute he grumbles because I don't 
 return him more than I do from the previous 
 week's amount. But of course there are 
 Lambert, and Marita the cook, and I don't 
 fancy I'm extravagant ! " 
 
 '' What a ' treasure ' you are I " I exclaimed. 
 
 She laughed as she replied : '' Oh, he doesn't 
 think much of me, because I can't talk German 
 or any language but my own, and that's a 
 cardinal sin in his eyes. However ! As a rule 
 he receives no strangers, as talk with them 
 is a waste of time, unless they have some 
 linguistic acquirements and can enter into his 
 tastes." 
 
 I could talk German, it is true, but not as 
 fluently as at that moment I could have wished. 
 And I have a fair knowledge of French and 
 Italian, which, when I am nervous, are apt to 
 get mixed. Accordingly, I prepared myself for 
 an interview that would end in ignominy, for I 
 knew Herr Josef Blum was in the habit of 
 testing his visitors, and if he found them 
 wanting, of bringing the acquaintance to a 
 termination with a snap by a polite expression 
 of thanks for the visit. My aunt also told me 
 that the few he tolerated reported him to be full 
 of knowledge of a kind. Moreover, it seemed to 
 
 104 
 
old Josef Blum 
 
 interest them, too, to ponder what was going to 
 become of his great wealth. 
 
 So I shrank from the introduction even more 
 than before, when on the morrow the hour of 
 my appointment was imminent for me to ac- 
 company the old gentleman on his promenade 
 in the garden. I stepped out on the balcony. 
 There he was, strolling feebly up and down, 
 constantly looking up, and straight at me, but 
 evidently without seeing me. I noticed that 
 he was very short and very thin, and that he 
 stooped slightly ; he was dressed in a long grey 
 suit, hanging very loose, and he wore a large 
 straw hat and blue spectacles, which partly hid 
 his features. 
 
 My aunt accompanied me downstairs to 
 
 where he was. 
 
 " Herr Blum, this is my niece — my favourite 
 niece," she said. 
 
 He bowed her away with some ceremony, 
 and peered eagerly into my face. Then he 
 said courteously, and in excellent English : 
 
 '' I'm glad you've come. Welcome to 
 Naples!" 
 
 He took my arm at once, and leaning on it 
 lightly, he led me forward. His face was mild 
 and w^orn, and when he looked over his spec- 
 tacles his eyes, tired and bleared, were the eyes 
 
 105 
 
My Son and I 
 
 of a man about eighty years of age. His whole 
 appearance was that of an ascetic. 
 
 Then, with curious adroitness, he began the 
 operation of sampHng my brains, and revealed 
 in the process a mastery of various languages, 
 together with a childish pleasure in originating 
 riddles, charades, and word juggling, his hobbies, 
 he told me, of a lifetime. At the same time he 
 put me at my ease, and was so ready and 
 anxious to impart information, and was so 
 courteous in his manner of correcting mistakes 
 — he never would let them pass — correct them 
 he would — that we were good friends before 
 our tete-a-tete was at an end, and I came to the 
 conclusion that either he had been very much 
 maligned or my aunt had achieved a miracle. 
 The next day the performance was repeated ; 
 at his urgent request, our two mornings' walks 
 developed into a recognised institution, and we 
 began to understand one another pretty well. 
 
 '^ I like you," he would repeat. '' You under- 
 stand me ; you are patient with an old man. 
 Now to-day let us talk of radium; tell me what 
 the English papers have been saying— that must 
 be interesting. But excuse me, before I forget 
 — it is a habit of mine — try and guess my new 
 riddle. ..." 
 
 The sympathetic ring of his voice, and the 
 
 io6 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 geniality that seemed in a fashion to breathe 
 from him, were surprising in one so old. And I 
 was still more surprised when I discovered that 
 every one, without exception, seemed to have 
 misjudged him. As I gained his confidence I 
 could see that it amused him to be considered 
 the hateful old miser. He tried to encourage 
 it, even to live up to it. The truth is, he was 
 no miser in the ordinary sense ; but he couldn't 
 spend money in the way his large fortune 
 warranted. '' I can't ! " he would exclaim 
 plaintively — " I can't ! " And he certainly 
 couldn't. 
 
 He spent but a few centesimi a day upon a 
 vegetarian diet which just supported his spare 
 frame, satisfied, and no more, his meagre 
 appetite and still more meagre w^ants. 
 
 '' Come and see my kitchen," he said one 
 day, in a burst of confidence. I followed him. 
 It was a tiny apartment opening out of his 
 study, and here he did his own cooking. 
 ''Good, hein?" he remarked, thrusting before 
 me some plums he had been stewing. Suddenly 
 his face lighted up, and he raised his hand for 
 silence. I waited and watched the smile that 
 proclaimed poetic fervour and prospective 
 triumph. Then taking off his spectacles with 
 his left hand, he held his right aloft, shaking his 
 
 107 
 
My Son and I 
 
 forefinger as he exclaimed, with a giggle, ^^ A 
 charade ! Listen : 
 
 " ' A plum is a fruit you can easily cook — 
 And the study of life is as easy to some ; 
 But search through a character cookery-book, 
 
 And admit that the heart's not so easy to plumb I ' " 
 
 He looked at me in delight. 
 
 '< Wonderful ! " I cried ; '' and in English, 
 too ! " 
 
 He laughed like a child. ''That is nothing," 
 he said, frankly radiant; '' any language. It is 
 my two thousand eight hundred and forty- 
 seventh. I must write it down or I shall 
 forget it." 
 
 '' That would be a great pity," I said. 
 
 '' Indeed, yes," he rejoined, as he quickly 
 settled himself at his writing-table. He looked 
 quite youthful in his enthusiasm, and very neatly 
 dressed, for his old clothes had recently been 
 taken away from him when he slept — the usual 
 course when new garments were necessary ; it 
 was the only way. He was in high enjoyment, 
 for as to pleasures, he had none but those of 
 conversation. He seldom strolled beyond his 
 garden. Even the lovely view was denied 
 him, as his poor eyes were too dimmed by past 
 reading and present age to see and enjoy it. 
 
 His walk — his invariable walk, because it was 
 
 io8 
 
The Stony Path of Life 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 shaded from the sun, which hurt his eyes in 
 summer, and from the wind, which hurt his eyes 
 in winter — was up the incUned pathway lead- 
 ing to a height which commanded the glorious 
 scene over the Bay of Naples. No one could 
 behold this steep road, with the old man toiling 
 up it, and not be struck with the living allegory 
 of the stony path of life, and he a striving 
 spirit doomed to climb it daily towards the 
 goal — the seat of rest at the summit. But he 
 never succeeded in getting farther than the 
 little arbour half-way up. 
 
 '* Some day when I am stronger I'll go up to 
 the top for you to see the view they talk about," 
 he said, when we were starting for our walk. 
 '' But to-day," he went on, '' I must go to have 
 my hair cut." 
 
 He leaned on my arm and tottered on the 
 way to the barber's, and I was to do a little 
 shopping and then call back for him. His 
 nervousness of the crowded roadway and its 
 beggars made him pause constantly to look 
 around. '^ Why don't you let the man come 
 to you in your own home ? " I asked him, as 
 a sort of brilliant idea. 
 
 '' Ach, my dear madam," he replied, ''it is 
 because the charge would be double — like this 
 I pay twenty centesimi, and the master himself 
 
 109 
 
My Son and I 
 
 must attend to me. He is a Spaniard, and I 
 stipulate also he should speak in his own 
 tongue ; so I get Spanish conversation for 
 nothing — see ? Ach ! how that pleases me — • 
 all for twenty centesimi ! " and he released my 
 arm, rubbed his palms together, and chuckled 
 like a delighted child. 
 
 The next day we toiled, as usual, slowly to 
 the arbour, while he eagerly expounded and 
 quoted, with sudden interruptions at the re- 
 membrance of a riddle, accompanied by the 
 usual apology — halting every few steps as he 
 talked, foreign fashion, as if the better to 
 punctuate his meaning. When we arrived at 
 our destination, and he took rest, I read aloud 
 from some foreign newspaper, while he listened 
 with curious enjoyment for my mistakes of 
 accent. Then he philologised, and became 
 confidential, and sank into one of his de- 
 pressed moods, complaining of his age and 
 loneliness. 
 
 '< But, Herr Blum," I said, to comfort him, 
 *' you have a large family in Germany who 
 have your welfare at heart." 
 
 *' Welfare ? " he repeated, brightening up. 
 '* They don't w^ant my welfare ; they want my 
 money. And — and they're not going to get 
 it ; and what's more," he added, chuckling, 
 
 I 10 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 *' from the forbidden letters I get from them, 
 they won't reaUse how Uttle regard I have for 
 the whole undeserving lot of them ! " And for 
 a time he sat rubbing his hands and chuckling, 
 as he repeated with the frankest candour, 
 ''They're not going to get it!" 
 
 Then he would become suspicious of every 
 one about him, and fill me with an indescrib- 
 able repulsion which quickly changed to pity 
 when he declared that no one had ever cared 
 for him for himself. '' Ach, my dear madam, 
 had my eyes been closed to all the selfishness 
 and self-interest that surrounded me, I might 
 have been by now a happy grandfather, like 
 my brother. There was a lady — so much like 
 you — so ! " 
 
 He broke oft. His voice dropped, and I 
 heard him mumble something about "death 
 the better way " — a pathetic figure truly, with 
 his fourscore years passed in self-inflicted 
 misery. And he a deeply religious man, as 
 he undoubtedly was. 
 
 He was in one of these moods when he 
 asked me bluntly a few days later as we sat 
 in the arbour : 
 
 '' What did your aunt come here for ? Why 
 do you sacrifice yourself walking out with a 
 decrepit, lonely old man like me V 
 
 III 
 
My Son and I 
 
 " My' aunt left her home, where she was 
 happy, because she has a strong sense of duty, 
 and she found she might still be of some use, 
 as your sister wrote to her." 
 
 '' Don't mention that sister of mine," he 
 interrupted excitedly ; *' she married out of 
 the faith. She shan't have a penny ! But — 
 why ha,VQ yo!t sacrificed yourself ?" 
 
 "As for me, why — well — " His face was 
 so screwed up with peevish shrewdness and 
 cunning at cornering me, as he thought, that 
 I couldn't help smiling as I added, not without 
 a touch of offended dignity : 
 
 ''I think, Herr Blum, it was not I who 
 sought the introduction. Indeed, I must con- 
 fess that I rather — I rather shrank from it." 
 
 He looked relieved, removed his blue spec- 
 tacles, and wiped them on a rag of a hand- 
 kerchief that had escaped Aunt Prue's vigilant 
 eye. ** I enjoy your friendship, Herr Blum," 
 I went on, " and I am grateful for your tuition. 
 You interest me — just a little bit. But your 
 money doesn't. Money matters distress you, 
 and are distasteful to me, so let us forget 
 them. Tell me about Schopenhauer, as you 
 promised." 
 
 '' Ach, yes, Schopenhauer," he repeated 
 eagerly. He was again the schoolmaster, and 
 
 112 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 like a child he quickly forgot his suspicions 
 in the fresh and congenial topic. But the 
 subject often recurred. His wealth had spoiled 
 his life and warped a disposition naturally 
 gentle and sympathetic. 
 
 Once a week, as I said before, Herr Josef 
 Blum took tea with my aunt in her little salon 
 — on a Monday afternoon, after paying the 
 weekly household expenses and getting through 
 the weekly grumble. He would then enjoy his 
 frugal meal with all the greater zest because he 
 got it gratis — Aunt Prue's tea being always a 
 Christmas gift from Dr. Charleston, a custom 
 begun when they wxre first acquainted, when 
 he had recommended it, and never discontinued. 
 Not being treated at all as a stranger, I w^as 
 always at these quaintly stiff interviews, and 
 the attitude of the pair gave me no little amuse- 
 ment. Before tea he was courteous and can- 
 tankerous ; Aunt Prue nervous and flustered, 
 not being good at figures, whilst he peered at 
 them as sharp as a needle. During tea he 
 was courteous and gloatingly thirsty ; Aunt 
 Prue dignified, and finding comfort in the very 
 proximity of her own silver teapot. After tea 
 he was courteous and depressed ; Aunt Prue 
 resigned, and vigorously on the thumb-twirl. 
 So one day when the time had come for his 
 
 113 H 
 
My Son and I 
 
 poor old head to droop, and he started on the 
 subject of having no friends, I asked permission 
 to read aloud a rather long letter received some 
 time back from my son, which I thought might 
 interest them as showing something of the 
 student life at Rostock. My aunt hailed the 
 diversion from the usual distressing topic with 
 evident pleasure, and the old man looked up, 
 alert at once, in eager expectation, and re- 
 marked that it would remind him of his old 
 college days long forgotten. So I took out 
 the precious scrawl, for such it was, and read 
 aloud : — 
 
 '^ My dear Mater, — Our hostess continues 
 to do all she can for our comfort, so there is 
 no reason for you to agonise about anything. 
 We are both quite well, and all you can do, 
 as you so kindly oiler to do anything I want, 
 is to get a firm grip of the fact that I am 
 perfectly all right, and there is no cause for 
 you to be anxious. 
 
 " Charlie had an engagement and missed a 
 treat, for I spent a most interesting evening 
 recently with the university students. I will 
 tell you all about it. You can't interrupt at 
 this distance. 
 
 " It was exactly 9.30 p.m. when my German 
 
 114 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 friend called for me, and after a few minutes' 
 walk we came to the students' beer garden, 
 where the Kneipe was held, and on the way 
 he explained to me of what the students' clubs 
 consist. There are, to begin with, in a uni- 
 versity two sections, the fighting and the non- 
 fighting. The former laugh at the latter, but do 
 nothing more, so the others don't mind. The 
 fighting section consists of ' corps,' which duel 
 amongst themselves and with each other ; they 
 revel in slashed cheeks and blood-pools, and 
 talk gore over meals. The non-fighting element 
 consists chiefly of theological and law students, 
 and of foreigners having a prejudice against 
 duelling ; and among the Verbindmigen formed 
 of these (' Club,' * Coterie,' ' League,' are only 
 approximate translations of a Verbindung) the 
 
 ' W^ ' is one. Not only may its members 
 
 not fight, but they may also not over-drink, 
 nor go in for excess of any kind. It was to 
 this Verbindung that my friend, a law student, 
 belonged. In almost every case all students 
 belonging to a corps or Verbindung wear peaked 
 caps, with a narrow ribbon of distinctive colours 
 round the edge, and a ribbon, perhaps an inch 
 wide, across the chest. They also wear fobs, 
 which are the atrophied straps used in former 
 days to carry a sword. 
 
My Son and I 
 
 " Passing through a hght gateway, we went 
 up a short path in the garden, and came upon 
 a long table under the trees, lighted by two 
 lamps. About twenty students were ending a 
 song with three loud 'Hochs!' accompanied 
 by the banging of glasses on the table. The 
 number of the next song was being named, 
 when my friend called for silence, and said in 
 a loud, formal voice, ' May I introduce my 
 friend?' and he mentioned my name. Imme- 
 diately all the students rose and removed their 
 caps. Having no cap, I made my best bow, 
 and was placed next to my friend, opposite 
 the chairman, whom I later learnt to call the 
 * Third President.' I was given a book of the 
 songs and a big glass of beer. 
 
 ^' During the next two songs, and the in- 
 termediate pause, I had time to look round. 
 Everything belonging to the Verbindimg had 
 the distinctive colours ; the tobacco-boxes were 
 decorated with bands of black, white, and gold ; 
 the edges of the book of songs {Kommersbucli) 
 were similarly coloured ; so were the cords 
 decorating the long pipes ; and the arms of 
 the Verbinduug emblazoned on the tankards 
 were in the same colours. 
 
 ^' Members of a corps or Verbindung are 
 divided into three classes : — 
 
 ii6 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 "(i) Ftichse, who are students who are in 
 their first year, and correspond to the ' Fresher ' 
 of Oxford and Cambridge. They wear ordinary 
 clothes. 
 
 *' (2) BwscheHy who have been in the uni- 
 versity longer than the Fiichse^ wear green 
 jackets with semi-military cord ornamentation. 
 
 ''(3) Lastly are the Philisten or 'Old Boys,' 
 none of whom was present when I was there. 
 
 '^ There was a surprising difference in appear- 
 ance among the students — small and big, stolid 
 and quick, fat and thin ; and this was accen- 
 tuated because they were quite new types to 
 me. But all had a natural courtesy and good 
 fellowship which were delightful. 
 
 '' The thing which interested me most, I 
 think, was my companion's cap ; he had a 
 large fox tail reaching from the peak, over the 
 crown, and down his back — he was Fuchs- 
 Major. This most important person, ranking 
 as Second President, is a BurscJij who has a 
 complete knowledge of the very complicated 
 etiquette of the Verbiudimgcn^ and is elected to 
 teach the Filchse what to do under various 
 conditions and circumstances. He instructs 
 them in the various kinds of toasts and their 
 answers ; how to toast when one's beer has 
 ^ a head ' on it, and when not ; on which side 
 
 117 
 
My Son and I 
 
 to pass another Fttchs who is walking with a 
 lady ; he must know and instantly recognise 
 the armorial bearings and monograms of the 
 twenty-three universities, technical institutes, 
 and high schools, and very many other details 
 contained in a special book. 
 
 ''The First President, Fitchs-Major, and Third 
 President are ' fagged ' for by the Leibfitchsy who 
 brings beer and holds matches to four-foot pipes 
 when required. He is the chief of the Fiichse. 
 
 ^* Germany, before the Franco-Prussian war, 
 was spoken of as 'a land of thinkers and 
 poets.' If we follow the German students' 
 song-book of to-day, one is induced to add, 
 ' and of musicians.' The true German songs 
 are simple in word and note, but always tune- 
 ful, dignified, and sincere, be they about student 
 life, the ' Vaterland/ or love — for the German 
 student must have a girl to sing about. 
 
 " After ten o'clock the students may not sing 
 out of doors, as the inhabitants of the neigh- 
 bourhood wish to retire for the night, so we 
 went to a little house in the garden — each man 
 carrying his beer, book, and chair — and entered 
 a largish room, with a smoke-blacked ceiling. 
 While the others were settling down, my friend 
 took me round the room. He showed me por- 
 traits of present and past students in uniform 
 
 ii8 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 and in mufti ; armorial bearings of universities, 
 corps, and Vcrbindungen ; he pointed out two 
 framed and cherished telegrams, one from the 
 Kaiser and the other from the Grossherzog von 
 Mecklenburg. There was a large presentation 
 cup in thick pewter, heavily embossed with 
 armorial bearings ; from the ceiling hung a 
 large silver-mounted horn ; and in the corner 
 stood a cask of beer. 
 
 '' In taking my place, I found I was again next 
 to my friend, w^ho, in turn, was on the right 
 of the Third President. Opposite him was the 
 First President, who had very little to do offici- 
 ally, only acknowledging toasts referring to the 
 Verhindiing as a whole. 
 
 '^ * Sile-e-entium ! ' shouted the Third President. 
 Then he called out the number of the song in 
 a tone of military command, and at a signal 
 all began to sing in loud, excellent voices ; they 
 were accompanied by a student at the piano. 
 Some songs required the accompaniment to be 
 a duet. At a pause in the song, and also be- 
 tween the songs, toasts were continually called, 
 and were immediately answered by a shout of 
 ' Prosit / ' or ' Kueips ! ' with a simultaneous re- 
 moval of the cap. ' Robin Adair ' and ' Long, 
 Long Ago ! ' were sung in German, and the air 
 of 'God save the King!' w^as given with other 
 
 119 
 
My Son and I 
 
 words. At the end of each song is a shout of 
 * Ein Smollis Ihr Britder : Fiducit ! ' 
 
 ''Then picture post-cards came round, with 
 illustrations of the garden and club-room ; and 
 being a guest, I was made free of the stamp- 
 box. Later in the evening some one acciden- 
 tally spilled some beer on my cards, which 
 gave me the right of claiming others, but it 
 was not necessary. After I had written two, 
 the Fnchs-Major offered to append his name 
 (this is always a courtesy), and got the Third 
 President to add his. Then a student, Herr 
 
 F , came up, removed his cap, bowed, and 
 
 asked whether I would allow him the honour 
 of adding his name to my cards. *■ Mit Verg- 
 niigen ! ' (' With pleasure ! ') said I, with a larger 
 amount of sincerity than words. His signature 
 was interesting, as was that of every one, for 
 after his name he drew a monogram of the 
 
 initials, ' W. V. C. F.' (' W Vivat Crescat 
 
 Flore at F). All the W's have the same letters, 
 but different design of monogram ; and a man 
 who has been to, say, two universities bears 
 the monogram of his old university before his 
 name, and that of his present university after. 
 If a student is a First President, Fuchs-Major, or 
 Third President, he puts one, two, or three crosses 
 in brackets after the university monogram. 
 
 120 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 " ^ Sile-e-entiuni ! ' And the Third President 
 made a very graceful speech in proposing my 
 health, which occupied several minutes. To 
 signify special approval, the students performed 
 the * Salamander.' 
 
 '' This is done as follows. The Third President 
 shouts, ' Ad exercitum Salanmndris : estisne pre- 
 parati?' The students give an answering shout 
 of ^ Suuius ! ' The Third President then calls 
 out, ' SilentiiDu, Salamander incipit ! ' Then 
 during ^ Eins ! Zivei!' glasses are rubbed on 
 the table w^ith a circular motion; on ^Drei!^ 
 drinking begins; ^ Eius ! ' drinking stops; 
 ^Zweif make ready and aim; ^ Drci ! ' glasses 
 come with one big bang on the table. During 
 ^ Eins ! Zwei ! Drei ! * loud rumbling of the 
 glasses on the table. ^ Eins ! Zwei! Drei!' 
 tremendous bang on ^ Drei ! ' Then shout of 
 ^Salamander ex ! ' 
 
 ''Afterwards, came more talking, followed by 
 an unaccompanied quartette, excellently given. 
 Soon after came a call of silence for — me ! I 
 replied to the toast of my health in English, 
 as my German was only of fifteen days' growth. 
 I was perfectly understood, as all German 
 students understand and read English, though 
 they do not usually speak it. Again I was 
 honoured by the ' Salamander.' 
 
 121 
 
My Son and, I 
 
 ^' When eleven o'clock had passed, the pro- 
 ceedings became 'unofficiar; less traditional 
 songs were given, each with its accompaniment 
 of loud yelps, swishes, and terrific bangs of 
 fists on the table, which sent one or two tan- 
 kards on to the floor each time. 
 
 '' By careful prompting and rehearsal of words 
 with the FucJis-Major, I was able to drink to 
 the health of the Third President — ' Ich erlatihe 
 mir Ihnen etwas aufspezielle zu hekommen ' (' I beg 
 to drink to you in special greeting') ; and later 
 to the First President, in the same form. The 
 courtesy was returned, drawing from me a 
 shout of * Prosit!' now spoken glibly from 
 continual use. ' Oh, the Pleasure ! oh, the 
 Pleasure ! oh, the Pleasure in the Love of 
 the Priest's Daughter ; the Splendid, Splendid, 
 Splendid Daughter of the Priest,' was given in 
 German, English, Hebrew, French, Latin, and 
 Greek. Many students came up during the 
 evening to the chair next to me, and with the 
 help of a little English, more German, and 
 still more French, conversation was copious, if 
 halting. 
 
 '' Then a student — my Fuchs-Major — buzzed 
 like a fly, following the imaginary insect about 
 the room, and missing it several times. At 
 last, slamming down the lid of a student's 
 
 122 
 
Old J< 
 
 ^f Bl 
 
 oser Diurn 
 
 tankard, half-full of beer, he caught the insect. 
 To make quite sure it would not worry any 
 one any more, he drank off the beer at a 
 draught, and so settled the fly. 
 
 '' About this time the big horn was taken down, 
 cleaned, and filled with beer, and was handed 
 to the Third President, who drank to a student, 
 who drank to some other student, in each case 
 
 repeating the formula, ' Herr , nachwarts ! 
 
 Herr , vorwciris ! ' each name being accom- 
 panied by a slight bow. This horn is a sur- 
 prise to the uninitiated. At the same moment 
 that the beer reaches the mouth, it flows out 
 of the corners ; even the younger students were 
 no experts. 
 
 ^' While the horn was going round, the Fttc/is- 
 Major said to me, ' You who come here for one 
 evening, like this, can have no knowledge of 
 what a Verbindung really means. All the men 
 you see here this evening are bound to one 
 another by an affection almost brotherly. Every 
 one has his faults and troubles, and with us 
 we can always rely on the greatest sympathy 
 and help from one another. When we have 
 passed our exams, and leave the university 
 to go into the world, it causes the greatest 
 pain. Look here ! ' and he indicated a rough 
 block of black stone supported against the 
 
 123 
 
My Son and I 
 
 wall. It was polished on one side, and bore 
 the words, ^Bemooster Btirschen zieJi ich aus ; 
 Ade!' ('White-headed Bursche, I hasten you 
 away ; adieu ! '). 
 
 '' ' When a student leaves the university he 
 smashes his tankard against that stone at the 
 end of a song, of which the first words are 
 those on the stone ; it is the symbol of the 
 end of his student life, and is a most thrilling 
 and painful custom, and one almost feels in- 
 clined sometimes to weep 1 ' 
 
 " ' Sile-e-entitim ! ' The Third President pointed 
 out that it was now a few minutes past twelve, 
 
 and that it was Herr G 's birthday, and 
 
 went on to make a short, excellent speech. 
 This was supported by the ' Salamander,' which 
 was repeated after the reply from the student, 
 who was now twenty-one years old. He then 
 had the privilege of holding the big drinking- 
 horn, standing, while a song was sung, the 
 number of which he himself had called. 
 
 '' When this was finished, two students left 
 the table ; one impersonated a girl, the other 
 her lover ; the only word the latter was allowed 
 to use was ' Laura.' With this one word, 
 intonation, and action were very cleverly indi- 
 cated the wooing, refusal, and subsequent death 
 
 of the pair. 
 
 124 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 "More songs and talk carried us on to 2.15, 
 when it was time to austrinken. All stood up 
 and clinked glasses in time to a song, and at 
 stated intervals a student drained his glass at 
 a draught and held it upside down over the 
 table. Those students clinking with the in- 
 verted glasses showed great skill and knack in 
 sending splinters of glass flying, and of knock- 
 ing out bottoms." 
 
 [*' Ach ! what a waste ! " interrupted Herr 
 Josef Blum, shaking his head sadly, " that break- 
 ing of glasses ! / never would." 
 
 I paused and smiled. He took off his 
 spectacles and wiped them before he readjusted 
 them to look at me. Aunt Prue nodded for me 
 to continue.] 
 
 *' It was 2.30 when we broke up, and dawn 
 was just beginning to show. Two students 
 saw me home (though it was not necessary), 
 and on the doorstep one gravely told me he 
 had the key of the boat-house — would I go 
 rowing with him ? 
 
 " Throughout the whole evening I w^as very 
 greatly struck by the high tone preserved. The 
 whole proceedings were carried out with the 
 greatest jollity and freedom ; but the room 
 might just as well have been a drawing-room 
 
 125 
 
My Son and I 
 
 as a room in a beer-house. Each student had 
 the instincts of ' a splendid gentleman.' The 
 Germans are accused of being sentimental, but 
 among the students, at any rate, this is no fault. 
 In England we make fast and life-long friends 
 at our universities and colleges, and these friend- 
 ships mean an enormous amount to us, but I 
 do not think we possess to nearly so great a 
 degree as the German students that manly 
 sentimentality which binds the students so 
 closely together, which makes them a factor 
 in society, and which makes the nation so 
 homogeneous. There ! 
 
 '' I trust you are well, and will write soon 
 again. — Your very affectionate son." 
 
 My audience thanked me. Aunt Prue's en- 
 thusiasm about *' Dearie's boy " waxed strong, 
 and the old man, who had listened sympathetic- 
 ally throughout, said quietly, '' A bright lad ; he 
 makes me remember my college days." 
 
 My visit was nearing its end. Six months 
 had actually gone, and my son's homecoming 
 called for my return. It was the last time I 
 accompanied my old friend back from his 
 twopenny shave with Spanish conversation, and 
 we had just arrived on the threshold of his 
 villa when we were suddenly confronted by a 
 
 126 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 middle-aged, shabby-looking woman. He was 
 too short-sighted to notice what she w^as ; he 
 only heard the words uttered in German : 
 
 " I'm in want of money. Don't be hard- 
 hearted. In the dear God's name have pity on 
 a poor W'Oman who — " She got no further. 
 
 Herr Josef Blum became livid with anger. 
 
 '^A beggar!" he cried; ''it's a beggar. A 
 Ger-German beg-gar ! " he stammered. He was 
 trembling all over, speechless with indignation. 
 He motioned her aw^ay w^ith his trembling fore- 
 finger, and, as she persisted and tried to clutch 
 his coat, he started back, drew me through the 
 open door, and flung it to with a bang. His 
 breath came short as he stood and gasped for 
 a moment, and then laboriously mounted the 
 stairs, still quivering on my arm ; but he bowed 
 to me with his usual courtesy, and pressed my 
 hand w^hen 1 left him. 
 
 I was glad for once to be rid of him, so 
 dreadful was the exhibition. I ran and told 
 Aunt Prue. She said that on the rare occasions 
 when these little contrcteitips could not be avoided, 
 he w-as always agitated and upset, as I had seen 
 him at the appeal of the hollow-eyed woman. 
 
 At last, when the final touch was being given 
 to my packing, I w^ent to Herr Blum's room to 
 say good-bye. I had forgiven him the hateful 
 
 I 27 
 
My Son and I 
 
 scene of the day before, he had looked so sad 
 and wretched. 
 
 '* I'm so grieved you can't stay," he said 
 simply. 
 
 Heretofore my tap at his study door had 
 always been sure of an eager response, and 
 now the same bright smile that had always 
 welcomed me made me unhappy as it faded 
 away and turned to pain. 
 
 <' See here," he added, with feverish eagerness. 
 He showed me his books with pride, and search- 
 ing among them he took down a dictionary, and 
 inscribed my name in it with much ceremony. 
 
 '' You are kind, but I really don't wish to 
 deprive you of it," I remarked, disliking the idea 
 of accepting anything from him. 
 
 " But I got it second-hand," he hastened to 
 assure me, '' so it only cost one mark. And 
 I want you to have it as a souvenir, for I 
 think you are the only friend I have who really 
 cares a little bit for me for myself." 
 
 Poor pathetic soul ! He was so pleased 
 when I told him I would treasure it that he 
 joyously babbled on. 
 
 " All these manuscript books you see here, 
 and all my charades, I'm going to leave to the 
 library of my last hospital." 
 
 " Your last hospital ! " 
 
 128 
 
Old Josef Blum 
 
 ''Yes ; the one to be built in my natal place. 
 The one near here and the others do much 
 good, but this is to be my pet scheme of all." 
 
 '< But — oh, Herr Blum ! you never told me — 
 I- " 
 
 '' Ach ! Told ? No, I never told any one," 
 he replied. And added earnestly, " You mustn't 
 tell — I forgot myself ; it is my amusement to 
 remain anonymous till I die. It is the con- 
 dition of every gift I make." 
 
 My heart sank when I had to say good-bye 
 and saw my old friend's wistful look — that look 
 which comes to the eyes of old folk when the 
 time to part has come. It had come, and was 
 not without pain for us both. " God bless 
 you ! " he said. And I knew I should never 
 see again the piteous, bent figure that appealed 
 so strongly to my sympathy. 
 
 Two days after my return home my son 
 was with me to spend his vacation, and we 
 celebrated the event with a cosy little supper, 
 together with Mr. Ryan, Dulcie, her great friend 
 Alma Dryden, Charlie Lane, and Harry Wallace 
 — the Wallace of yore, grown into a '' fascinat- 
 ing young man," as we women would call 
 him, just as he promised to be, with the same 
 lightheartedness and the same shallowness of 
 
 character. 
 
 129 I 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MY SON'S FLIRTATIONS 
 
 The same little party often met together of 
 an evening during the vacation for music 
 and merriment. Frequently little theatre and 
 supper parties were made up, when Mr. Ryan 
 would pioneer us all, his great joke being to 
 include me among the young ones '^ until you 
 can show some grey hairs," he argued. I must 
 own that I felt young on those little jaunts ; 
 and when I responded to my big son's call of 
 " Mater ! " strangers w^ould look surprised and 
 whisper curiously. It amused our little circle, 
 and I could only pretend to look unconcerned ; 
 I suppose, after all, I am not the only woman 
 of uncertain years who has felt pleasure in 
 being told she is a living optical illusion. 
 
 On these occasions Alma was the gayest of 
 us all, flirting with Harry Wallace, trying to 
 interest Charlie, teasing my son, and then per- 
 haps, all of a sudden, devoting herself entirely 
 to Dulcie and me in the discussion of dress and 
 
 130 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 femininities, and deaf to everything else. Excite- 
 ment flushed her oHve complexion, brightened 
 her roguish black eyes, and brought out the 
 dimples near her rather wide mouth. She was 
 a striking-looking girl of middle height and 
 muscular build. When Dulcie was next to 
 her, it seemed to me that her quiet charm 
 and fair colouring were heightened by con- 
 trast with her friend, and she looked like a 
 tall, graceful lily beside a beautiful poppy. 
 Alma was generally surrounded by men, and 
 when I watched her busily laying out her nets 
 of fascination, I sometimes w^ondered whether 
 the right man would be caught in their mesh. 
 She was not happy at home, so Dulcie told 
 me ; her father thought of nothing but money- 
 grubbing in the city, and her mother showed 
 her little sympathy. Mother and daughter 
 lived together with all the goodwill of friend- 
 ship and something of ceremony, but of con- 
 fidence of an intimate nature there was none. 
 Mrs. Dryden preferred her three sons to her 
 one daughter. Alma divided the impulsive 
 love of her warm nature between those three 
 brothers, who w^ere indifferent, and her friends ; 
 Dulcie and I had a large share of it, though 
 not much of her confidence ; she was generally 
 reticent in what concerned her affairs. 
 
 131 
 
My Son and I 
 
 One evening in my drawing-room, where we 
 had all gathered after an informal little dinner, 
 my son had just left the piano after singing 
 student songs with Charlie as chorus, when 
 Alma sat down next to where I was embroider- 
 ing, and raised up her voice in lamentation 
 because her '' people " were so keen on forcing 
 a chaperon upon her at every opportunity. 
 " I can't go anywhere except here," she com- 
 plained, '' without being dogged by a chaperon, 
 a brother, or an aunt, or a maid, or some 
 other incubus. In this age the chaperon 
 ought to be extinct — like the dodo. I'm not 
 the only one to suffer loss of liberty and inde- 
 pendence. Isn't it a shame ? Dulcie isn't so 
 rigidly brought up, and we are just the same 
 age. Don't you think it very old-fashioned? 
 Please do tell Mamma you think so." 
 
 " I think it ought to depend on the girl, and 
 it ought not to be necessary." 
 
 " Well, then, / certainly don't require a 
 chaperon 1 " 
 
 '' Oh, yes, you do ! " came as a chorus from 
 the three young men. I fancy they thought 
 it would flatter her, or they may have been 
 paying off old scores ; they meant no harm. 
 However, Alma was hurt and "wouldn't play"; 
 neither music nor games would tempt her, 
 
 132 
 
The Peniteint Trio 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 although the penitent trio knelt down in front 
 of her and vowed they would form her escort 
 in future and no other chaperon would be 
 necessary ; but she wouldn't even smile. 
 
 '' Forgive them quick," I urged, '' and we'll 
 have an impromptu dance." Mr. Ryan imme- 
 diately got out the dance music, and peace was 
 restored. I noticed that my son and Harry 
 Wallace at once presented themselves as part- 
 ners to Alma, and that she demurred for a 
 moment, glancing towards Charlie, who had 
 come to turn over the leaves of my music. 
 She danced with my son, and Dulcie danced 
 with Wallace, and then Charlie suggested him- 
 self as my partner, which Mr. Ryan clinched 
 by bringing forward the pianola and managing 
 it himself. So we twirled until we were all 
 breathless, and then as the young people did 
 not seem as harmoniously inclined towards 
 one another as usual, the little festivity broke 
 up rather early. Nevertheless there were many 
 other pleasant meetings before the wrench came 
 again and my son left with Charlie for another 
 vear at Rostock. 
 
 I was anxious about the stiff exam, he would 
 have to pass, and I was not altogether easy 
 enough in my mind when his letters began to 
 come less frequently and to lack their usual 
 
 133 
 
Mv Son and I 
 
 freshness. I wrote to Charlie in the hope of 
 gleaning more definite news, and I took the 
 opportunity of inviting him to be our guest 
 over the next vacation when at last it should 
 come. He accepted with evident pleasure, and 
 replied that my son was working particularly 
 hard, with every chance of success, and that 
 they were both quite well. 
 
 Mr. Ryan thought that I was unnecessarily 
 anxious ; but that didn't mend matters for a 
 long time, until at last a telegram brought the 
 good tidings, '* Exam, success." Pleased and 
 proud as I was, the uncomfortable feeling his 
 letters aroused was not allayed ; it seemed 
 to me that he was outgrowing our old con- 
 fidence ; that my apron-strings were entirely 
 worn out and not a strand of them was left 
 hanging. 
 
 Just before my son's return home Mr. Ryan 
 paid me a visit one morning. I wondered what 
 could have happened, as it was his busiest time. 
 '' I'm glad to find you at home ; I've come to 
 consult you," he explained. *' Dulcie has just 
 received an offer of marriage." 
 
 '' Oh ! " I exclaimed. <' This is a great surprise 
 — of course it oughtn't to be ; it is not the first 
 offer. But she never told me — I'm quite — 
 Who is it ? " 
 
 134 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 '' She herself is quite surprised. I've just 
 told her about it. It is young Harry Wallace." 
 '' Dear me ! Tell me, what does she think 
 of it?" 
 
 <' She doesn't think of it." 
 
 '< Quite right ! " I blurted out, greatly relieved. 
 '< But why, my dear friend ? I think she is 
 very foolish not at least to think it over. It is 
 an excellent match from a pecuniary point of 
 view, and it is a good family too. I thought 
 that you would be of the same opinion, and 
 perhaps talk it over with her." 
 <' What reason does she give ? " 
 ''That she doesn't care for him. But don't 
 you think she might ?" 
 
 '' No," I replied with conviction. '' If she 
 said that, let the matter rest, and let him know 
 her decision." 
 
 ''Willingly," he replied, seemingly more than 
 satisfied. "She is far too young, and I can't 
 spare her ; only I thought it my duty to sink 
 my own feelings. Suitors are the terror of 
 my life." 
 
 And he went away quite happy. 
 
 Why was Dulcie refusing her suitors ? I 
 
 pondered over the fact until it made me quite 
 
 restless. Why, too, hadn't she confided in me 
 
 as usual ? I felt more anxious about the 
 
 135 
 
My Son and I 
 
 matter than I cared to admit, even to my- 
 self. When I glanced at the clock it was a 
 quarter past eleven. I had been so absorbed 
 in my thoughts I had not heard it strike the 
 hour, and Dulcie was coming to take me for 
 a walk. I met her coming up the stairs. 
 
 *^ Not ready ? " she said gaily, '' and I a 
 quarter of an hour late — it saves me an 
 apology." 
 
 ^* Your father has been here, and then I 
 forgot all about the time. Come up to my 
 room, dear, and help me." 
 
 She was looking so sweet and pretty in her 
 tailor-made costume which showed to advantage 
 her tall, graceful figure, and the simple straw 
 hat coquettishly placed on her golden hair 
 became her to perfection. She helped me 
 on with my jacket. 
 
 '^Yes, your father was here," I repeated. 
 
 *^ He told me he would like to consult you." 
 
 ^' You had no objection ? " 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 '' Oh, Dulcie ! why didn't you consult me 
 yourself ? " She handed me silently the gloves 
 I had put out. '' Sit down whilst I wrestle 
 with these new gloves. Did you think I would 
 disapprove your decision ? " 
 
 '' No. Do you disapprove ? " 
 
 136 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 '' I certainly don't think you could be happy 
 with such an airy-charactered man as Harry 
 Wallace. I hope you will marry some one more 
 suited to take care of you." 
 
 << I'm not at all sure of marrying any one. 
 I'm quite happy with father. No one could 
 love me or sacrifice himself for me more than 
 he does." 
 
 *' But if a young man whom you could care 
 for did love you very dearly, you would marry 
 him, surely, Dulcie?" 
 
 '' I don't think that is at all likely." 
 
 <' Why ? " I asked as I picked up the glove- 
 stretcher I had dropped in my surprise. 
 
 '' Because — " She hesitated. 
 
 ''Yes?" 
 
 '' Because I — " she continued slowly whilst 
 her faint colour turned deep and overspread her 
 ears — ''might love him and he — doesn't love 
 me ! " 
 
 " Doesn't I Who ? " I asked with sudden 
 intent, and I noticed that I had thrown her 
 into a state of confusion. I felt I must press 
 my point, were it only for my own selfish 
 peace of mind. " Do tell me," I coaxed ; " you 
 always used to tell me everything." I was 
 standing before her ; she bent her head and 
 murmured : 
 
 137 
 
My Son and^ I 
 
 '' Don't ask me — I can't." Then she looked 
 up and rose, saying, ^' You are ready. Let 
 us go." 
 
 ''Tell me, dear, is there really some one?" 
 
 '< Please " 
 
 " Dulcie ! May I guess ? " 
 
 '' Oh no, no ! " 
 
 '' Let me whisper." 
 
 Instinctively she bent down. I whispered — 
 only two words — then looked into her face, 
 which had grown pale. 
 
 She nodded. And the next moment we were 
 in one another's embrace. 
 
 ''Come! I'm ready now!" I said, half 
 laughing and half crying as I readjusted my 
 hat before the glass, and feeling as though a 
 great burden had been lifted from me. 
 
 It was tacitly treated as a secret confidence 
 not to be referred to again, but we felt more 
 than ever drawn towards one another, and 
 though we talked on trivial matters we enjoyed 
 our walk more than any othei" ; not only be- 
 cause we were happy together, but because we 
 understood one another so well. 
 
 I became more than usually cheerful. A 
 few days afterwards my son and Charlie came 
 back from Germany, and late one evening he 
 came into my boudoir, where I was writing. 
 
 138 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 After a moment I laid my pen down. ''Yes? 
 What is it, dear ? " 
 
 He handed me a manuscript book, and said : 
 
 '* Would you like to read some silly rot, 
 young Mater ? These are my ' innards ' ! " 
 
 '* Your what ? " 
 
 <'The outpourings of my inmost soul — you 
 know. Mater — my Diary. It's a nuisance to 
 keep up, and — 1 don't quite — anyhow, there it 
 is ; so you can put it in the fire afterwards." 
 
 '' W^ouldn't that be a pity ? " I asked. '' Some 
 day you might find it useful to refer to." And 
 I took it from him. 
 
 '' Couldn't possibly be of any use to any one," 
 he retorted. 
 
 '< It may be of great use to Jiie." 
 
 '' For scribbling on the clean sides of ? — 
 Domestic Economy 1 " 
 
 '' Oh dear, no ! " I hesitated. " Perhaps " 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 '' Perhaps this Diary may teach me what I 
 haven't fathomed before," I quietly remarked, 
 looking up at him with a smile. 
 
 My son emitted a sort of nervous chuckle, 
 looked undecidedly at the packet I held so 
 tightlv — then he bent down and kissed me, 
 offered a remark on looks and late hours, then 
 bade me good-night. 
 
 139 
 
My Son and I 
 
 I wrote no more that evening. I lost no 
 time in going to my room, and quickly began 
 to read what had long roused my maternal 
 curiosity ; for 1 felt there was something in it of 
 very particular interest. I opened the book, 
 leant back in my chair, and this is what I 
 read : — 
 
 ^^ May I. — Went to the music hall with 
 Charlie and had a ripping supper at the jolly 
 little Prinz Restaurant which Zimmermann, one 
 of the fellows, had recommended. I have come 
 to the conclusion after several months that life 
 in Germany is more pleasant than the lan- 
 guage ; at the same time I'd rather dissect a 
 frog before lunch than watch a German cabman 
 eating. 
 
 ^^ May 8. — Am working awfully hard for my 
 exam., swotting for dear life. I find the more 
 I know, the less I know I know : it's like the 
 information on a British Museum Reader's 
 Ticket in comparison with the contents of the 
 Library. Charlie is a real good chum^but 
 he's apt to fuss around rather. Wish he'd get 
 his mind more on his own work and less on 
 mine. 
 
 " May 9. — Glorious evening at the theatre with 
 Oskar Wolff. These German students can put 
 
 140 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 on a lot of side, and he is a 'dasher' — dashes 
 and mashes all over the place. I think he 
 finds me useful as a peg to hang his EngUsh 
 on. The best thing about Oskar is his cousin, 
 Klarchen Wolff. She's ccht Detttsch, German 
 of the Gerwomen — fair crimpy locks, blue 
 eyes, dimples and all. I rather like Klarchen ; 
 she's great fun. 
 
 '^ May 14. — Fraulein Klarchen is a ripper. I 
 took her for a bicycle-ride yesterday. I col- 
 lided with somebody, but the dingy-looking 
 German Johnnie needn't have interviewed me 
 in such unparliamentary language. Had I 
 been alone, I should have tried some such 
 repartee as ' blue - nosed maggot,' as being 
 appropriate, if my German could have come 
 up to the scratch. They hate that sort of thing 
 here. Hans Ulmann was quite annoyed last 
 Monday when young Fritz Stocker called him 
 a 'bilious earwig.' They exchanged cards 
 over it. I wish mein Fraulein would talk 
 more, but the outing evidently pleased her if 
 I might judge by her smiles. I wish to-day 
 could be yesterday again ; however, she has 
 promised me five dances next Thursday even- 
 ing. Steady — I must keep a calm mind with 
 the exam, coming on. 
 
 ^^ May 18. — All very well to say German beer 
 
My Son and I 
 
 is so mild and doesn't get into one's head — I 
 know the third lot got into mine last night. 
 We were at a Biergarten, Oskar and I. Good 
 job I went silent instead of talkative. . . . 
 Oskar has just been here. He tells me, to my 
 astonishment, that last night, a yoiing officer, 
 who sat near us, politely asked me the time, and 
 that instead of replying I looked him up and 
 down, misserordentlich grob (most ill-mannered), 
 at which some ladies laughed. Donnerwdter I 
 He says it's a question of a duel. I told Oskar 
 it wasn't true and not my way, but he says he 
 saw it all himself. I don't care ; I'm by no 
 means a novice with a sword, and as I mustn't 
 give the baby Feldinarschall a British one in 
 the eye, he shall have a slash for his cheek in 
 his own graceful style. He might have made 
 sure first that the insult was intended. Under 
 the circumstances, it wouldn't have hurt my 
 dignity to explain. Now, I don't intend to. 
 
 ^^ May 19. — Have been practising all the 
 morning with Charlie mimic warfare with cold 
 steel. Found I was more out of practice than I 
 could have thought possible. Charlie might have 
 murdered me over and over again. He wasn't 
 a bit elated and couldn't have looked glummer 
 had it come off each time. He remarked that 
 I was getting pompous — I, of all people ! He's 
 
 142 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 presuming ; I shall have to sit on Charlie. At 
 the Hen- Doktors open-air ball to-night I made 
 the most of my five dances with Klarchen. We 
 sat them out, the whole five of them, under 
 trees where we could talk — at least, where I 
 could talk. I wish she weren't quite so quiet 
 and would ofter remarks more frequentlv. It's 
 unfeminine — uncanny. Her blue eyes are like 
 a child's, and so is her mind, I fancv. She gave 
 me her small lace handkerchief as a token of 
 esteem. Next time we meet she is going to 
 wear the flowers I shall send her. I stupidly 
 let out I'm going to fight a duel — women like 
 that sort of thing, and I noticed her look of 
 pride. I told her I wished it was in her cause, 
 and she threw up her eyes, in which the tears 
 floated, and exclaimed, with an upward toss of 
 her little head: ^ Ach wie reizend ! Dass ist ja 
 schon ! ! ' or something of the sort. Feel like a 
 toreador. 
 
 ^'^ May 2 1. — Just like that ass of a Charlie — 
 been and spoilt the whole show. Actuallv took 
 upon himself to go and explain the insult was 
 an error and that I had owned the beer got 
 into my head and that I apologised ! Apolo- 
 gised ! ! He 'declined to argue' when I ex- 
 plained the Mater couldn't possibly object as 
 she is in ignorance of the whole affair. Shall 
 
My Son and I 
 
 keep my own counsel in future. Beastly mean 
 trick — an unfriendly act, I call it. 
 
 ^^ May 2 2. — Klarchen made a sickening fuss 
 at my being safe and well ; then when I was 
 forced to confess there had been no question 
 of glory, she didn't say much, but looked heaps. 
 She grows unattractive, and her simpering ways 
 begin to bore me. Fickle woman ! Fickler man ! 
 
 ^^Jnne i. — Oskar has been good enough to 
 arrange that his cousin and I should not meet 
 again, which suits her, and suits me, and suits 
 him ; for I believe he is idiot enough to have 
 become captivated by so much sweet innocence 
 after — well, after his other experiences. She 
 will keep a little charm I gave her in token of 
 some happy hours, and begs I will keep her 
 lace handkerchief. I have promised to do so, 
 but I mustn't leave it about at home or it might 
 create a scare, for I'm always in a state of being 
 tidied up there — here I can be delightfully loose 
 and careless. 
 
 [So that was the handkerchief which had 
 puzzled me ! My son must have put it by 
 mistake with the new lace -trimmed ones he 
 brought me as a present. I had intended 
 producing it for elucidation ; now, I decided 
 not to.] 
 
 144 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 ^'Jiine 7. — That little German doll is quite a 
 load off my mind, and I feel free as air. . . . 
 
 ^^Jiine 8. — Phew 1 Brain-fag isn't in it! Be- 
 lieve I shall pull through it all right, but Charlie 
 isn't hopeful about his own work, although he 
 plods along like blazes. My exam, is the day 
 after to-morrow. So yesterday, according to 
 the custom of this country, I hired an impos- 
 ing two-horsed many-windowed equipage (the 
 Englishman's technical term for this coach is 
 ' the Crystal Palace '), donned evening dress 
 at II A.M., and drove off to leave my visiting 
 card on the drei Hcrreu Professoren. The gal- 
 lant steeds looked rather woebegone, no doubt 
 to match my feelings, for, with all the glass 
 windows of my greenhouse round me, I felt 
 a cross between the Lord Mayor, Cinderella, 
 and a silly ass, as I sat huddled up in one 
 corner in solitary glory. 
 
 ^^ June 10. — This morning I was again in even- 
 ing dress ; Charlie wished me luck, and I went 
 to the university for the eventful exam. Yawned 
 a lot on my way ; nervousness, I suppose. The 
 three Johnnies — I suppose I ought to say Hdns- 
 chens — whom I had honoured with my card, 
 sat at one side of the table (no one would have 
 imagined from their manner that we were on 
 visiting terms), whilst, with a queer sensation in 
 
My Son and I 
 
 my knees and waistband, I took up a position 
 on the other. Then I warmed up nicely to the 
 work. One professor jawed questions at me in 
 German for half-an-hour, and I rattled off the 
 answers. When a question stumped me, I pre- 
 tended I had to wrestle with the language, and 
 so gained time to ruminate. Same with Mr. 
 Professor Doctor No. 2 ; and rather a longer 
 time on my special subject, cliemistry, with 
 No. 3. Then I withdrew, feeling rather hot 
 and empty — as if I had left all my learning 
 behind in their heads. I certainly had given 
 them a lot of information. After a short time of 
 waiting I was called in by the official, ludicrously 
 reminding me of the game of proverbs of my 
 youth. The verdict was iiisigin cum laude, and 
 my mind flew to the little Mater. The gentlemen 
 were congratulating me, so I bowed and beamed. 
 I have no recollection of walking out of the 
 university, but I found myself in the streets 
 whistling just in front of the telegraph office, 
 which I entered. So that's all right. 
 
 '^ June 12. — Her name is Ella Rosenkranz — 
 the most beautiful actress I've ever seen. Abso- 
 lutely fascinating. We were introduced at a 
 supper -party ; and I admit, without beating 
 about the (mistletoe) bush, I fell headlong in 
 love with her, and that she should notice me 
 
 146 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 and care to leave the other fellows to talk to 
 me in her pretty playful way was more than 
 bliss. Her performance was irresistible, and 
 her charm of person, manner, and method of 
 acting unequalled by any actress on any stage. 
 Yes, I'm in love with her — perhaps more than 
 common sense allows. Well — well — well — 
 Who knows ? Is common sense the best sense 
 of all ? 
 
 ^^ June 1 6. — I'm hard hit this time. Last night 
 I made up a supper-party for Ella the Divine, 
 and she was more delightful than ever. After- 
 wards, sat up till dawn writing verses to her — 
 awful rubbish, I suppose, but hope she may 
 read them and pity me. She's sure to — if only 
 because of my poetry. 
 
 ^^Jitne 1 8. — Last night Charlie was so sym- 
 pathetic that, in a burst, I told him who my ' lady 
 love ' is. I was surprised there was no chaff, 
 but, I fancy, some silent amusement. Why ? 
 
 ^^Jiine 25. — I don't feel myself lately, which 
 makes me unequal to writing to the Mater. She 
 might see somehow that everything is not quite 
 normal. Charlie says I'm making a fool of 
 myself. Why do we all say that of one another 
 when we're in love ? 
 
 ^^July I. — Don't know what I should do 
 without Charlie. He never seems to have any 
 
 147 
 
My Son and I 
 
 troubles. There are not many days when / 
 feel inclined to whistle. Am getting awfully 
 short of cash. The beautiful Ella is fearfully 
 extravagant. I've countermanded new rig-out. 
 
 ^^ July 10. — The Mater writes she is anxious 
 for news. I must send her a rollicking letter, if 
 I can — and quickly, as Ella wants to be taken 
 for a moonlight drive, and she doesn't like to 
 be kept waiting, especially as it is a rehearsal 
 for a longer jaunt we are to take together. She 
 has promised to accompany me to Berlin. I 
 count the days till then ; there are only four 
 more of them, then there will be three, two, 
 to-morrow, to-day — now ! She's the most lov- 
 able, exquisite — I haven't time to finish. 
 
 ^^Jiily 13. — The whole w^orld seems against 
 me. I wish I were out of it. Last night at 
 the club — (perhaps when I have written it all 
 down my mind will be eased a bit, and I shan't 
 feel so acutely this sickening sense of misery) — 
 last night at the club (I had looked in for a 
 moment on my w^ay to the house — her house) 
 the fellows were singing, and drinking, and 
 larking as usual ; I stood at the door, and, as 
 no one had seen me, I was hesitating whether 
 to show myself for fear of being detained, 
 when Charlie suddenly shouted out (the words 
 still keep buzzing in my ears) : ' Listen, boys, 
 
 148 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 I've found out something. The fair bewitcher, 
 Fraulein Ella Rosenkranz, is married ; her hus- 
 band is alive, and will be kicking somebody 
 soon ! She has simply been fooUng around — 
 somebody ! She's been studying him for her 
 new part in Die Engldndcrin I ^ Choking with 
 indignation, I rushed forward in a passion. I 
 told him he lied. He rose to reply, when I 
 raised my fist and knocked him down. I saw 
 the blow had stunned him, but I didn't wait, 
 I tore away to find Ella. She was at home, 
 and with her was a gentleman in uniform — her 
 husband, she said, suddenly home on sick leave. 
 It is true. This Ella whom I loved, and to 
 whom I was so deeply devoted — married! Bitter 
 reproaches rose to my lips. She laughed care- 
 lessly at my surprise — treated me with madden- 
 ing disdain. Her husband uttered the German 
 word ^ impertinent,' and showed me the door. 
 No English woman could be so false. 
 
 ^^ July 14. — Charlie and I have been talking 
 it all over. He came into my room, for he 
 guessed I was in much trouble. This ink isn't 
 black enough to express my sorrow for my act. 
 I don't deserve his goodness. He was quite 
 chummy and forgiving in spite of my abomin- 
 able behaviour. It seems he had his suspicions 
 about her from something he had heard, and 
 
 149 
 
My Son and I 
 
 had made it his business to get at the truth. 
 And from what I got out of him, I have a sus- 
 picion that he had something to do with the 
 husband's return. He intended breaking it to 
 me. He was awfully nice as usual, and I 
 apologised abjectly. He laughed it off, as if I 
 had been quite ' correct.' He's got an awful 
 bump on his forehead, which fills me with 
 remorse. [Poor loyal Charlie !] There's no 
 doubt he's saved me from a public scandal. 
 I'm jolly miserable altogether. 
 
 ^*Juiy 17. — Very slack. I shall be glad to get 
 back to dear old England and the little Mater. 
 The students are making Charlie's life a hell 
 because he wouldn't make that lump on his 
 forehead a matter for a duel. Good old 
 Charlie ! Had I followed his advice he would 
 have got me sooner out of that affair, as he has 
 got me out of others. He seems to take it 
 terribly to heart himself — I don't know why he 
 should. I'm going to give up this Diary and 
 turn over a new leaf — unwritten on. Women 
 are too much of a mystery to be reduced to a 
 chemical equation. What troubles I have had 
 have been through them, so I shall fight shy of 
 the sex in future. 
 
 '^July 18. — Diary given up. 
 
 '' Amen and farewell to it and the ladies." 
 
 150 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 I slept peacefully that night — better than for 
 months past. Charlie had indeed been a firm 
 friend, as he had promised me to be. 
 
 And yet, in spite of his diary's end, my son 
 surprised me : not immediately, but soon after. 
 He surprised me very much indeed, for his 
 little flirtations abounded. I always thought he 
 would become a favourite wath women, for his 
 considerateness was untainted by effeminacy. 
 When wants are anticipated with kindness and 
 gentleness, and the young man is chivalrous, 
 merry, and sympathetic withal — what more 
 — so far as manner is concerned — could a 
 mother desire or woman ask ? But something 
 puzzled me ; I couldn't imagine what could 
 have made him do it. This is how I came to 
 know it : 
 
 He had looked very anxious during the 
 afternoon and had gazed w^istfuUy at me more 
 than once, which I pretended not to see. I 
 waited. 
 
 ^* Mater," at last he began nervously, " I hope 
 you'll not be very surprised — or, or hurt. I've 
 something important to tell you — I — I — Alma 
 Dryden and I are engaged 1 " 
 
 I felt that I turned very white, and for the 
 moment my heart stopped and my brain 
 thought of nothing — unconsciously absorbed 
 
My Son and I 
 
 in the flushed face before me, out of which 
 the colour was slowly fading. 
 
 '^ Is it a joke ?" I asked faintly. 
 
 He looked at me reproachfully. My heart 
 palpitated and sank. 
 
 *' I fear — I thought she loved some — I hope 
 you will be happy," I heard my voice saying, 
 and the tones grated strangely. Then I was in 
 my room without quite knowing how I got up 
 there. My soul seemed to gush out in a flood 
 of tears, and I sobbed and sobbed as I had not 
 done since I lost the dear one whose love no 
 other could ever replace. 
 
 Later on I was conscious of the well-known 
 tap at the door, and two strong arms were 
 round me. My son sat beside me on the couch, 
 and laid my head gently on his shoulder. I 
 said nothing, but pressed his hand as he assured 
 me he was so happy. He then confided to me 
 how it came about .so suddenly. They had been 
 flirting, and she had fold him how miserable 
 she was at home. So he declared that he would 
 take her from it if she would marry him. At 
 first she doubted if he were serious. Then she 
 considered a moment, and her gratitude had 
 made him so very happy. He told her I must 
 be made to live with them, and she had not 
 demurred. 
 
 152 
 
My Son sat beside Me Ux\ the Couch 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 A sob that choked me rose to my throat, but 
 I controlled it. 
 
 ^' I'm sure you will like her, Mater. You 
 only want to know her well to understand her 
 good qualities. And isn't she handsome?" 
 
 '' Yes, very handsome," I answered, now 
 quite calm again. ^' But you are so young. 
 I thought you w^ould have waited — and 
 marry " 
 
 ''Alma wants our engagement to last twelve 
 months," he broke in impetuously. 
 
 '' What ! " My surprise took him aback, I 
 could see. 
 
 '' Of course," I continued quickly, '' she has 
 had many admirers — amongst them even 
 Charlie, so I've heard." 
 
 '' Only a flirtation," he replied, smiling. 
 <' Charlie's such a susceptible chap and flirts 
 with every girl he meets, and yet pretends he is 
 cut out for a bachelor because not one of them 
 cares for hmi." 
 
 '' And yet I thought — you won't mind my 
 telling you — I thought those two did care for 
 one another; and so — you — you really have 
 surprised me more than I can tell." 
 
 ''Wrong for once, then, Mater — I'm the 
 happy man ! By Jove ! " he added, as he 
 twisted his moustache, " what a funny little 
 
 153 
 
My Son and I 
 
 mother-in-law you will make — and as to a 
 grandmother — ! " He laughed outright. 
 
 I knew he wanted to cheer me, but it was a 
 very doleful smile I gave him, for I doubted 
 greatly Alma Dryden's love for my son, and I 
 felt he would never find happiness or sympathy 
 with her. Besides, I was deeply distressed that 
 he was too blind to see in Dulcie Ryan the 
 sweetest girl of our acquaintance whose modesty 
 had screened the attachment she felt for him, 
 but which my maternal eye had detected with 
 pride and delight. 
 
 And now those hopes were gone — his happi- 
 ness and mine were to be destroyed by this 
 ill-assorted choice. 
 
 One afternoon some weeks later my son 
 came into my boudoir and I saw by the lines 
 about his face that some great worry beset him. 
 He told me briefly that he and Alma had just 
 had the last of many quarrels, when — in a fit 
 of temper she admitted that it was Charlie she 
 loved, and, to lure him on, she had engaged 
 herself to my son. 
 
 '' It's all over, Mater," he exclaimed wearily ; 
 ^' my faith in women is really gone this time." 
 A flutter of triumphant relief shivered through 
 my brain and heart and right arm — a curious 
 sensation that lasted for a second. 
 
 154 
 
My Son's Flirtations 
 
 He and I talked it over together quietly and 
 solemnly whilst the August twilight gathered and 
 darkened. My intuition told me he w^as more 
 disappointed in a shattered ideal than cut up at 
 his loss. His sense of chivalry, evidently, had 
 been at the root of the whole affair. 
 
 Then Charlie's cheery voice fell on our ears. 
 
 '' What ! All in the dark ? " 
 
 I turned on the lights. 
 
 My son was in no sociable mood and pleaded 
 work upstairs. I felt sad and indignant at the 
 w^ay he had been treated as my eyes followed 
 his tall figure out of the door, and a deep sigh 
 escaped me. Then I turned to his friend. 
 
 ''Well, Charlie," I said gaily, ''when Rre you 
 going to get married ? " 
 
 " I marry ? Perhaps you can tell me that 
 some one cares for me." 
 
 '' Perhaps I can," I answ^ered. 
 
 Whereupon he gave me a rapid curious look 
 that distressed me so much I felt aghast. And 
 he began to stammer something in his old way. 
 I interrupted him quickly. " Surely," I said, 
 vexed, " you have outgrown that foolish boyish 
 craze, and you are not going to inflict upon 
 me the pain of — " I stopped, for he looked 
 abashed, and pressed his lips together. 
 
 " And I'm so grateful to you, Charlie, for all 
 
 155 
 
My Son and I 
 
 you've done in Germany for my boy," I added 
 gently, '* and " 
 
 '' What do you know about it ? " he asked, 
 surprised. 
 
 I took no notice of the interruption — '' and I 
 want to see you happy, with interests of your 
 own. That is partly why I wish to tell you that 
 some one does love you very much and has done 
 so for some time. She is a young lady of our 
 acquaintance." 
 
 ** Then please say no more," he replied firmly; 
 '' I don't intend to marry any young lady of our 
 acquaintance." 
 
 My son, who had returned for his forgotten 
 pipe, broke in : '' Look here, Charlie, it's Alma 
 Dryden — she's chucked me for you ! " 
 
 *' You don't mean that ! " exclaimed Charlie, 
 startled. '< I — I — am cut out for a bachelor ! " 
 
 ^' That's my destiny too," chimed in my son. 
 
 What was the use of arguing ? I knew better, 
 of course. But it seemed so strange, so tragic 
 to me, that in all his flirtations it never occurred 
 to him to fall in love with the right person. 
 
 The next thing he did was to take his B.Sc. 
 with honours, and leave me again for many 
 months in order to do some special work at 
 Bale, where I was to join him for the summer 
 holidays. 
 
 156 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHEN I AM NOT THE HEROINE 
 
 Aunt Prue and I were together again ; this 
 time she was on a visit to me. Herr Josef 
 Blum had lately died. On his last day he had 
 toiled, for the first time and the last, right to 
 the top of his little hill. And there, on the 
 seat, he was found dead. His straw hat had 
 fallen off, and the noonday sun shone full upon 
 his head and warmed his peaceful features and 
 his clasped hands as though it would warm him 
 back to life. 
 
 She told me what every one did not know — 
 that in his hand was found a letter he had 
 received that morning. It was from his sister, 
 informing him that she was in the German hos- 
 pital near Naples, and reproaching him in bitter 
 terms for scorning her at his door when she 
 came to beg for assistance in her poverty, as 
 was her right, for she could ask no one else to 
 help her and her fatherless children. 
 
 The sight of the poor woman in her shabby 
 
 157 
 
My Son and I 
 
 mourning flashed back into my brain : it was 
 she. And I could not help wondering whether 
 remorse had killed him. 
 
 Soon after came news of his will, upon 
 which so many had built their hopes. It was 
 found to have been drawn up two years before. 
 Herr Josef Blum left the bulk of his great 
 wealth to his sister's children, the rest to his 
 hospitals ; and there was a recent codicil to 
 the effect that ;^3o,ooo was bequeathed to 
 Aunt Prue '' as a token of his appreciation of 
 her kindness and devotion." She was quite 
 overcome at the news, and could only murmur, 
 as she smoothed the w^avy hair each side of her 
 forehead, '' Oh, my dear, I never knew he had 
 such a thing as a hospital." Tears welled up 
 into my eyes as I replied from my heart, ^' Poor 
 old Josef Bkmi !" 
 
 '' I don't want it — all that money — or any of 
 it," added Aunt Prue, perturbed and tearfully 
 inclined. '' The dear, kind friend ! I really 
 would rather be at peace without it, and end 
 my days just as I was in Hawthorne Cottage." 
 
 " Live again in the old house at Bath," I 
 suggested, '' and invite Barbara to live there, 
 too. There's an idea," I cried, delighted at my 
 inspiration. ^' Barbara won't live at home any 
 longer, and can't be very happy in Austria as 
 
 158 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 companion to a woman of fashion. Why, she'd 
 jump at the idea." 
 
 '' Really I should be happier, Dearie, on 
 Rosie's hundred a year in the sunny little 
 cottage than at the great house in Bath with all 
 its sad memories." 
 
 ''Then it's no use my arguing the point, 
 
 is it?" 
 
 She shook her head with that half-comical, 
 half-rueful sort of expression of hers. '' But I 
 know what I should like to do," she added 
 briskly. '' I should like to buy Hawthorne 
 Cottage, and let the Lamberts live there free 
 of rent. Perhaps Barbara would come and 
 occupy the other two rooms. I'll write and ask 
 her. She should have allowed us to persuade 
 her to remain with her brother, and not have 
 gone abroad like that." 
 
 She did write and make the offer, and what 
 was our surprise to learn that Barbara had just 
 been married to the Austrian lady's middle-aged 
 son, an officer in the army ; and her former 
 employer, who gave no promise apparently of 
 proving an ideal mother-in-law, was going to 
 live with them when they returned from their 
 honeymoon ! 
 
 Our surprise was tempered with a natural 
 annoyance that we of her family had not been 
 
 159 
 
My Son and I 
 
 consulted or even apprised of her plans ; and 
 we were not a little hurt, too, especially Aunt 
 Prue, who felt the slight acutely. ^' I should 
 never have thought it of Barbara. However ! " 
 she exclaimed at intervals, and twirled her 
 thumbs first forwards and then backwards, in 
 token of much agitation. 
 
 In fact she did not wholly cheer up until she 
 was again installed at Hawthorne Cottage, with 
 her flowers to tend, her laces to iron, and her 
 old proteges to visit ; but she could hardly get 
 over the many gaps that had occurred in their 
 ranks since her long absence. Lambert's 
 mother, too, had died in the interval, so Lam- 
 bert again lived in the little cottage where she 
 was born, and where she now took care of my 
 aunt, as well as of her aged father. 
 
 The legacy was like a white elephant to Aunt 
 Prue, and she complained that she couldn't 
 sleep well for thinking of it. At last she came 
 to a decision. *' I'll put it in the bank, Dearie, 
 and try and forget all about it." In which 
 she must have succeeded, for no further 
 reference was made to it. My frequent visits 
 to her were resumed with delight. I often 
 took Dulcie with me, for Aunt Prue was very 
 fond of the sympathetic girl ; and of course 
 no one could help loving Aunt Prue. And we 
 
 i6o 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 never went home except loaded with roses or 
 other sweetnesses from the cottage garden. 
 
 One day, after one of these happy visits, I 
 found a foreign telegram awaiting me, and my 
 heart sank at sight of it. My son had sent 
 me several post-cards of late saying he had 
 caught a slight chill, but it was nothing ; yet 
 this seemed to forbode ill tidings, and I read 
 with dismay : 
 
 ''Your son suffering pneumonia; progressing; 
 don't come ; letter follows. — Dr. Lunker.' 
 
 A feeling of helpless despair and nausea 
 numbed me, and I don't know how long I sat 
 at the table in my outdoor things, staring at the 
 telegram without seeing it. Why should I not 
 come ? Pneumonia ? Did he mean that — it 
 was too late? Oh, no ; he said ''progressing." 
 I felt it was of no use going next door with my 
 sadness and anxiety — there was nothing to do 
 but to await the promised letter, which came at 
 last. The doctor wrote that he had had my 
 son removed from his lodgings to a private 
 hospital quite near his own residence ; that at 
 present there was no real danger ; and that they 
 both thought I had better not come until later 
 on, as I could be with him but little, and his 
 anxiety at my being so long at a strange hotel 
 
 i6t l 
 
My S 
 
 on an 
 
 d I 
 
 alone would do him no good. A telegram 
 would be sent to me daily, full and detailed. 
 
 Oh, those days and nights of anxiety, while 
 my dear one lay invalided in a hospital with all 
 those miles between us ! The bulletins varied 
 according to the fluctuations of the fever, and 
 my nerves and spirits fluctuated with them. 
 Many times I was on the eve of starting, and 
 then decided to obey the doctor. Constant 
 postcards, very, very short, still came to me 
 from my son, always cheerful, always hopeful 
 and reassuring. It was not himself he was 
 thinking of. Then they became curiously com- 
 posed, rambling, ill-spelt, even incoherent. 
 They showed me plainly enough how things 
 were going. I packed up in haste. Mr. Ryan 
 put me in the train, and when I stepped out of 
 it I was at Bale, and very soon I was at the 
 hotel with Dr. Lunker giving me every detail 
 of the illness. He assured me the fever was 
 practically over ; convalescence, I should know, 
 could only be slow. ' 
 
 I had to wait a few days before I was allowed 
 to see him. He was to be told he might 
 expect me, as I preferred to come now than 
 later, as was originally arranged, so that I might 
 sit with him and help to while the time away. 
 
 There wasn't a soul I knew in the place ; but 
 
 162 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 the evening after I arrived, just before table 
 d'hdte, an English lady, whose beautiful red 
 burnished hair had attracted my silent admira- 
 tion, introduced herself to me, saying she knew 
 my name, which she had seen in the hotel 
 register. She had known my husband many 
 years ago, she said, and her name was Madame 
 Barthold Delacambre. She w^as dressed in 
 black, which made her w^orn, pale face look 
 even paler than it was. Dark rims w^ere round 
 her sad grey eyes ; indeed, the sweetness and 
 sadness of her face, which was still young, had 
 a gaze as haunting as that of Gainsborough's 
 '< Perdita." She clearly had a very bad cough, 
 and told me she w^as travelling for her health — 
 her '' health," poor thing ! — accompanied by 
 her maid. Her weak condition aroused my 
 sympathy ; and as she took great interest in 
 the phases of my son's illness, my trouble and 
 anxiety were somewhat allayed by her kindly 
 words of encouragement. 
 
 When I was expected at the hospital I went 
 there with a beating heart. I knew my boy 
 must be very weak, and that my duty was to 
 be unemotional and altogether sensible. The 
 bump of locality is not one of my most cele- 
 brated faculties — as a rule, I find my way best 
 by going in the direction diametrically opposite 
 
 163 
 
My Son and I 
 
 to that towards which my instinct leads me. 
 I found the hospital without much difficulty 
 although it was almost next door. The building 
 had a long balcony on to which a number of 
 beds from the ward had been wheeled, their 
 occupants sheltered from the sun by blinds 
 which formed a slanting roof. I had still more 
 difficulty finding the private room indicated to 
 me, and when I opened the door : 
 
 '' Oh, I beg your pardon," I said in con- 
 fusion, rapidly retreating on seeing a stranger 
 with a black beard and moustache, lying there 
 in bed, but on the threshold I was stopped by 
 a familiar voice calling out : 
 
 <' Mater ! Stop — hi ! " 
 
 The next moment the great arms were once 
 again round me, and the silky beard was against 
 my face with a sensation I never had experi- 
 enced before. 
 
 ^* How could I know you with that on?" I 
 asked, quietly laughing. 
 
 '' Don't you Uke it ? " 
 
 <' I must consider," I replied, scanning his 
 face and anxiously noting the hollow eyes and 
 sunken cheeks. 
 
 ^^ Fancy the Mater coming here alone ! I 
 shall be well quickly now." After a very brief 
 visit I had reluctantly to leave him. '^ I'm 
 
 164 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 only glad," he said, retaining my hand in his, 
 " that you've some one at the hotel to talk 
 to, or you'd be very lonely — poor old Mater ! " 
 His pleasure at seeing me and the ocular 
 proof that he was on the high-road to recovery 
 cheered me immeasurably ; I busied myself 
 shopping for us both — clothing for him, and 
 fal-lals for me. 
 
 Then I wrote to Nurse Patrick begging her 
 to come out to me, to help nurse my son when 
 he left the hospital for beyond the hills, where 
 he was to take the sulphur cure. As I had 
 left my maid behind, an unsatisfactory creature, 
 Nurse Patrick would be a welcome recruit. 
 
 Fortunately she was able to come to me at 
 once, as her husband was abroad, and she was 
 always free then. He was a king's messenger, 
 and his absences were too frequent and too 
 long to be mutually agreeable ; to be a mes- 
 senger for your king even, it seems, has its 
 drawbacks. I cheered up still more at the 
 sight of her strong personality ; she was so 
 robust in health and firm in character that I 
 relied upon her as a mariner relies upon his 
 compass. I had tea brought out on the balcony 
 overhanging the river, and there we sat chatting 
 about my son at one of the small tables while 
 the waters flowed swiftly below, tearing past 
 
 i6s 
 
My Son and I 
 
 madly, as though doomed now and for ever to 
 work out some stern secret destiny that mortals 
 would never fathom. Two daring men in a 
 boat, with evident enjoyment, were steering 
 their small craft down through one of the 
 arches of the bridge, essaying with skill to 
 prevent the relentless waters swinging it round 
 and round out of all control. We watched 
 them breathlessly, pausing in our talk, relieved 
 when they safely gained the bank, only, how- 
 ever, to begin their sport again. Then she 
 told me the news, of which I had heard a 
 private rumour, that Dr. Charleston had re- 
 ceived a baronetcy, '' richly deserved," as I 
 telegraphed to him. Sir Alan Charleston ! I 
 still wondered if ever I should fathom what 
 was in his mind during that drive when I 
 constituted myself Barbara's champion, and 
 laid myself open to dreadful misconstruction. 
 
 When I informed my son of his former 
 nurse's arrival, he was highly amused at my 
 having conceived ''such a jolly good notion." 
 '' And how is she ? " he asked, smiling. 
 
 ''Just the same — doesn't look a day older." 
 
 " Do you think Miss Patrick will recognise 
 me ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Patrick is sure to require a re-intro- 
 duction." 
 
 i66 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 ^' You mean Miss." 
 
 " I don't. She's Mrs. Patrick. She recently 
 married her cousin." 
 
 ^' Good Hevinks ! " facetiously remarked my 
 son, and he burst out laughing. '^ I haven't 
 fallen in love with my nurse this time, Mater," 
 he whispered, as her footstep sounded on the 
 threshold ; she was a raw-boned peasant woman 
 in a plain black dress and short black cape, with 
 a high-cheeked ruddy face under tightly parted 
 hair and a quaint white starched cap. 
 
 When Mrs. Patrick saw Madame Delacambre 
 she betrayed her concern at her state of health ; 
 she clearly thought the cough of grave augury, 
 and she told her very plainly that she should 
 seek advice in London, as the foreign doctors 
 were evidently doing her no good. 
 
 '' I don't much care," answered the invalid 
 wearily, " my life has been too sad for me to 
 want to prolong it." She had let drop a few 
 words to me of her story, mainly to the effect 
 that she had lived most unhappily with her 
 husband, who had been killed in a duel after 
 leading a riotous life. We begged her to come 
 to London, and at last she consented to wait at 
 Bale, where she had friends, until our return 
 journey to England. My son would then be fit 
 to resume his interrupted work, and she and her 
 
 167 
 
My Son and I 
 
 maid Clairette, a quaint and fascinating native 
 of Beauvais — oh, so simple, and oh, so shrewd 
 and clever — would travel back with me and 
 Mrs. Patrick. 
 
 It was not a very luxurious place beyond the 
 hills, where the sulphur inhalations had to be 
 taken — a large ramshackle building, like a 
 London crescent and terrace and square in 
 communication, all in one, with clean carpet- 
 less rooms and scanty furniture, and a dreadful 
 odour of sulphur rampantly prevalent. Opposite 
 was the dej endancey with a long, low ballroom 
 and the servants' quarters, the whole in a con- 
 dition that suggested that their glory had de- 
 parted. However, there were compensations 
 in the magnificent grounds traversed by a 
 swiftly flowing river, and in the food, which 
 was sans reproche on my son's part, for he is 
 really very particular. The invalids w^ere more 
 or less hypochondriacal, and the whole was not 
 very inspiriting. I don't know what we should 
 have done without the orchestra, which lived 
 on the premises, played vigorously three times 
 daily, and in odd moments did odd jobs, cleaned 
 the windows, and helped carry huge baskets to 
 and from the laundry. 
 
 It was while we were here amongst the 
 trees and the birds that we heard of Charlie's 
 
 i68 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 engagement to Alma Dryden, in happy letters 
 from them both. Their marriage was to take 
 place when Charlie was promoted to the more 
 lucrative post of principal chemist promised 
 him in the great dye-works where he was 
 doing well. We were talking of them one 
 hot night, my son and I, sitting together on 
 our balcony. Mrs. Patrick had gone early to 
 bed. He was quite strong again ; our stay 
 was at its close, and our parting was to take 
 place on the morrow. The birds were all 
 asleep after their noisy piping and twittering 
 the whole day through, and the sultry air 
 would have been quiet and hushed but for 
 the strains of a dreamy waltz which stole 
 out of the open windows of the dcpendance 
 opposite. The building was brightly lighted, 
 and gay with flitting figures in evening dress. 
 The sky was black with gathering clouds, 
 which were approaching nearer and nearer ; 
 and as my son was saying, a storm would 
 be welcome to clear off the oppression that 
 reigned — one of the big, rattling, showy storms 
 that are so common in Swiss summers. The 
 trees that had been so still suddenly waved 
 their branches, and a breeze like a cool breath 
 passed over the sultry atmosphere. At the 
 same moment the angry-looking clouds were 
 
 169 
 
My Son and I 
 
 opened with fitful flashes of fire, thunder 
 boomed and rolled away. We silently watched 
 the storm advancing nearer and nearer, whilst 
 opposite, the music, the laughter, the dancing 
 continued in merriment, and what to us, in 
 the darkness, seemed like a flaunting heed- 
 lessness of the grandeur and majesty of the 
 tempest now raging outside. Suddenly the 
 whole heavens seemed to open and vomit fire, 
 and simultaneously there was a thunderclap 
 like an explosion. Involuntarily, I buried my 
 face in my hands. When I looked up, bewilder- 
 ing noises were coming from everywhere, and 
 I saw that the ballroom was on fire. The 
 dependance had been struck by lightning. The 
 shock was terrific. A wild panic ensued, and 
 I saw the couples who had been so light- 
 heartedly dancing rushing from the partially 
 wrecked building, and others being carried out. 
 Some had tripped and fallen, but were dragged 
 up before further accident happened from the 
 wild struggling that was going on to get away 
 into safety. The confusion was indescribable, 
 and I suddenly realised my son was no longer 
 by my side. '' Just going to help — stop there, 
 mother. Back soon." I heard it like an echo 
 from far off. 
 
 ''Come back!" I called. Then in an agony 
 
 170 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 of fear I screamed '' Come back ! " again, as I 
 thought in my selfishness, '' What are they all 
 to me ?— I've only you ! " knowing quite well 
 he could not hear me, as I saw him rushing 
 through the torrential rain, to where flames 
 were springing up and sinking again under the 
 downpour of the deluge. 
 
 He rejoined me before long where I still sat 
 in a paroxysm of anxious terror. He was very 
 pale, and very grimy and wet, but in high 
 good-humour. No one, he said, had been in- 
 jured, though there were many '' close shaves," 
 but some had sustained hurts and bruises, and 
 several had been brought round from uncon- 
 sciousness ; there was no one left in the 
 building, which had great gaping holes in it, 
 and was uninhabitable. ''And I haven't even 
 a scratch to show for having carried several 
 women out," he added jokingly, with an anxious 
 look at me. 
 
 "Take off your wet things at once," I urged. 
 I was crying, from tension and fatigue, very 
 weakly. • 
 
 " I mustn't touch you, in this state," he 
 replied, surveying himself ; but he kissed me, 
 and with a reproachful smile told me he was 
 very ashamed of his Mater, who did not play 
 the heroine, but was an arrant little coward 
 
 171 
 
My Son and I 
 
 instead of being like a mother of Gracchus 
 junior. I tried to explain that maternal-Grac- 
 chism was not to be acquired — at least by me, 
 and that I considered his life was of more im- 
 portance to me than anybody else's could be 
 to them. And when the fire was out, and all 
 was quiet but for the men who were posted to 
 watch the ruins till the dawn, he wished me 
 good-night at my door ; and though we smiled, 
 truth compels me to admit that we were both 
 heartily ashamed of my son's mother. 
 
 We had to be up early next morning in 
 order to catch the express at Bale. There we 
 met our travelling companion, who was on the 
 lookout for us. I took a hurried farew^ell of 
 my son ; the station electric-bell, as at all Swiss 
 stations, tolled its usual mournful, gong-like 
 ^' Don't-go " in its usual mournful minor key, 
 and my interest in life only reawakened at the 
 sight of a stork with his immediate family sur- 
 veying the landscape from their nest on the 
 turret of a village church. 
 
 By the time we four unprotected women 
 arrived in London Mrs. Delacambre had made 
 herself a great favourite with me and Mrs. 
 Patrick. Her suffering and patience and spirit 
 of hopefulness I took as a lesson to myself ; 
 for hitherto my first impulse w^hen in trouble 
 
 172 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 — that is to say, in trouble of my own — had 
 always been to sit down on the floor and weep. 
 The liking was reciprocated, and I gladly ac- 
 cepted her invitation to call on her at her hotel. 
 The journey had been made in very easy stages 
 for her sake. Nevertheless the fatigue had 
 tried her a good deal, and her weak condition 
 alarmed us not a little. But she herself was 
 not nervous. Nurse Patrick told me with a 
 shake of her head how usual was this buoyant 
 feeling in such cases — a sort of providential 
 and premature uplifting which boded no mortal 
 good. 
 
 Then there was some talk about Clairette 
 entering my service as she was not very skilled 
 in nursing. Mrs. Delacambre proposed it as she 
 knew it might prove feasible, and as Clairette 
 fell in with the proposal it was arranged that 
 after seeing her mistress comfortably settled, 
 Clairette should come on to me. Nurse Patrick 
 was to take her place, and it was arranged that 
 a doctor should be consulted at once. 
 
 The following afternoon, when I went to the 
 hotel to see my poor friend, I found her lying 
 on the bed in her room where she had re- 
 mained to rest since her arrival. How very 
 fragile she looked lying there in a white silk 
 tea-gown ; and when the dreadful cough seized 
 
 173 
 
My Son and I 
 
 her, the brass bed shook during the paroxysm, 
 and Clairette hasted to soothe her by wiping 
 the cold drops from her brow and revive her 
 by fanning. Dr. Rufford had been telegraphed 
 for to come to the hotel and advise the patient 
 whom he had known from babyhood. He 
 had retired from practice now, and it needed 
 systematic telephoning to trace him to his club, 
 whence he was expected every minute. I was 
 still there when Clairette announced, after a 
 preliminary struggle, '' Monsieur le Docteur 
 Rouffe ! " Mrs. Delacambre begged I would 
 remain, for she already looked upon me as 
 more than a friend. 
 
 A white - haired old gentleman came in, 
 greeted the invalid by patting her on the 
 shoulder, and bowed ceremoniously to me in 
 the background. He wiped his gold-rimmed 
 spectacles with deliberation, put them on, and 
 took stock of the patient. 
 
 '^ My dear child, how you've changed ! " he 
 exclaimed, and hastened to add, '< but of course 
 it's so very many years since — " He sat down, 
 and talked and soothed, and recalled old times, 
 and was generally cheery ; and when he heard 
 her cough, his voice quavered a little as he con- 
 tinued, '' I cannot prescribe for you ; it's not 
 quite my line. But I will tell you who can — ■ 
 
 174 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 for your case, quite the first living authority — 
 you must consult Sir Alan Charleston." 
 
 '' No, no — I won't go and see him," she cried 
 passionately, to our astonishment. Then she 
 added more quietly : '' Is there no one else ? " 
 
 ''Why not ?" asked Dr. Rufford, taken much 
 aback. He raised his chin and looked down- 
 wards through his glasses at his patient. '* You 
 really must see him ! He's the best man. It's 
 your duty, to yourself, and to your friends, and 
 — um — um — to all of us." 
 
 ''Oh do/" I interrupted; "he is so clever, 
 and a dear old friend of mine." 
 
 She looked at me in a puzzled, dazed sort of 
 way, and muttered as though she were speaking 
 to herself, " You never told me — but — of course 
 you would know him." 
 
 " Why not consult him, my child ? " repeated 
 old Dr. Rufford ; " there's certainly no one 
 like him for you in your state of health. No 
 one near so clever or experienced, or, indeed, 
 original. That's his strength. Now why not ? " 
 She shook her head. " Indeed, you must," he 
 urged ; " I insist upon it. W^e think very 
 highly of him in the profession. I'll go with 
 you as he's a stranger to you ; I know him 
 slightly. I shall have to be there, you see — 
 these big consulting physicians always prefer 
 
 175 
 
My 
 
 Son and I 
 
 as much etiquette as possible. Eh ? What do 
 you say ? " 
 
 '' I would gladly go with her," I hazarded, 
 '' if I can be of the slightest service." She 
 turned her head a^id smiled gratefully. Dr. 
 Rufford clinched the matter with the remark 
 that he would make the appointment for the 
 following morning if possible. '' I will men- 
 tion," he said, '* that you will be accompanied 
 by an old friend of his, and I will let you know 
 the hour. I will be there to give him the 
 family history ; but I have actually not seen 
 you since your marriage. You never came to 
 England as your poor mother often did. Ah ! 
 that was a sad case ! " Not heeding the protest 
 she began to make, the old man again tapped 
 her on the shoulder in a fatherly way, and 
 said : 
 
 *' Good-bye. I'll get back to my club now. 
 You must take my advice and do what I tell 
 you — which your people, I remember, were 
 not always in the habit of doing, eh ? What ? 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Very opinionated, very opinion- 
 ated indeed." He took up his hat and went 
 out chuckling, as if he had no thought what- 
 ever of the condition of the patient. 
 
 She lay quiet for a little time with her eyes 
 closed ; when she opened them, it was to take 
 
 176 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 my hand and beg me to remain longer. '' Sir 
 Alan Charleston is old now, isn't he ? " she in- 
 quired listlessly ; *^ I — met him long ago." 
 
 ''He doesn't look old. He always seems to 
 look the same, year in year out. I think he 
 must be about fifty. No — he must be more 
 than that." 
 
 ''Married?" 
 
 " On the contrary — a bachelor, a confirmed 
 bachelor." 
 
 When Clairette entered with the tea I rose 
 to go, for the invalid seemed exhausted. I 
 kissed her, and promised to call in the morning 
 fairly early to see how she was, and to hear 
 about the appointment. 
 
 The consultation had been fixed. Sir Alan 
 Charleston's roomful of patients had slowly 
 emptied itself, and still we waited in the de- 
 pressing chamber disconsolately. It was long 
 past the hour of appointment when through the 
 open door I heard his voice : 
 
 " Rogers, take them this and show them in 
 to me at once ! " My companion flushed, then 
 the blood left her face. 
 
 The automatic butler brought us \\\ a tele- 
 gram as though it were a missive ordering us 
 to instant execution. It was from Dr. Rufford, 
 explaining to Sir Alan that he had a violent 
 
 177 M 
 
My Son and I 
 
 attack of gout, begging that the interview might 
 proceed without him, and a letter would follow. 
 Mrs. Delacambre rose and passed through the 
 door Rogers held open and into the passage, 
 then she turned and beckoned me to follow 
 her. 
 
 When the consulting-room door opened to 
 admit us, Sir Alan Charleston saw before him 
 my friend's tall emaciated figure clad in black, 
 and her gentle face with the sensitive mouth 
 trembling somewhat nervously as she bowed. 
 
 He acknowledged her salutation, motioned 
 her to a seat, and smilingly thanked me for 
 my words of congratulation upon his recent 
 '< distinction." Then he seated himself in his 
 professional chair and said to her courteously : 
 
 '' May I have the honour of knowing your 
 name ? I only heard of you," he added, with a 
 smile, ^' as a former patient of Dr. Rufford, who 
 attended your family." 
 
 She was looking at him all the time, seem- 
 ingly trying to trace the boyish features in the 
 now massive face, so handsome still, w^ith its 
 stern lines and its broad forehead with the 
 profusion of grey hair. Then she reaHsed that 
 he had asked her a question, and that he was 
 awaiting her reply. 
 
 '' My name, did you say ? My name is 
 
 178 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 Mrs. Delacambre. You used to know me as 
 Marcella Ellismere," she added simply. 
 
 She noticed, as I did, that he gave an in- 
 voluntary start but quickly recovered himself. 
 A light broke in upon me. So this was Marcella 1 
 I smothered my '' Oh ! " in my handkerchief. 
 '' Forgive me," he was saying. '' It is more than 
 — than twenty years ago — I heard you were 
 living abroad; I didn't know — " there was the old 
 sympathetic ring in his voice; she remembered it 
 well, for she looked inclined to cry — ''that — 
 that you were ailing like this. Allow me to get 
 you a little sal-volatile." He was on his feet. 
 '' Don't move," he said to me. 
 
 She pulled herself together. '' You are very 
 kind. I assure you I need nothing ; I really am 
 much better. I hope I shall not be sent — at 
 least that you will not think it necessary," 
 she added, smiling, " for me to go abroad, for I 
 should hke to settle again in London. I am 
 wishful to inquire after our old house — but I 
 fear I am wasting your time." 
 
 '< My time is entirely at your disposal, Mrs. 
 Delacambre," he said with feeling, '' and all you 
 tell me interests me, and I assure you I have — " 
 Her coughing made him stop short in what he 
 was going to say. I detected for a moment a 
 look of horror in his eyes, or was it my fancy ? 
 
 179 
 
My Son and I 
 
 He was busy now with his stethoscope. What 
 a hurried professional way he had of asking 
 questions, scarcely waiting for a reply before 
 starting a fresh one. Then the questions ceased 
 — he turned slowly to the window, and opened 
 it slightly before resuming his seat. 
 
 '' Well ? " she asked, '^ I suppose, after all, I 
 must be pretty bad, eh. Sir Alan ? " 
 
 " You should have come to me before." His 
 features were very grave. 
 
 '' I didn't want to come even now — Oh ! I 
 mean — " she stopped confused. 
 
 '' Why ? " he asked bluntly. 
 
 '' It killed my poor mother," she said, to turn 
 the conversation. 
 
 ^^ So I heard. I saw Mrs. Ellismere the last 
 time she came to London. She came to me. 
 She seemed much altered, I thought. We had a 
 little chat." 
 
 '' Did you ? She didn't tell me." 
 
 *' She spoke of things concerning you — of 
 you, in fact." 
 
 ''Of me? What did she say?" asked 
 Marcella, surprised. 
 
 '' She honoured me with her confidence ; I'm 
 not sure I ought to repeat it." 
 
 "Surely there can be no harm — now." 
 
 '' I suppose not," said Sir Alan, hesitating. 
 
 180 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 The '' consultation " was developing into another 
 channel, I felt, and I determined to quit the 
 room at the first opportunity and leave them to 
 their talk, which was not meant for other ears. 
 He seemed to make up his mind and proceeded : 
 '' She instinctively knew her state of health, and 
 nothing encouraging that I could say would 
 shake her. Indeed, she seemed more anxious, 
 in the circumstances, to say something that was 
 on her mind than to seek for a recovery which 
 she felt was unattainable. That something she 
 told to me — people will often confide their 
 secrets to doctors and lawyers, you know, so 
 as to have the comfort of feeling that those 
 secrets do not die with them — and it was this — 
 that she suspected that the match she felt she 
 had forced upon you was ill-judged, and that 
 you carried the memory of some one else in your 
 heart, or at least in your memory. I hope I 
 am not indiscreet — that I do not give you pain. 
 I was afraid I did, by your — starting a little. 
 You are the best judge of the truth of her fancy, 
 and I have no right, and no desire, to expect you 
 to comment upon it. Your mother spoke to me 
 as to an old acquaintance — one w^hom she had 
 once judged with some severity. She seemed 
 relieved that she had spoken, even though it was 
 in a sense without any definite purpose. She 
 
 i8t 
 
My Son and I 
 
 declared that the idea was haunting her, and was 
 worrying her intolerably — intolerably. That's 
 all." 
 
 While he was speaking, Marcella had turned 
 her head away and held her handkerchief to her 
 face, but her twitching fingers betrayed her 
 intense emotion. When he stopped, there was 
 silence for a moment. '* She never told me ! " 
 she said again. 
 
 Then Marcella looked calmly and frankly 
 towards him and asked, almost with a smile, 
 '' Well, and what's the verdict ? " 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 '' Please don't hesitate to tell me, candidly— 
 I am all alone — and, as my mother seems to 
 have told you, my life has not been a happy 
 one, so that " 
 
 '' It should have been happy," he rejoined 
 with some emphasis, then cleared his throat and 
 added in his professional manner, ''Allow me, 
 please, to test the lung again." 
 
 Silence reigned, broken only by the business- 
 like ticking of the small clock on the desk. 
 Marcella seemed to feel soothed by her thoughts 
 — his gentleness of touch and strong personality 
 aroused in her a feeling of security and rest. 
 Suddenly something like a sigh escaped him. 
 She looked searchingly up into his face. He 
 
 182 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 was standing erect, and she noticed he was pale 
 and that he was trying ineffectually to smile. 
 
 '< Old friend," said Marcella, '' I think you are 
 sorry for me ? " 
 
 '^ I_-I " 
 
 '' Admit it — do admit it." 
 
 ^'We shall have to take drastic measures — 
 
 I " She was watching him ; he turned sadly 
 
 to his desk. 
 
 "I mtisf know," she exclaimed, rising with 
 sudden energy ; " tell me frankly. Is it 
 hopeless ? " 
 
 << Hopeless ? One must never think such 
 dreadful thoughts ! We must see — we must 
 see," he answered softly ; " there's always 
 hope ! " 
 
 '^ Practically hopeless, then ?" 
 
 They looked into one another's eyes and she 
 read her doom. But it was not only that that 
 she read in those eyes of his and which made 
 her forget everything else as she approached 
 nearer, saying, ''And it makes you feel so 
 
 sorry r 
 
 I rose, unobtrusively, and opening a door 
 w^hich I thought led to the reception-room, shut 
 it quickly and found myself in a small laboratory, 
 with bottle-laden shelves, and sat down in its 
 only chair, close by the sink at the window. At 
 
 183 
 
My Son and I 
 
 that moment a bang of the street-door loosened 
 the ill-fitting door I had just shut, and it slowly 
 swung open. Against my will I remained seated, 
 hesitating to draw their attention to myself again, 
 for Sir Alan was making an effort to control 
 himself as he moved towards Marcella. 
 
 " Oh, tell me that," she added softly ; '< for," 
 she continued, in a burst of long pent-up feeling, 
 'M have loved you always! — faithfully! — my 
 mother knew it. I shall be dead soon and that 
 gives me the right to speak. Nothing matters 
 now — nothing!" Sir Alan listened in amaze- 
 ment. Then something more than amazement 
 brightened his eyes as she went on, sadly, for 
 the moment of exaltation had passed. '' But — 
 but I oughtn't after all to have told you ! — 
 What for ? " 
 
 ''Marcella!" His voice was broken and 
 tears were coursing down his cheeks. 
 
 How it was I don't know. I had looked 
 away, but she w^as in his embrace, her arms 
 were round his neck and her face was radiant 
 with happiness as he kissed her, her lips, her 
 eyes, her hands. '' You love me too ! " she 
 murmured in happy triumph. 
 
 '' Oh, Marcella, Marcella ! I only realised what 
 I had lost when I heard you were engaged to 
 your cousin, and then it was too late ! " 
 
 184 
 
when I am not the Heroine 
 
 '' No, no, Alan, it would not have been too 
 late. My marriage was only a sacrifice — one 
 that proved too heavy a burden. It was a 
 burden I couldn't hide, and it was soon de- 
 tected. And you loved me then, dear?" 
 
 '' I loved you then, my poor angel. And it 
 made me a better man. Not that I was a bad 
 one, but I determined to — to do better, to 
 devote myself to my profession ; it was through 
 the memory of you that I have never married. 
 Tell me again, dearest, that you love me," he 
 whispered. 
 
 " I love you, Alan, very dearly." 
 
 He tightened his arms round her, and she 
 silently rested there like a happy child. They 
 were happy at last in that sublime oblivion great 
 love alone can bring. In the silence the clock 
 struck twelve. " It seems a dream ! " he 
 exclaimed ; " but we must w^ake up." Mar- 
 cella's beautiful eyes gazed up at him full of 
 tenderness ; " but, my darling, you look so 
 unlike your own dear self that I did not 
 recognise who the gentle lady was that came to 
 see me. We must see what can be done for 
 you at once. I have devoted my life to my 
 work, and it must not be for others only. It 
 must be for us now ! " At that moment he felt 
 the full weight of the slight figure, for Marcella 
 
 185 
 
My Son and I 
 
 had fainted in his arms. He turned his head. 
 I had started up instinctively and had run 
 towards them, and as I appeared in the door- 
 way he looked relieved to see me. 
 
 "Give me that bottle on there," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 The next day Sir Alan Charleston's partner 
 was installed in the consulting-room ; the chief 
 was absent, and it couldn't be said when he 
 would return. 
 
 Marcella was taken to a nursing-home at 
 Hampstead, and the man she loved was at her 
 side. Either Mrs. Patrick or I were there in 
 readiness whenever we were wanted. At times 
 they were content to be silent, as all lovers 
 sometimes are ; at other times, Marcella told 
 me, they would talk of all those sad years that 
 were past and wasted, or of the early and 
 happier days. Marcella's feeble frame seemed 
 about to collapse and the shadow of death w^as 
 not far away. Yet how happy she was ! 
 
 '' I had to die," I heard her say to him gently 
 one day, " but I thank God that I can die 
 knowing that you have loved me and that you 
 love me now. Yet death seems harder — and 
 yet sweeter " 
 
 '' Courage, Marcella ! " he interrupted. <' Fight 
 
 i86 
 
When I am not the Heroine 
 
 against it ; you must have pluck for both our 
 sakes ! I have found you — I will not lose you 
 now ! " Then, saying he had some fresh flowers 
 for her outside and motioning me to remain, he 
 left her abruptly. 
 
 All his knowledge and experience which 
 Dr. Rufford held in such deep respect seemed 
 powerless to save her. He had summoned 
 physician after physician in consultation, and 
 every time their verdict was the same : quite 
 hopeless. Yet he refused to accept it. One 
 day he had evidently decided on his course of 
 action. '^ Courage, Marcella ! " he began ; " I've 
 made up my mind, and yours for you. We 
 are going abroad to Davos — and we shall get 
 married first — and later on we shall have a 
 little villa on the sunny Mediterranean ! " 
 
 ''Oh, Alan! Is there time? Do save me! 
 Take me with you ! " 
 
 The words had come as a whisper. He 
 felt her pulse, then rose in haste. I noticed a 
 look of alarm. I rang for Nurse Patrick, and 
 hurriedly fetched a phial of medicine for him. 
 The bottle rang against the glass as he poured 
 out the liquid. 
 
 For a time our anxiety was acute. Her Hfe 
 hung on a thread — and even his existence 
 seemed in the balance. Then there came a faint 
 
 187 
 
My Son and I 
 
 hope of improvement when it was thought that 
 that last effort would not prove in vain. He 
 greeted me one day with the words : 
 
 '' I think it is just possible now that we can 
 save her, thank God ! It's only a chance ; but 
 it is a chance. She has responded to the treat- 
 ment." And his whole frame trembled with 
 emotion. I pressed his hand in both of mine — 
 triumph at his skill and my sympathy with both 
 their sad lives culminating in such heavy trial 
 overwhelmed me on hearing the good news. 
 
 i88 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 MARRIAGE BELLS 
 
 *' Hallo, Little Mater ! how are you ? " It was 
 my son's greeting. He had returned home ; but, 
 as usual at such times, he said little or nothing 
 of his successes. In my pride I begged he 
 would have his title of Doctor of Philosophy 
 printed on his visiting cards, but he flatly 
 refused, and, as no coaxing availed, I tried to 
 persuade myself that perhaps he was right, and 
 that '' it would be beastly bad form." I com- 
 forted myself with the thought that his sojourn- 
 ings abroad were at last at an end, and that 
 negotiations were already being discussed for 
 him to enter into a partnership in London that 
 would ensure him a good position, and allow 
 him leisure for further research-work, such as 
 had always been his ambition. When in due 
 course the agreement was signed and settled, 
 I breathed freely — we should live together 
 again. 
 
 A few days later he took me to Charing Cross 
 
 189 
 
My Son and I 
 
 station to see some friends off for the Con- 
 tinent. 
 
 " My dear mother/' said my son, with a show 
 of authority grown habitual to him when re- 
 sponsible for me, ^' do calm yourself, and let 
 me show you the right platform — you never 
 know your way ; it's not a bit of use darting 
 about anywhere aimlessly — like a stickleback." 
 
 '' I can't help feeling agitated, dear. There 
 they are ! " And off I rushed, leaving him to 
 follow in his heavy leisurely way. 
 
 No wonder I was agitated. It was Sir Alan 
 Charleston's wedding-day, and it was he who 
 was leaving England with Marcella. He was 
 taking her first to Davos ; he w^as abandoning 
 his brilliant position to devote his life to her and 
 her cure. I found him and an elderly female 
 attendant superintending the comfort of the pre- 
 cious invalid, who had been carried into the com- 
 partment and laid upon the cushions. As he 
 covered her with shawls, she looked up at him 
 with a happy smile like that of a contented 
 child, then nodded gaily to us and other friends 
 standing in a little knot on the platform. Some 
 of us went in and kissed her, and I had an 
 opportunity of a few words in private with my 
 dear old doctor. 
 
 ^' You brought her to me," he said, clasping 
 
 190 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 my hand in his firm grasp. '' Did you know 
 what you were doing that day ? " 
 
 '' Indeed, no. Marcella had told me but 
 httle of her past Ufe ; 1 wouldn't let her dwell 
 upon it as it seemed to give her so much pain. 
 It was really old Dr. Rufford. I'm heartily 
 glad for you and for her. But we shall miss 
 you sadly. I never thought we should lose you 
 like this. I thought you were perhaps destined 
 to marry, but — to marry some one else." 
 
 *^ Some one else ? " he asked, smiling in 
 surprise. 
 
 Good heavens ! I thought to myself, surely 
 I'm not going to be so foolish as to put my foot 
 in it again, when I had at last found the oppor- 
 tunity of clearing up that old matter. I became 
 desperate. 
 
 ''Yes. Don't you remember the drive you 
 took me long ago, when you proclaimed that 
 you were a confirmed old bachelor ? " 
 
 '* Now, don't be malicious. I remember it." 
 
 ''Well, didn't you understand that I had 
 some one in view for you ? " 
 
 " Upon my life, no ! It never crossed my 
 mind. Who was the ladv ? " He looked at 
 me so searchingly that I w^as now in a worse 
 plight than ever, and my face grew hotter and 
 hotter as I felt more and more uncomfortable. 
 
 191 
 
My Son and I 
 
 ^^ Who was it ? " he repeated. '^ Not Aunt 
 Rose, I hope ? " 
 
 I felt incHned to answer << Yes " as an easy 
 way out of it, only I thought he wouldn't be- 
 lieve it, and the case would be worse than ever, 
 and there would be more arguing. I half 
 wished the train would start. 
 
 '' I'd rather not say," I answered lamely. 
 
 *' Come, that's hardly fair after rousing my 
 curiosity, is it?" He was laughing at my 
 confusion. 
 
 '' Well, she's married since then, and it's a very 
 good thing you waited for Marcella ! But didn't 
 you really think there was some one I wanted 
 you to marry, during that drive ? " I persisted. 
 
 '' Did she make a good match ? " he counter- 
 questioned. 
 
 '' Not a very happy one ; she married 
 abroad." 
 
 '' Hum ! " he said reflectively ; it was enig- 
 matic, yet it made me fear I had said too 
 much. ^< I never imagined you had any one in 
 view. Never dreamt of marrying any one ! " he 
 added, with conviction ; '' but I am a happy man 
 now. If only I can get her well again." And 
 I thought of all the perturbation of mind that 
 I might have saved myself had I exercised a 
 little less imagination. 
 
 IQ2 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 The train was due to start. '^ Where's oui 
 Scientific Department ? " he asked gaily, look- 
 ing round for my son. He was-^chatting with 
 Marcella, whose acquaintance he had first 
 made in Bale. Sir Alan took an affectionate 
 leave of us both before seating himself by his 
 wife's side. 
 
 *' Good-bye, and good luck to you both ! " 
 came from our little group. There was more 
 heartiness than hope in the farewell. 
 
 Clairette — who had now become my maid 
 — was en fete and intended to keep it up the 
 whole day, in spite of the fact that the wedding 
 of her former mistress had had none of the 
 elements of jollity proper to such an occasion. 
 Still it was line noce, and Clairette had herself 
 dressed the poor invalid in her pretty white 
 travelling dress in which she had been married. 
 Clairette had received a handsome present, 
 which had made her eyes look even brighter 
 than usual. 
 
 Having a French maid amused me. To look 
 at, Clairette was tiny and plump, dressed in 
 black of faultless cut, showing not a vestige of 
 white. Her face resembled a robin's with its 
 beady eyes, alert and friendly look ; she had 
 much the same little rapid turn of the head, and 
 her hair, combed high off the forehead, was 
 
 193 N 
 
My Son and I 
 
 twisted into a Frenchy knot on the top. She 
 was a dainty Httle person, sympathetic, sensible, 
 and devoted, with a bright and frequent smile, 
 with fingers as deft as Parisian fingers can be, 
 and industrious as the ant in La Fontaine. 
 
 While assisting at my toilet she would flit 
 about me as though I were a queen bee, stroke 
 and smooth down folds, tug me up at the back 
 and pull me down in front, and when I was 
 ready she would open wide the door and look 
 me up and down with unaffected pride — and 
 madame wondered did she do her credit. 
 
 She was superstitious but religious. She 
 would go to Sunday morning mass and then 
 take one of her occasional peeps at our British 
 ways. Yet she found Sundays so tristes — and 
 they used to be so gay ! Only a few years 
 before, among her people, how she used to laugh 
 and dance to the music of the violin at the 
 fetes on those unforgettable Sundays ! Alas, 
 how grey and dignified they were now ! 
 
 Otherwise than to church she never cared 
 to go out. She had always some excuse for 
 shutting herself up like a nun with her needle 
 — that delightful stitching which allowed her 
 thoughts to fly yonder where the violin still 
 moved the feet of the dancers in their relief 
 from the week's grievous toil. 
 
 194 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 Now and then her eyes were very red. That 
 was because she loved Paul Anatole Baptiste, 
 who was a perfidc. Ce monsieur lived in the 
 south, where, under the shade of the eucalyptus 
 trees, he kept a small but prosperous char- 
 cuterie shop. Poor Clairette ! Why waste 
 good tears on him, whose mind reached no 
 farther than a dot and its use in the business ? 
 
 '' He is not worthy of you," I said. At that 
 there was a toss of the head, and I felt her 
 hands tremble as she coiled up my hair. ^^ Ah, 
 pour frt madame I " she said enigmatically, and 
 stopped. 
 
 She evidently did not share my opinion, and 
 Paul Anatole Baptiste was remembered and 
 cherished in spite of his affections being un 
 pen partotit. Glad to change the conversation, 
 she remarked, in reply to an exclamation of 
 mine on the subject of wrinkles, suggested by 
 the mirror before me : 
 
 '^ Wrinkles ! Madame has no wrinkles. 
 Madame must have had far more of them 
 years ago before I had the honour to come 
 to madame." I did not argue the point ; her 
 curious politeness startled me into dumbness. 
 
 Clairette was punctual — that is, with a twenty 
 minutes' margin to make her so ; consequently, 
 by bearing that interval in mind when I gave 
 
 195 
 
My Son and I 
 
 my orders, I got everything to the minute I 
 required it : so every one was happy and con- 
 tent, and everything went like clockwork. 
 
 Her wages were what EngUshwomen call 
 high, and her savings all went in obligations, 
 of which the interest was sent off to the aged 
 mother — a sourish old lady — and to the 
 numerous brothers and sisters at home, who 
 were more grasping and lazy than was proper. 
 She had a kind heart, had Clairette, they 
 thought, and so they traded upon it. 
 
 She had the thrift and practised the little 
 saving devices of the petite bourgeoisie. One 
 day, when she was darning with miraculous 
 precision, I remarked approvingly upon her 
 talent for economy in my interest. She was 
 gratified at the compliment, but replied with 
 a sad little shrug of despair : 
 
 '' Mon Dieti ! oni, madame. But sometimes I 
 ask myself a qiioi bon ? I make the economies 
 for madame, \\\\Qv\,pang .''Monsieur sou fils achete 
 21 n tableau ! " 
 
 Business papers and the Liste Officielle would 
 frequently arrive to tell her of all the gros lots 
 which had been won by other people. If only 
 she could gain a gros lot ! It would make a doty 
 and the world for her would be a less dis- 
 appointing sort of world, and grey England 
 
 196 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 would become a sad, sweet memory. For then 
 she could marry and help keep that shop near 
 the orange trees if ce monsieur le voulait, and 
 madame would come and see how well she 
 could bring up a family. 
 
 One morning my son blurted out at me 
 without the slightest preliminary: 
 
 "I'm in love, Mater." 
 
 '' Yes, dear ; I know it." 
 
 "Know it! How do you know it?" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Because I do," I replied quietly. 
 
 " Logical, and very feminine. But you don't 
 know who the angel is, and you'll never guess." 
 
 " I hope I can guess this time," I replied, 
 with a sudden flutter of anxiety as I advanced 
 towards him standing with his back to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 " Promise you'll be pleased and I'll tell you." 
 
 " Surely it's Dulcie Ryan ? " I asked impul- 
 sively, with my eyes riveted on his face. " Oh, 
 I am so pleased ! " I added, laughing — laughing 
 and crying together in my silly way when I'm 
 greatly excited and relieved at the same time. 
 I put both my arms round him, and hugged 
 him very tight. 
 
 He beamed down on me. 
 
 " But, Mater," he said, stroking my face 
 . 197 
 
My Son and I 
 
 soothingly — an old habit of his — '^ can she 
 possibly care for me, do you think ? That's 
 the question." 
 
 '' I wonder," I replied, just to tease him. 
 
 '* By Jove ! You don't mean to say you 
 know anything ? " 
 
 '' I w^onder," 1 reiterated, laughing with quiet 
 happiness. 
 
 He made me sit next to him, and I had to 
 begin at the beginning and confess how I had 
 watched and guessed — often watched him as 
 he was pondering in front of the fire and 
 sighing unconsciously, whilst I was so occu- 
 pied knitting him a silk tie. Then he would 
 abstractedly fill his pipe and forget to light 
 it. Never before had I known him so par- 
 ticular about the cut either of his coat or his 
 razor. 
 
 My thoughts fiew to directions penned by 
 him to the laundress which she had brought 
 tearfully to me for elucidation — sarcastic re- 
 marks regarding the corrugated surface of shirt- 
 fronts which cast cross shadows and references 
 to handkerchiefs resembling frizzled muslin. 
 
 '' Whatever are you thinking about ? Do 
 go on. Mater." 
 
 I went on. I assured him, from my ex- 
 perience of the sex to which I had the honour 
 
 198 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 to belong (the words are his), that I certainly 
 could not think Dulcie avoided him ; I was 
 airly satisfied that she felt no unconquerable 
 repulsion for him which might fairly be de- 
 scribed as akin to loathing ; to tell the truth, 
 in fact, that I knew she had loved him, and 
 no one else, for a long time past. My son 
 was radiant. 
 
 '^Although," I added, ''she may probably 
 object to you on account of your hands^ — as 
 I do. I really think you might have directed 
 your scientific research towards discovering 
 something to prevent chemicals staining, in- 
 stead of waiting till they have made you an 
 advertisement for a dye-works." 
 
 '' I'm off!" he cried, starting up. '' I'm going 
 to see Mr. Ryan at once ! " And he was out 
 of the room and the house before I had time to 
 stop him to discuss the matter further. 
 
 When the front door slammed to I called 
 MacDonald to me to divert my restless thoughts. 
 He roused himself lazily from the rug with a 
 heavy sigh. He was really a very handsome 
 collie, but no longer the alert dog he used to 
 be, no longer the admiration of the neigh- 
 bourhood for his looks and gentle intelligence. 
 His tail was becoming thin on the top ; he 
 was a trifle hard of hearing ; just a shade 
 
 199 
 
My Son and I 
 
 short-sighted. He shook himself leisurely, 
 wagged his baldness, and placed his dear old 
 head on my lap. I told him the great news 
 of the new love and all it meant to us, and 
 he acknowledged my confidence with his usual 
 series of uncouth squeaks and grunts — his 
 running commentary on any conversation 
 addressed to him. 
 
 '' That's all, Don," I concluded, and Mac- 
 Donald decided at last which way he would 
 lie down again, tucked in his tail, and began 
 to snore. 
 
 I watched and waited, unable to settle down 
 to anything. At last I recognised a heavy 
 tread, and before my son was in the boudoir 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 '' Silly old fool won't hear of it ! " 
 
 He flung himself on the sofa, and we looked 
 at one another. 
 
 '< Silly old ass." 
 
 << Mr. Ryan's not silly, not old, and not an 
 ass," I expostulated, hardly knowing in my 
 deep concern what I was saying. 
 
 '' Oh, well, it comes to the same thing," he 
 answered, with gloomy impatience. 
 
 a Why?" 
 
 ^^ Says that he had no idea I cared for her." 
 
 ^' Oh ! " 
 
 200 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 '< Says he can't spare her — more can I — 
 unadulterated selfishness, /call it." He paused, 
 frowning ; then added, more gently, '' Would it 
 be any good for you to speak to him, Mater, 
 do you think ? " 
 
 '' I'm afraid my speaking to him can't make 
 any difference, dear." 
 
 My son shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and 
 left the room. MacDonald followed him de- 
 jectedly, feeling instinctively there was trouble. 
 
 I resolved to lay siege to Mr. Ryan, especially 
 as I didn't quite understand his objection ; and 
 I desired, too, to find out if it were the real 
 reason. 
 
 Old memories came crowding to my mind 
 as I set forth to call next door. 1 could under- 
 stand his hesitation and tribulation ; Dulcie was 
 his only child. She was a lovely girl, nearly 
 as tall as my son ; willowy, graceful, with 
 beautifully shaped blue eyes and perfect eye- 
 brows, retrousse nose, and a provokingly small 
 mouth — a charming, merry, oval little face, 
 framed in golden brown hair which curled as 
 though from the very Joie de vivre. Her father's 
 comfort continued paramount with her ; she 
 had kept him free from worries, free always 
 to do his literary work with a calm mind. 
 His, of course, had not been a well-assorted 
 
 201 
 
My Son and I 
 
 union, and it made him doubly anxious for his 
 daughter's happiness. 
 
 I was ushered into his great Hbrary, where 
 he received me with his usual courtesy, and we 
 had a long and earnest talk on our children's 
 future. At the end he said : 
 
 <'Well, there's no withstanding you. I like 
 the boy — none better — a strapping, clever 
 fellow. But I must own he took me too much 
 by surprise. You have every reason to be 
 proud of him, my dear friend, and I trust that 
 my little girl will bring you both the happiness 
 you deserve." 
 
 I choked with my reply. We cordially shook 
 hands, and my heart thumped with delight as 
 I hurried — almost ran — home to my son. 
 
 '' It's all right ! " I cried. 
 
 '' Thank God ! " he responded, and irre- 
 verently added, '^ particularly you." Then he 
 executed a pas scul, curiously undignified in a 
 B.Sc, Ph.D. 
 
 So it was arranged between us three that 
 Dulcie should be told nothing until my son 
 proposed to her. 
 
 Then the hour came : six o'clock on a lovely 
 June evening. I called for Dulcie and drove 
 to Hyde Park, where we left the carriage and 
 were joined by my son. The sudden surprise 
 
 202 
 
A Pas Sell 
 
 ^. 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 suffused Dulcie's sunny face with blushes. We 
 walked to a cool, shady spot under the trees 
 and sat down ; but no sooner were we seated 
 than I preferred not to remain. 
 
 '' I have a fancy for a solitary stroll/' I said ; 
 '< I want to think out something. Don't detain 
 me ; I won't be detained." 
 
 There is no gainsaying that no one tried to. 
 So I walked away, and found much to think 
 out — the future was going to be so different, 
 but happy, I felt confident of that. 
 
 When I turned back, I found my dear young 
 people coming rapidly towards me as though 
 on air, radiant in their new happiness. How 
 small I felt as they stooped down to kiss me ! 
 Only a few words passed between us ; our 
 hearts were too full to say much ; we could 
 only smile at one another, whilst the bonds of 
 love and sympathy held us tightly. 
 
 They decided between themselves to live near 
 her father, and that I was to stay with them. 
 Loud were their protests when I firmly opposed 
 the proposal. At one time I had all but yielded, 
 for I was sorely tempted ; but the dreaded fear 
 of becoming, even suspected of developing into, 
 la belle-mere was sufficiently deterrent. But 
 when Dulcie hit upon it that she and her hus- 
 band should live in a fiat adjoining another 
 
 203 
 
My Son and I 
 
 that should be occupied by me, she found a 
 solution to which I joyfully assented. 
 
 Charlie Lane had obtained his promotion, 
 so it was arranged that the wedding-day of the 
 four friends should take place on the same day. 
 That day arrived all too soon for me, especially 
 for poor Mr. Ryan, who was really a little 
 sad at the idea ; in fact, at times, we would 
 laugh nervously at the sight of one another's 
 happy chagrin, and the date seemed to be in 
 fire-red letters in a perpetually present calen- 
 dar. The wedding reception was held in my 
 drawing-room. Mr. Ryan w^as on one side of 
 me to help receive, Aunt Prue on the other. 
 Dea.r Aunt Prue ! in lavender silk, beaming with 
 delight under her cream silk bonnet. 
 
 Amidst all the excitement the only lost 
 head belonged to Clairette — the idea of ime 
 fete was indeed heaven to her. Mr. Ryan 
 \vas very silent. I behaved in the most 
 exemplary fashion, in grey crepe de Chine ; but 
 when everybody had gone, and I was once 
 more quite alone, I actually did sink down on 
 the hearthrug in all my finery and wept, which 
 was all the more senseless as I was extremely 
 gratified and happy in the acquisition of a 
 charming and much-desired daughter-in-law. 
 MacDonald tried to comfort me, putting his 
 
 204 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 wet nose on my neck, but it lacked adequacy, 
 and I peremptorily ordered him off my crepe 
 de Chine. I apologised to him later on, over 
 which ceremony there was a considerable show 
 of goodwill on his part, accompanied by many 
 forgiving wags of his poor tail, more especially 
 as my amende honorable was paid in wedding- 
 cake. 
 
 When I had plucked up sufficient spirit, I 
 moved myself, Clairette, and MacDonald into 
 the new flat at Chelsea that had been chosen 
 for me ; and Mr. Ryan moved himself and his 
 library into rooms at a private hotel close by, 
 which, in future, was to be his home. It was a 
 decision he had arrived at after declining other 
 suggestions, declaring he could put up with no 
 one but himself, so his future must depend on 
 the amiability of Williams, his valet. He had 
 the same dislike of keeping on his own deserted 
 home now, as I had of keeping on mine. 
 
 Our boy and girl spent their honeymoon in 
 Devonshire. The two months passed like a 
 week, so they said. To me those eight weeks 
 had seemed eight years, yet were not long 
 enough to mend the wrench long hoped for, 
 yet long dreaded. I felt the breach would 
 remain until arms, small and helpless as his 
 used to be, were once again around my neck. 
 
 20^ 
 
My Son and I 
 
 I need not say that Dulcie was as good a wife 
 as could be wished. She was not very '^clever" — 
 we knew that — but intelligent and womanly and 
 sympathetic. She was so proud of her husband 
 that it made my eyes dance with pleasure to see 
 it. And he was quite satisfied that she was far 
 too pretty to be any different from what she 
 was, nor would he have her otherwise. 
 
 There was, however, one silly little cloud 
 which for a short space darkeneil their horizon, 
 a few months after they were married. Perhaps 
 I should never have known of it had I not 
 happened to choose that very day to spend 
 some pleasant hours with them at their week- 
 end cottage in Wimbledon. I was accustomed 
 to turn up unexpectedly, and that afternoon I 
 was longing to see them. To my surprise, on 
 arriving I found my son writing, worried and 
 distressed. 
 
 ''Where's Dulcie?" I asked. 
 
 He looked relieved at seeing me, and after 
 greeting me affectionately, he replied in rather 
 a hard voice, I thought : 
 
 '' She has shut herself up in her room. She 
 was angry yesterday about nothing ; said she 
 would never forgive me, and this morning won't 
 talk. It's a novel experience — that's all. So 
 I'm waiting patiently." 
 
 206 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 Nevertheless he turned impatiently towards 
 the window and whistled. 
 
 I wasn't going to ask questions. I sat still 
 and waited, watching him. It was not long 
 before he continued : 
 
 '' It's all fancy on her part, Mater. I wouldn't 
 really make her unhappy for worlds." 
 
 ''No, dear — especially just now. Every 
 allowance must be made for her." 
 
 ''This is what happened. We were up in 
 town at the theatre last evening. Dulcie had 
 asked me to take a box. I recognised a club 
 friend in the stalls ; I nodded at him and 
 smiled. Then I suppose my eyes wandered to 
 the stage, and Dulcie conceived the idea that 
 my unfaded smile was for some one on the 
 stage, whom I had just praised. It is the first 
 time I have ever known her show jealousy. I 
 have explained it all to her. Her behaviour is 
 ridiculous." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and continued 
 writing. I took up a newspaper and felt sad. 
 
 After a time my son looked up and said : 
 
 " Will you go to her, Mater ? " 
 
 I shook my head. I knew instinctively it 
 
 was better not ; I did so want him to go. But 
 
 I knew his nature — sometimes over hasty, and 
 
 always obstinate to a degree under an injustice. 
 
 207 
 
My Son and I 
 
 So I took care the suggestion should not come 
 from me. 
 
 After a while, however, I did venture to 
 remark in a low voice : 
 
 " She requires a little spoiling, I think." 
 
 Perhaps he didn't hear me ; he didn't move. 
 
 The lamps had been lighted and the curtains 
 drawn when the well-known step and rustle 
 were heard, and Dulcie came in, looking white 
 and pitiful. She was in her husband's arms 
 immediately. I was about to withdraw, but she 
 clung hold of my hand, full of self-reproaches, 
 which I interrupted to say : 
 
 '' I want you to see how I've got on with 
 the needlework. I've left it in the hall. Thank 
 you," I added quickly, as my son moved to 
 bring it, '' I'd rather go myself ; you might 
 crush it." 
 
 Dulcie was very fond of needlework, and 
 greatly interested in it just now. So was I. 
 One would have said w^e were making doll's 
 clothes ; but we w^ere not. I didn't fetch the 
 parcel at once. Desirous of leaving my son 
 and his wife alone together, I thought I would 
 take a peep at the newly-furnished room up- 
 stairs, and I didn't hurry. 
 
 When I opened the white-painted door — still 
 rather sticky — how pretty it all looked, bathed 
 
 208 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 in the moonlight which entered through the 
 curtainless window ! And how expectant ! with 
 the white bassinette wrapped in tissue paper. 
 The high fender stood there, so officious and 
 important. The rocking-chair, the low chair, 
 and in the corner even a high chair — all patiently 
 waiting. The bright, droll pictures on the walls 
 — funny animals doing queer things — ready for 
 the delight and approval of a miniature student 
 of art. And there, in the window, with its gilt 
 wires turned to silver in the white light, a bird- 
 cage was hanging with its tiny door w^ide open, 
 awaiting the little bird to come. I withdrew 
 with a throb of joy in my heart. 
 
 A few days later my son came into my flat, 
 full of importance, and said : 
 
 '' Mater, put on your bonnet and shawl — or 
 whatever you call them — and quickly, if you 
 please." 
 
 ^' Now, my boy, whatever do you want 
 to do?" 
 
 ''Well, just look sharp, there's a dear, and 
 we'll argue afterwards. I've got an appoint- 
 ment with Lawrence Whyte." 
 
 '' What — are you ill ? " 
 
 '' I'm all right. But I want an opinion from 
 him." 
 
 '' Then what do you want me for ? " 
 
 209 O 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '^ For the opinion. We'll argue afterwards. 
 You've just got five minutes." 
 
 When we were driving there, he explained 
 that I was not looking strong — my health has 
 never been very good — and he meant to per- 
 suade my cousin to order me to the south of 
 France for the winter — which that obliging 
 wiseacre incontinently did. 
 
 "Surely," I said as we returned, ''you have 
 enough to look after just now, without troubling 
 so much about your old mother." 
 
 He smiled, and merely replied that he was 
 going at once to consult Dulcie about arrange- 
 ments. In the end we three, and Mr. Ryan — 
 who vowed he would pine away alone in his 
 rooms the second his neighbours left — found 
 ourselves in Nice. 
 
 Clairette, of course, accompanied me ; her 
 rapture was unbounded at the idea of going 
 to ce beau littoral; but I knew it was not so 
 much the place that she was anxious to revisit, 
 although she deemed it wise to keep her own 
 counsel, and of late had mentioned no one there. 
 But it was a forlorn little maid when we arrived, 
 glancing anxiously at all the people in the 
 station, loitering, or hurrying by, and no one 
 approaching her who looked in any way like 
 bearing the names of Paul Anatole Baptiste. 
 
 2 10 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 '' You shall go out this evening, Clairette, to 
 see your friends here," I suggested. 
 
 '^ Merci, madanic — inadajue est bieii bonne," she 
 replied disconsolately. 
 
 I was in a great hurry to see some of my 
 own dear friends, and the very first thing next 
 morning my son and I set out to visit Sir Alan 
 and Lady Charleston, who had taken up their 
 abode at a villa situated on the hill above our 
 hotel. It was about eighteen months since they 
 had left England, and in the interval their news 
 had been delightful reading. They expected 
 us, and our meeting was of the most cordial 
 description. 
 
 ''What do you think of her now, eh ? " asked 
 Sir Alan, beaming with pride, 
 
 ''Why, Alarcella ! If it were not for your 
 auburn hair I never would have recognised 
 you!" I exclaimed, in the greatest surprise. 
 She looked very pretty, very happy, and though 
 not robust, in perfect health. 
 
 " And how is our married Scientific Depart- 
 ment ? " continued Sir Alan; " and why hasn't 
 he brought Mrs. Dulcie to see us ? " 
 
 " She's just a little fatigued," replied my son. 
 " You see, she " 
 
 "Come and look here!" said Marcella, 
 putting her arm round my waist, and she 
 
 211 
 
My Son and I 
 
 drew me through the open window on to the 
 verandah. 
 
 ''Oh, you perfect little darhng ! " I cried, 
 kneehng down next to the dearest love of a 
 baby with an auburn fluff on his otherwise 
 bald head, lying there on a rug sunning his 
 chubby legs as he babbled sweet sounds com- 
 monly designated crowing and cooing. 
 
 '' I say," said my son, approaching, ^' what a 
 jolly little beggar!" 
 
 The eyes of the parents were riveted on their 
 offspring. We looked at one another as he 
 helped me to my feet, and w^e smiled happily 
 — we were not envious. 
 
 '' Your mother isn't looking quite herself," 
 remarked Sir Alan, before my meaning smile 
 had quite vanished, slightly to my confusion. 
 
 '< That's the reason we came here," replied 
 my son. 
 
 ^< Quite right. She'll be in my care — friendly 
 care, for I don't practise here — as long as you 
 remain." 
 
 '' Then the Mater will get well too soon," 
 came the grateful reply. '' I proposed remain- 
 ing six weeks. Dulcie is advised not to be 
 away longer." 
 
 ''Then the little lady must be got strong 
 punctually to time," answered Sir Alan, laughing. 
 
 2 12 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 ^' So we shall expect to see her every day if she 
 will come." And Marcella warmly seconded his 
 proposal. 
 
 Every one has always been so good to me. 
 Why don't I think of that and find comfort in 
 it in those bad moments which come perhaps 
 not more often to me than they do to others 
 who have known the deepest scars of sorrow ? 
 What is the use of a philosophy hidden under- 
 ground for a rainy day, garnered and fostered 
 in one's good moments, when one's mood is 
 apt to become morbid, and never recognises 
 such an existing myth as philosophy ? (I like 
 to call resignation ''philosophy.") What is the 
 use of my coming to the conclusion that life 
 is too short to be troubled by anything less 
 than serious illness ; that minor worries should 
 be waived aside as non-existent, such elimina- 
 tion to be wrought by occupying it with philo- 
 sophic argument, when if I just happen to feel 
 overwrought, or a dress misfits, or my memo- 
 randum book is mislaid — it is sufficient to make 
 me feel that the end of the world has come, 
 or is just waiting round the corner, as it were, 
 for the final smash ? I suppose it must be 
 different when one has that priceless possession, 
 a logical mind ; but then the '' one " is generally 
 masculine, and men as a rule don't seem to 
 
 213 
 
My Son and I 
 
 like their womenfolk to include that commodity 
 in their mental outfit. Perhaps it is jealousy of 
 their prerogative ; but 1 think it is really the 
 strangeness that they fight shy of when they 
 unexpectedly discover sequential argument in 
 a woman. I must own that on the rare occa- 
 sions when I have met with the phenomenon, 
 I have found that '' logic " of a somewhat 
 aggressive character, rapped out with jarring 
 emphasis, with a conscious superiority which 
 w^holly crushed me, while any gentlemen pre- 
 sent began forthwith to drift away towards 
 any illogical femininity there might happen to 
 be in the room. 
 
 Marcella was by no means one of those 
 psychological Minervas. She was an excellent 
 type of womanhood, and w^e spent many happy 
 hours together. 
 
 << Isn't it w^onderful what Alan has done for 
 me ! " she exclaimed, on one of my daily visits. 
 " I believed I was irretrievably doomed — other- 
 wise I never could have — I've often wondered 
 what you could have thought that day, and then 
 I have flushed with " 
 
 " It has all been for the best, dear ! " I quickly 
 interrupted. 
 
 <' Ah ! if only my poor mother could see 
 me now ! " The baby was asleep in Marcella's 
 
 214 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 arms, and as she spoke she pressed it closer to 
 her. '< She had made an unhappy match her- 
 self. She had everything she could possibly 
 want in mere possessions, but she was neglected. 
 All her love was centred on me." 
 
 •' And a husband's love is everything," I said 
 sympathetically. 
 
 '^ Indeed it is. Poor mother ! May I tell 
 you about it ? It won't bore you ? Very 
 well. She wanted me to be happy ; my cousin, 
 Barthold Delacambre, was her sister's son, an 
 orphan with a brilliant position in Paris — and 
 he loved me. But my affection was already 
 bestowed on Alan ; he had no prospects then, 
 no strong position, and I learnt later, that as my 
 mother did not approve of his visits, he showed 
 me but scant attention. Soon he discontinued 
 calling altogether. I sent him a letter, which 
 elicited only a curt reply, and I concluded he 
 didn't care for me. In my wounded pride, 
 pressed by my mother's constant persuasion 
 and my cousin's entreaties, I yielded, and was 
 married to him. We three lived together in 
 Paris, as I had made it a condition I should 
 not be separated from my mother. — Does all 
 this interest you ? " 
 
 ''Of course it does; besides, I value your 
 confidence." 
 
 21^ 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '< I was always so sad before when I thought 
 of the past that I never told you as I would 
 have done what " 
 
 '' I guessed that. I didn't wish it, or expect 
 it, Marcella." 
 
 ''Well, I must admit that Barthold was a 
 devoted and a model husband, who bore with 
 all my spoilt caprices, and humoured every 
 whim — until one day. He wanted to spend 
 a few weeks quietly at our country place where 
 our brief honeymoon had been passed ; I was 
 cross at the idea of the monotony after the 
 gay life we were accustomed to lead, of which 
 he and my mother were getting tired. On that 
 he asked : 
 
 "'Then I'm not enough? You don't love 
 me, then, Marcelle cherie?' But he said it 
 smilingly, at first never doubting a satisfactory 
 reply. He repeated the question more seriously, 
 but, I thought, a little surprised, and I answered 
 nothing. I didn't deny it ; and I begged to be 
 left alone, as I was crying hysterically. The 
 idea must have been growing in his mind that 
 I really did not care for him. A few days later 
 he again taxed me with it ; I was evasive, I 
 couldn't be hypocritical, for I realised more 
 and more the mistake of a marriage made 
 when the heart is sick with a disappointment. 
 
 216 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 The day came when he insisted upon an ex- 
 planation. We had our first quarrel^ — and our 
 last, for Barthold learned the truth, and from 
 that moment he was entirely changed. 
 
 " ' Why did you marry me, then ? ' he asked 
 bitterly. And I explained that I had thought I 
 could make him happy ; that I had thought he 
 need never know of my sorrow ; that I had 
 tried to stifie my old love for a man whom I 
 wished never to see again ; and that I should 
 find my mother regain her old brightness. But 
 the burden had proved too heavy, and he had 
 forced the truth from me. His stern, set face 
 frightened me, and I crept away and locked 
 myself in my room. 
 
 '' By arrangement we said nothing about it to 
 my mother. She was, nevertheless, not slow to 
 guess it, for Barthold took to gambling at his 
 cercle and to late hours, and she and I found 
 ourselves usually left alone. She said nothing, 
 however, until after her return from one of 
 her visits to London. She found me alone 
 that evening, and ascertained by inquiry that 
 Barthold had scarcely been at home during 
 her absence. Then she talked and talked, and 
 worked upon herself so that she nearly raved, 
 about the way I was neglected. 
 
 '' ' I cannot blame him,' I rejoined so sadly 
 
 217 
 
My Son and I 
 
 that the whole of the situation dawned on her. 
 She remained silent for a time till she had re- 
 covered her self-possession, and she questioned 
 me closely about ' that other/ as she called 
 him, and then her self-reproaches were heart- 
 rending. Nothing that I could do or say 
 brought her comfort. It killed her, it literally 
 killed her ; she drooped and weakened, and 
 consumption set in. 
 
 " ' What will you do, my poor Marcella, when 
 I am gone ? ' she asked one evening, in her 
 thin, worn voice. ' Your husband is nothing 
 to you, and you have not the solace I had of 
 tiny hands to kiss and baby curls to stroke.' 
 
 '< Those were her last words. Before I could 
 reply she sank back and died. Ah ! if only 
 my poor mother could see me now," repeated 
 Marcella ; and her tears dropped down on to 
 the little closed eyes and opened them as 
 though by magic. 
 
 <' Hallo ! " said Sir Alan, entering and taking 
 in the situation at a glance.^ '' Now that pre- 
 cocious infant has been getting into debt or 
 something, and you are thinking you must 
 pawn your jewellery, Marcella. This is a nice 
 way of entertaining a visitor. Why, you both 
 look as dull as a doctor without a practice." 
 
 I loved her all the more since that visit, for 
 
 218 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 confidence such as hers always draws more 
 closely the bonds of sympathy between one 
 woman and another. 
 
 When I got back to my hotel, Clairette came 
 to me radiant. A small box had been brought 
 for her by hand. It contained flowers grown 
 near the eucalyptus and the lemon trees, and 
 amongst them were orange blossoms. And — 
 '' Ah, mon Dieu ! Que madauie s imagine ! des 
 fleurs doranger! et — et — " And he who had 
 brought them w^as Paul Anatole Baptiste, and 
 he was waiting to know if there was any 
 answer. 
 
 '^ Don't let him wait," I urged, and she was 
 gone in a moment. 
 
 It w^as decided that she would remain in my 
 service until my departure, then she would 
 marry Paul Anatole Baptiste ; and while ce 
 monsieur looked after the charciiterie she would 
 spend several hours daily making herself useful 
 avec Monsieur Bebc chez Miladi '' CJiarlefon " — 
 jiisque — well, not indefinitely, perhaps. '' Elever 
 mes cnfants a moi'' was Clairette's ambition, 
 which properly embraced her horizon of the 
 Whole Duty of Woman. 
 
 Towards the end of our stay, I sat, one lovely 
 sunny morning, at the window of my little 5^7/0// 
 in the hotel on the hill, and thought of the dear 
 
 219 
 
My Son and I 
 
 people who had brought me there. Whenever 
 I think of my son I cannot help that rising 
 feeling of pride. Of pride — or .is it gratitude ? 
 Were I not that boy's mother I should frankly 
 declare that he had been successively the finest 
 child, the most intelligent youth, and the most 
 delightful man I know. Convention, however, 
 decrees against partisan eulogy, and I must 
 leave it to all who know him, and have eyes in 
 their head, to bear witness to this solemn truth 
 of their own free will. 
 
 And now there he was, he and his charming 
 wife, the devoted daughter I had so long wished 
 for. My happiness would be complete ; but, 
 alas! — One had been taken. What matters it that 
 it was so many years ago ? Though 1 never care 
 to talk about it, the thought never leaves me 
 for long, and the void remains as it was. Time 
 has not bestirred himself to bring comfort to me. 
 Moved by the ever sad reflection, I looked out 
 on the beautiful scene below, and gazed on it 
 as through a veiled mist. Nature was smiling, 
 and so the mist faded and my cares for the 
 moment were forgotten. The hot sun was 
 shining brightly, and made all around look 
 happy and at peace. On whatever the rays fell 
 they warmed through and through with the 
 noonday heat. No breeze stirred the branches 
 
 220 
 
Marriao;e Bells 
 
 of the palms and the orange trees, or 
 disturbed the equanimity of the rich-scented 
 roses in their pride and glory. Red-roofed 
 villas had closed their shutters and were 
 slumbering. The town, massed near the sea, 
 was quiet just now ; whilst beyond, the Mediter- 
 ranean, still as a mirror, reflected the unclouded 
 blue of the sky. 
 
 From time to time sounds of life rang clear 
 through the air — men's voices chanting an 
 Italian verse in unison, the bells on the horses, 
 the cracking of whips, and a child's laugh as 
 the little one startled away a basking lizard. 
 To the right, Antibes stretched out a protecting 
 arm round the gentle Bale des Anges ; and on 
 the left rose the timbered height crowned with 
 a cascade, glinting fillets of silver, near the 
 murmuring rush of w^hich rested those whose 
 slumber was longer than the noonday siesta, for 
 whom there would be no awakening to the 
 follies of the squeezed-up town below. 
 
 There w^as a tap at the door. 
 
 '^ Entrez ! " 
 
 Clairette came in wearing her fete face, which 
 of late had begun rather to go on my nerves, 
 and said with an air of mystery : '' Monsieur 
 Ryeune deinaude sil pent voir, luadmne ! " 
 
 '' Ala is certairienient, faites enfrer ! " 
 
 221 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Clairette smiled, approached me, and saying 
 her usual little '' Pardon, madame ! " put the 
 tortoiseshell comb in my hair at a different 
 angle, surveyed me with evident pleasure, and 
 went swiftly out of the room. 
 
 *' Que Monsieur se donne la peine (Tentrer I " 
 
 Mr. Ryan entered, looking serious. I rose 
 anxiously to meet him at the door, as I love to 
 do to those I like. 
 
 '' I want to speak to you," he said gently, 
 shaking my hand slowly, '^ upon an important 
 matter. You know my bluntness, so you will 
 forgive my broaching the subject abruptly. It 
 is a matter which concerns us two alone — not 
 the children." 
 
 I felt instinctively what was coming, and, 
 what was worse, I felt I was betraying myself, 
 for my hands shook. I began to tremble, and 
 was obliged to take the seat he offered me. 
 
 ^' You are not well ? " he asked, distressed. 
 ^' You said yesterday you were quite strong 
 
 agam. 
 
 '' Quite — quite," I repeated, pulling myself 
 together. 
 
 '' As you know, I am fifty," he continued, 
 '' and your looks, dear friend, tell me " 
 
 ''That I am forty-seven at least," I quickly 
 interrupted. 
 
 O O "? 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 He looked at me reproachfully, and then in 
 his pleasant way added : 
 
 " Let me see. I was enabled to make a 
 different calculation when you once replied to 
 an objection of mine concerning youthful mar- 
 riages — ves — not twenty, I believe, when your 
 son was born. Now why should you put on 
 five extra years ? " 
 
 I couldn't repress a guilty smile. He 
 laughed, then continued seriously : 
 
 '' I knew you as a young girl, and " 
 
 ''And soon, very soon," I interrupted again, 
 *' we shall know one another as grandparents." 
 
 '' Yes, yes," he retorted, somewhat im- 
 patiently, '' but you are younger than 1 am, 
 and I'm not an old man yet." He certainly 
 showed no signs of age. He had become 
 celebrated since the early days he spoke of. 
 His name was almost a household word as a 
 man of letters. 
 
 He seated himself close beside me, and his 
 dark eyes, piercing and intelligent, gazed at me 
 sympathetically. 
 
 '' You are lonely. You require care. May 
 
 I " 
 
 '' Please, hush," I said pleadingly, avoiding 
 his look. But he went on : 
 
 '< For many years I have hoped that in time — 
 
 22^ 
 
My Son and I 
 
 I have something I want to say, something I 
 have waited so long to tell you/' he went on 
 hurriedly. ^' I have waited to see the happi- 
 ness of our children assured, and now let me 
 be selfish and plead a little for myself — for a 
 happiness I have never had, and that you alone 
 could give." His voice was so soft and low, 
 vibrating with ardour as he continued, not 
 heeding my gesture to stop him : 
 
 '< I have loved you for years. I have wor- 
 shipped you as a saint on a pedestal high above 
 me. I have waited in trembling to see how 
 your life might turn out, without daring to hope 
 for myself. And now I beg you to condescend 
 to step down from your pedestal — to be my 
 wife. Give me the right to call you by that 
 name which suits you so well — how often have 
 I whispered it to myself ! " 
 
 '' Oh no, no ! " I exclaimed hastily, as my 
 mind flew back to words so similar that these 
 sounded like an echo of long ago. '< Forgive 
 me," I murmured, mustering courage to look 
 into his face, and wondering at the sudden 
 change I saw in it ; ''I wasn't thinking of — oh, 
 please, I " 
 
 He seated himself next to me and took 
 my cold hand in his warm grasp, and I felt 
 soothed ; his kind eyes were still fixed on me. 
 
 224 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 '' Tell me," he said gently ; '' I have seen you 
 for years surrounded by people, men and 
 women, who cared much for you and sought 
 your sympathy. Do you love any one else ? 
 Are you not heart free ? It is not that I am 
 unsympathetic to you, is it ? " 
 
 '^ You are not unsympathetic to me," I replied, 
 turning aside. <' Dear Mr. Ryan, it is true, I am 
 not heart free." 
 
 '' Is it too indiscreet to beg your confidence ? 
 Pray tell me — I'm such an old friend. Your 
 welfare means so much to me. What fortunate 
 man can have " 
 
 '' Not in the present — in the past. The only 
 man I ever loved, I have loved and lost," I 
 added wearily, without looking up. 
 
 <' But time, surely " 
 
 '' Time can do no more than release me from 
 my sorrow." 
 
 ^' If now, you cannot feel any love in your 
 heart for me — is there no measure of affection 
 I can lay claim to ?" he pleaded. '' Is there not 
 a little sympathy that might grow, that " 
 
 '' Hush ! You distress me." 
 
 He said no more, but rose and went to the 
 window. The interval before he spoke again 
 was well-nigh unbearable. I saw him mechani- 
 cally take out his cigar-case, and slowly cut off 
 
 225 P 
 
My Son and I 
 
 the tip of a cigar with his penknife. He stared 
 at it with curious interest. A white butterfly 
 flew in through the open window, fluttered 
 about the glass, its strong shadow bobbing 
 about on the lace curtain. He gazed at it with 
 a sort of soulless attention. The French clock 
 on the mantelpiece ticked with extraordinary 
 energy. Outside, a man's rich southern voice 
 was singing, Maiidoli, Mandola. He lighted a 
 match, then suddenly realising what he was 
 doing he blew it out. How my heart ached ! 
 Surely I felt as wretched as he. If only he 
 hadn't spoken ! Mr. Ryan turned. Never 
 before had I noticed how accentuated his stoop 
 had become. He was quite pale. Was it the 
 southern morning light that deepened the lines 
 about his mouth — or was it I that had — A 
 sob rose to my aching throat, which was hard 
 and dry. 
 
 '' I blame myself," he said sadly ; his voice 
 was unsteady, and it unnerved me to hear it. 
 '' My loneliness made me selfish. I have dis- 
 tressed you, and, believe me, I would not cause 
 you pain if I could help it. But I shall always 
 cherish you in my heart ; you cannot prevent 
 that." 
 
 << Your regard is very precious to me," I 
 replied, breathing more freely again. ''And I 
 
 226 
 
Marriage Bells 
 
 shall value your esteem and feel very grateful 
 for it. Your presence has always been so very 
 welcome to me — such a comfort to me. Don't 
 deprive me of it," I added wistfully. 
 
 '^ My dear friend, indeed I shall take ad- 
 vantage of what you say, / shall take comfort 
 in seeing you oftener than in the past, and shall 
 claim the privilege of taking upon myself just a 
 little of the care the children take of you. You 
 will let me do that ? " 
 
 I tried to smile. He quickly raised my hand 
 to his lips and walked quietly away. 
 
 I moved to where he had stood at the win- 
 dow, and again I gazed on the red-roofed villas 
 below, on the orange trees and the smooth 
 sea, and again my eyes wandered to the 
 timbered height to the left with its cascade 
 glinting fillets of silver, and — I couldn't stifle 
 the feeling — I longed to be in that deep calm 
 slumber with those others, near by. So calmly 
 at rest. 
 
 When I looked round my son was standing 
 before me. He said : 
 
 " Pa-in-law has just gone — slunk off, I might 
 
 say — Halloa ! " looking at me narrowly, 
 
 '' what's up ? I know he thinks tons of you. 
 
 Good Lord ! " he exclaimed, stroking his beard, 
 
 <' he hasn't been " 
 
 227 
 
My Son and I 
 
 I wasn't listening to what else he was 
 saying ; those words of his sounded peculiarly 
 familiar in my ears, as though I had lived 
 through it all before. Where had I heard those 
 words before ? Yes, now I knew ; they were 
 bringing back to my mind Charlie, my son's 
 friend — Charlie's boyish craze — Charlie, who 
 had married Alma Dryden. 
 
 — '' I should have imagined," added my son 
 thoughtfully, '^ that with so many admirers, and 
 being altogether such a helpless little Mater 
 to battle alone with the world, that she would 
 have " 
 
 '' Oh no, you wouldn't," I interrupted in a 
 whisper, burying my face in my hands ; ^^ you 
 wouldn't had you been old enough to re- 
 member your father." 
 
 228 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A PRIVATE MATTER 
 
 By the time we returned home I was as strong 
 as usual, thanks to Sir Alan. Dulcie was installed 
 quietly at Wimbledon, and my son came to town 
 daily to attend to his work and to see me each 
 evening before he went back. Mr. Ryan called 
 every morning, before settling down to write, in 
 order to see if he could be of any use to me, 
 and to hear whatever family news there was. 
 I visited Aunt Prue frequently, and MacDonald 
 kept me company during the intervals ; the poor 
 dog's eyesight and hearing had grown defective, 
 and care had to be taken when out-of-doors 
 that he should not be run over, like any other 
 old gentleman. 
 
 In fact, he was getting too old for anything but 
 a pension, and there was talk of his beating a 
 dignified retreat to the stables, where we knew 
 the coachman's wife would soothe his old age 
 with unlimited tripe ; but I put off the evil hour 
 of parting with him — I couldn't bear the idea of 
 seeing the hearthrug untenanted — or (dreadful 
 
 229 
 
My Son and I 
 
 suggestion of the coachman's) a new hearthrug 
 that would always remind me of poor Don. 
 
 The week-ends we all spent together at 
 Wimbledon, and very delightful those days 
 were, with strolls on the Common so specially 
 favoured with glorious sunsets, and drives in 
 the neighbourhood — in the most congenial of 
 all company, harmonious and cheerful. They 
 seemed, too, to do Mr. Ryan much good ; he 
 didn't keep such late hours, and took something 
 of a holiday. Something of a holiday, I say, for 
 he never took a real holiday, asserting always 
 that the only times he tried taking a real rest 
 were the only times he got laid up with head- 
 ache ; so we had long left off persuading him 
 to give up w^orking so hard. Thus the weeks 
 slipped evenly on. 
 
 One morning, when Mr. Ryan had just left 
 my flat, I was apprised that Mrs. Dryden was 
 awaiting me in the drawing-room. I wondered 
 what could have possibly brought her at that 
 unconventional hour, she who was so very con- 
 ventional in everything. In fact, Mrs. Dryden 
 was one of those formal women who never 
 under any circumstances '' let themselves go," 
 and would evince no small surprise if any one 
 else should ever do anything at all informal. 
 Very tall, and very stiff, she looked as though 
 
 230 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 she were encased, more or less, in whalebone 
 from head to foot ; and not even a wisp of 
 her stiff chevelure was ever by a single hair 
 sympathetically misplaced. My blue silk gown 
 was too pretty to be conventional, so I hurried 
 in to her, saying : 
 
 '^ I wouldn't keep you waiting, Mrs. Dryden, 
 
 whilst I dressed." 
 
 '' Good morning ! Pray forgive me for calling 
 at such an unearthly hour ; but 1 thought I 
 should be sure to find you at home, and you 
 have no day." The latter was said in a tone of 
 
 reproach it was rather a habit with her, these 
 
 innuendos with a subtle little sting. 
 
 '< I'm glad to see my friends at any time," I 
 replied innocently, but with a slight weighing on 
 the ''friends." 1 didn't care for her, but one 
 must put up with people in this world as amiably 
 as one can. She did not approve of her son-in- 
 law, and that rather hurt me. '' Pray -it down, 
 
 Mrs. Dryden." 
 
 '< I have come," she said, seating herself on 
 the stiffest-looking chair and eyeing my frivolous 
 laces and bangles of charms with evident dis- 
 approval for one in my lone condition. *' I 
 have come," she repeated, concentrating her 
 attention on what was in her mind, '' to talk to 
 
 you about Alma." 
 
 231 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '' I hope," I replied, with a smile of anticipa- 
 tion, ^' that that implies good news, present, or 
 prospective." 
 
 Mrs. Dryden looked at me coldly. '' I have 
 come to talk to you about Alma — about her ill- 
 assorted match. Of course she is unhappy. 
 What could she expect ? " 
 
 I was thoroughly disconcerted. " Ill-assorted, 
 did you say ? " 
 
 '' She would marry him, you know." This was 
 a covert reproach at my connivance. 
 
 '' I thought they were so happy!" I exclaimed. 
 <' You are surely mistaken — perhaps, perhaps 
 you don't quite understand her." 
 
 ^' If I don't understand her, who on earth 
 should ? " she asked petulantly. 
 
 '' Of course, but " 
 
 '' Allow me to assure you there's no ' but ' 
 about it. She's thoroughly unhappy ; any one 
 can see that at a glance." 
 
 '< I haven't seen Alma since before I went 
 away," I ventured in excuse. '* Indeed, I'm 
 most distressed at what you tell me. Charlie, 
 then, is unhappy too ? " 
 
 ^' I can't say. I don't pretend to understand 
 him. His ways are not my ways ; but of course 
 I never interfere. I am glad your son's marriage 
 has turned out so successfully, though Alma 
 
 232 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 would, I am sure, have made just as good a 
 wife. The whole affair was most peculiar." 
 
 '' Has Alma told you she is so unhappy ? " 
 
 A shadow passed over Mrs. Dryden's face 
 as she admitted : 
 
 •' Alma is very reticent always. She doesn't 
 confide in me as she might — girls have queer 
 notions nowadays. I thought that — that — 
 perhaps you might " 
 
 I was uncharitable enough to let her stumble 
 on — this mother who was only just beginning 
 to realise all she had lost in her hitherto light 
 appreciation of her only daughter's affection. 
 It is extraordinary how often it happens that 
 only the grandchild's appeal will awaken the 
 maternal instinct so long dormant. 
 
 ^'No, I haven't seen her since before I went 
 abroad, when she seemed quite her usual self. 
 I wonder what could have happened. Have 
 you any grounds for thinking " 
 
 Mrs. Dryden rose. She seemed unusually 
 flurried ; the conventional mask was lifted 
 slightly. 
 
 *' Don't go," I urged. <' I wish I could be of 
 some service." 
 
 " I have some shopping to do. I only came 
 on the chance. I hope I didn't disturb you. 
 I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you on 
 
 233 
 
My Son and I 
 
 one of my Tuesdays soon, if you can manage 
 it. Good morning ! " 
 
 '^ You are very kind. Good morning ! " 
 
 I rang the bell, and was glad when I heard 
 the lift taking her away. I returned to the 
 morning-room and wrote a letter to Alma, 
 inviting her to come and lunch with me next 
 day. I thought, before seeing her, that I would 
 corroborate Mrs. Dryden's statement by interro- 
 gating my son, so when he paid me the late 
 afternoon visit, and I had heard how Dulcie 
 was, 1 said : 
 
 '' 1 haven't seen anything of the Lanes for a 
 long time. You and Dulcie dined there last 
 week, didn't you ? " 
 
 '' Yes, and a very nice little dinner it was ; 
 you want to know the menu, of course ? Excel- 
 lent soup, whitebait. Let me see what came 
 next ? Oh, it was " 
 
 '' Yes, yes," 1 said impatiently. 
 
 '< Don't you want to know. Mater ? You 
 always do ; it must have been — no, I've clean 
 forgotten." 
 
 '' Never mind, dear. Were they looking well 
 and happy ? " 
 
 '' First rate. She has grown handsomer than 
 ever — but not a patch on Dulcie." 
 
 '^ Of course, she isn't. And — and Charlie ? " 
 
 234 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 '' Charlie is an excellent host. And he's got 
 some jolly good cigars." 
 
 '' I thought you preferred the plebeian pipe, 
 you two." 
 
 '< So we do ; but pipes belong to bachelor 
 days. Wives don't like them." 
 
 ^' How^ about mothers ? " 
 
 '' I suppose poor little mothers are used 
 to sacrificing themselves," rejoined my son, 
 laughing. 
 
 '' Did Charlie say anything about Alma when 
 you smoked ? " 
 
 <' We only got on to the remote time of our 
 student days." He glanced at the clock. ''I 
 say ! I've left so little time, and I promised I'd 
 run in and see pa-in-law ; he gets anxious 
 about Dulcie, and I don't think he's over well 
 himself. I may lose my train." 
 
 '^Then hurry, dear. Give Dulcie my best 
 love, please, and tell her I am longing to come 
 down and see her before the end of the week." 
 
 " Is that a promise ? " he said, embracing me. 
 
 '' Yes. Willingly." 
 
 I tormented myself half the night about the 
 affairs of Charlie and Alma, all the more for 
 having had no news of them for so long, and 
 in the circumstances it seemed that no news 
 might be bad news. 
 
 235 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Alma came punctually, rather showily dressed, 
 I thought, and greeted me affectionately as usual. 
 She talked about things in general in her airy, 
 slightly cynical way during luncheon, and I 
 hoped she would touch upon her own affairs 
 later. We took coffee cosily together in my 
 sanctum, but she evidently had no idea of con- 
 fiding anything, if indeed she had anything to 
 confide. Time was slipping on, and I feared 
 my one opportunity would be lost. 
 
 ^' I'm glad to hear Charlie is so well," I began, 
 as a starting point. '< It seems so curious to 
 think of him married — such a dear baby he was, 
 with his golden topknot ! " 
 
 ^' Was he ? " she replied vaguely, glancing in 
 the mirror critically, and she replaced a hairpin 
 to her better satisfaction. 
 
 ^' Yes, and a special pet of mine. It was 
 sad for him, though he never appeared to feel it, 
 living with his old grandmother, and then, when 
 she died, living all alone in student's lodgings. 
 He must love having his own bright home, and 
 his nice bright wife there to welcome him after 
 his busy day." 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 '' Isn't it so. Alma ? " 
 
 '' I suppose so," she answered, so laconically 
 while suppressing a yawn that I knew in a flash 
 
 236 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 her mother must be right. '< Don't you feel 
 well ? " she inquired. 
 
 '' I didn't sleep very much last night, but I'm 
 all right." 
 
 '' Then you ought to lie down now and 
 rest. I'll go. I have a h-iend coming in 
 to tea." 
 
 '' Teatime is a long way off — I'd rather talk. 
 Your mother was here yesterday. She seems 
 anxious about you." 
 
 ^* That's a novelty ! " laughed Alma derisively. 
 '^ She's never troubled herself very much about 
 me except with regard to everything in the 
 shape of forms and convention — chaperons, 
 deportment, show of religion, and so forth. I 
 don't call that having a mother ; do you ? " 
 
 ^' I think she's different of late. You see, 
 when a mother has a married daughter there is 
 naturally more sympathy — more — I don't think 
 you quite understand what I mean." 
 
 << I'm afraid I don't. Years ago I could have 
 loved her. I longed to love her, had she only 
 let me." 
 
 '' I'm sure, Alma, if ever you were in trouble 
 and wanted womanly sympathy you would find 
 it not lacking in your mother, if you were to 
 turn to her now." 
 
 '^ Well, I don't mind telling you that she 
 
 237 
 
My Son and I 
 
 would be the last person in the world I should 
 ever dream of turning to." 
 
 Alma's face was not handsome now ; it was 
 vindictive, and a heavy frown showed the passion 
 that lurked in her headstrong temperament. 
 
 '' Alma," I said earnestly, '' I hope you make 
 Charlie happy. He deserves it, he's such a 
 dear, good, unselfish fellow ! " 
 
 ''What makes you think I don't?" she asked 
 aggressively. '' Has he been complaining ? " she 
 added, as I didn't reply. 
 
 '< Has he cause to ? " I asked, looking steadily 
 into her eyes. 
 
 '' Find out ! " She flung the two words at me 
 passionately, rudely. 
 
 '' It's not like you to talk to me in that way," 
 I answered sadly, suppressing my astonishment. 
 There was a long pause whilst she brooched 
 together some lace that her brusque movement 
 had torn. 
 
 '' Did you invite me for this ? " she asked, 
 with blazing eyes. 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 For the moment she was too surprised to 
 answer. I had become desperately anxious. 
 '' I'm too fond of both of you," I hastened to 
 add, '' to rest quiet if you and Charlie are not 
 happy together." 
 
 238 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 '' Your son is happy. I should have thought 
 that was enough. I don't see what you want to 
 interfere with us for." 
 
 " You know^, Alma, that interfering is not one 
 of my habits. Give me a plain answer to this 
 — Is Charlie happy ?" 
 
 '' I suppose so," she replied petulantly, in 
 scornful italics. 
 
 '' And you ? Alma, don't be silent — you see, 
 I'm in a way responsible," I pleaded. '' Tell 
 me, dear, are you happy ? " 
 
 ''No, I'm not. There!" she buried her 
 head in the sofa cushion, and burst into 
 hysterical weeping. I went and sat next to 
 her ; she pushed me away, but when I put 
 my arm round her neck she suffered me to 
 draw her closer. I said nothing until her sobs 
 came less frequently, and then she herself 
 began : 
 
 '' I've made a muddle of my whole life. I've 
 had heaps of offers, but not the right one — in 
 time." 
 
 '' But I understood you broke off the engage- 
 ment with my son because you loved Charlie, 
 wasn't that true ? " I asked, bewildered. 
 
 '' Quite true, b — but " 
 
 '' But what?" 
 
 '' There's a man who has been in love 
 
 239 
 
My Son and I 
 
 with me for years, and who never came 
 forward — if only I had known ! And he 
 loves me ! " 
 
 '' And do you mean to say he has come 
 forward now ? — Alma, dear, be frank with me. 
 Let me see if a little sympathy and advice can't 
 be of service to you now." 
 
 '' Nothing can be of service to me now," she 
 replied in a fury of disappointment, and as 
 if she hardly knew what she said, she con- 
 tinued in a torrent of words : '' I hate the 
 world. I wish I was out of it. Charlie is 
 sure to know all sooner or later, although he 
 doesn't now. I don't care. I wish I were 
 dead ! I can't even bear to see his portrait 
 on the writing-table smiling at me. I've shut 
 up the case ! " 
 
 ''Alma!" I cried, horrified. My thoughts 
 flew to Marcella's early life. 
 
 '' I've tried to do away with myself in a way 
 not to cause scandal and offend my mother — 
 my mother ! " Again there came the bitter 
 laugh. '^ I've stood on the balcony and let 
 the keen night air play on my bare chest, just 
 when I was very hot, and prayed I might get 
 fever or something and die from it. He loves 
 me passionately, and I find I love him too. I 
 can't live with Charlie any longer— to see him 
 
 240 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 is one constant reproach. I cl(jn't care any 
 more what becomes of me." 
 
 ^' Isn't that very selfish ? Can't you look 
 higher and find comfort there ? " 
 
 ''In religion, do you mean?" she cried. 
 '' I'm giving up having any at all. I never had 
 much ; and as to going to heaven," she con- 
 tinued vehemently, laughing bitterly once more, 
 '' it seems to me that every one must go there 
 who dies, simply because the world itself hap- 
 pens to be the — Other Place." 
 
 *' That is one way of looking at it, certainly. 
 You remember what Omar Khayyam says on the 
 subject?" I replied, hoping to lead her into a 
 calmer mood. 
 
 '' I don't want to argue it. I don't care for 
 anything or anybody. Oh, I'm so miserable — 
 wretched — utterly, utterly wretched ! " and she 
 broke into violent sobs again. 
 
 I made her drink a little water, opened my 
 
 scent-bottle and moistened her hot, throbbing 
 
 temples. When she took my hand and kissed 
 
 it, I wasn't slow to follow up my advantage. 
 
 '' Now tell me his name," I urged. It took a 
 
 long time whilst I begged, coaxed, and entreated. 
 
 Then she murmured so low that I only just 
 
 caught the word : 
 
 '' Harry." 
 
 241 Q 
 
My Son and I 
 
 ^' Harry who ? " 
 
 '' Harry Wallace. He has loved me ever 
 since he first saw me." 
 
 I bounded up. '^ Harry Wallace has 
 loved you ever since he first saw you ? 
 Really ? Then why did he propose for 
 Dulcie ? " 
 
 It was her turn to bound up. Her face 
 paled under the red blotches from crying as she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " I never heard that ! Dulcie never told me. 
 I don't believe it." 
 
 '' Ask her," 1 replied coldly. " You under- 
 stand that it would not be like Dulcie to flaunt 
 a conquest, or to speak of it, as he formed 
 one of our intimate circle — most unfortunately. 
 Harry Wallace is merely a flirt ; he always was 
 — evidently an unscrupulous flirt and a worth- 
 less man." 
 
 I had given her a shock ; it was necessary. 
 I was thankful it was he, and that I was able to 
 administer that cold douche. She tried to keep 
 a brave front, and asked, ''Then why didn't she 
 marry him, eh ? " 
 
 '' Because she didn't care for him." Alma 
 gave a scornful laugh — hurtful, and it jarred ; 
 she was sceptical evidently. 
 
 ''You are right, perhaps, not to believe too 
 
 242 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 easily. But you remember Nurse Patrick ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 '^ Yes." 
 
 ''He proposed to her when he knew she was 
 engaged to her cousin." 
 
 '' How can you know that ? " 
 
 '' Because I gave him the news of ' her. 
 engagement myself, and she told me after- 
 wards that he had proposed to her. We 
 compared notes, and his behaviour was re- 
 vealed, for it was after he had seen me. I 
 took the first opportunity of telling him 
 what I thought of him, and I've not met 
 him since. But I will see him if you empower 
 me to ; and. Alma, my poor darling, you 
 will let me warn him to take himself away 
 altogether ? " 
 
 She clung to me, crying, and I knew I had 
 won the day. " Pull yourself together, dear. 
 Go home, and tell Charlie everything. I know 
 he will think you've been sufficiently punished 
 by all you have suffered. Be your own brave 
 self. For you are brave, Alma. Be a good 
 wife and Charlie will only love you all the more. 
 It's the right thing, the only thing to do, and no 
 shadow will remain between you. Have you 
 really told me everything ? " I added in sudden 
 dread. 
 
 243 
 
My Son and I 
 
 << Everything," she repUed, in such a voice 
 that I knew it was true. 
 
 '' Then go home and do as I say." 
 
 '' I can't tell him." 
 
 << Shall I ? " 
 
 She kissed my hand again. I took her home 
 myself. 
 
 When I told my son that I had seen Harry 
 Wallace by appointment, and that he was think- 
 ing of leaving London in order to apply himself 
 to some work in Australia instead of idling his 
 time here, he burst out laughing. '' What 
 diabolical machinations have you been unearth- 
 ing now to take such a step all by your dear 
 little self ? Because this sounds like your 
 work, Mater." 
 
 '< It's a private matter, dear ; but I want you 
 to oblige me and have nothing further to do 
 with him. He quite understands he will not be 
 welcome in our circle." 
 
 '' He certainly is a bit wild — but — surely 
 there's no real harm in him ? He's not been 
 offending you in any way, I hope ? " 
 
 '' Not me, personally, so I mustn't speak. 
 
 But perhaps I know more to his detriment 
 
 than you do. He is not a good friend, and 
 
 you would not approve of him, if you knew." 
 
 ''Well, I won't press you, in the circumstances." 
 
 244 
 
A Private Matter 
 
 <*Then let the matter rest there. He is 
 going away to make himself a position in 
 Australia — that's the explanation, and I should 
 think he would marry out there, as he has no 
 ties here. There is plenty of good in him, I 
 suppose, and this may be the turning point." 
 
 It was not very long before Mr. and Mrs. 
 Lane dined with me, and a brighter couple it 
 has seldom been my lot to entertain. Without 
 having mentioned it, I had Mrs. Dryden there 
 to meet them. 
 
 The quarter of an hour before dinner was 
 certainly made frosty enough by her presence, 
 although Charlie did his best to thaw it. To 
 me the minutes were interesting through the 
 growing surprise I detected on Mrs. Dryden's 
 face, though she did her best to hide it. It 
 began when she had said to Alma : 
 
 '' We shall be having a family party in the 
 country on the 5th of next month. Of course 
 you will join us. I shall expect you by an 
 early train, and to stay as long as you will." 
 
 '' But, mamma ! Charlie can't possibly leave 
 town then." 
 
 '< Perhaps you will join us later ? " she said 
 coldly, turning to him. 
 
 << You are very kind," replied Charlie briskly, 
 but in the briskness there lurked a ring of 
 
 245 
 
My Son and I 
 
 sarcasm. '' I fear I could only get away too 
 late to join your party, and I should not like 
 to inconvenience you by turning up when you 
 were longing again for town. The point is 
 my being deserted." 
 
 " Deserted ! " 
 
 '' I couldn't possibly be there and Charlie 
 left alone at home, mamma/' said Alma. 
 
 Mrs. Dryden looked bewildered. 
 
 '< I'm afraid I can't spare her/' rejoined 
 Charlie. 
 
 '' Not to come to her own family ? " 
 
 '< No, mamma, of course he can't. I don't 
 think that any of them would expect me to be 
 there if my husband was not able to accompany 
 me." 
 
 It now began to dawn upon Mrs. Dryden 
 that her recent surmise must have been un- 
 founded, and I certainly said nothing to en- 
 lighten her. She became unusually pleasant, 
 and promised to send Charlie some of her '34 
 port — an amazing sign of satisfaction which 
 made an unnecessarily deep impression on 
 Charlie. But I know that the port went to 
 him, all the same ; for I soon had an oppor- 
 tunity of tasting it at his house a week later — 
 only a quarter of a glass — just to taste. 
 
 246 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 MAY BLOSSOM 
 
 Spring again was in the air, and my parlour 
 was gay with may blossom, which I had ar- 
 ranged in all the bowls and vases. Mr. Ryan 
 always took pleasure in getting it for me 
 when in season, as he knew my delight in my 
 namesake flower. The little note on the table 
 had informed me he would have brought it 
 himself had he not been slightly ailing. 
 
 ''A regular bower of sweetness," said my 
 son, when he came in, looking round and 
 sniffing the pleasant fragrance. '^ Reminds one 
 of the scented air in Nice. Do you know, 
 Mater, I think — oh, never mind " 
 
 '< But I do mind." 
 
 ''Well, I think — Dulcie thinks too — I mean, 
 wasn't it rather a mistake on your part " 
 
 " I never make mistakes," I interrupted with 
 mock seriousness ; " but which particular one 
 do you mean ? " 
 
 " You know. Pa-in-law really is so very 
 
 247 
 
My Son and I 
 
 lonely, and no longer takes the great interest in 
 his work he used ; he only chips up when we 
 are all together in Wimbledon. Your life is 
 dreadfully solitary — and, well, what I want you 
 to know is that if you are thinking of us in the 
 matter. Mater, doiit ; that's all I can say, so 
 now it's out. Phew ! You won't mind my 
 having said so much ? " 
 
 '' My dear boy, I'm always glad to listen to 
 your views, and I know you always mean 
 kindly — but whether I agree with them is a very 
 different matter ; and in spite of the ' helpless- 
 ness,'" I added, smiling, << you so often impress 
 upon me as being afflicted with, for fear, I 
 suppose, of my forgetting it, in spite of it I jog 
 along fairly serenely. I had three years of 
 happy married life," I added sadly, '< only three 
 years " 
 
 '' All right. Cheer up, Mater ! Is that a 
 new dress ? " 
 
 ''Yes, darling. Do you like it ? " 
 
 '' Suits you down to the ground. How am 
 I to explain it to Dulcie ? White bombazine 
 trimmed with muslin and gold twiddles ? " 
 
 '' You can save yourself all that expertise. 
 She has had a private view. Listen, before you 
 go. You don't expect me, and Mr. Ryan, this 
 week-end as usual, do you ? " 
 
 248 
 
May Blossom 
 
 ^' Better not. I'm not coming to town these 
 next days — -I don't like to leave Dulcie — so I'll 
 send you a line every morning. How about 
 MacDonald ? You'd better pension him whilst 
 he's here to enjoy it." 
 
 ''Well see next week ; perhaps then I shall 
 not miss him so much, eh ? " 
 
 He laughed and kissed me even more affec- 
 tionately than usual, as though to make up for 
 the coming little separation. 
 
 During the next days an unusual idea dawned 
 upon me and took possession of me. " I'm 
 growing selfish," I kept repeating to myself, 
 '' living only for myself ; even my own children 
 say so. Look what Aunt Prue did for poor old 
 Josef Blum, and she was much older than I 
 am, devoting herself where she could do good, 
 whilst here I sit and waste my years brood- 
 ing on the past, and thinking myself most 
 exemplary if only I show a cheerful face. I 
 am not only growing selfish, I aui selfish, and 
 have been selfish for ever so long. That must 
 be what the boy meant when he hinted ; I 
 never can seem to take a hint. Of course — " 
 I took up the crochet I was doing for Aunt 
 Prue to help the latest '' most deserving case," 
 and I crocheted those thoughts all round the 
 woollen coverlet. After I had crocheted them 
 
 249 
 
My Son and I 
 
 all round again, I put the work away, put my 
 bonnet on the top of my whirling thoughts, and 
 strolled out for a little air. 
 
 I was still so absorbed when I got to the 
 cross-roads by the Square that I was nearly run 
 over. I gathered my wits firmer together and 
 entered the private hotel close by, and was 
 ushered straight into Mr. Ryan's library. 
 
 He was sitting wrapped in his dressing-gown 
 in the easy-chair near the open window. On 
 the sill was a little bunch of may in a silver vase. 
 His eyes were closed, and his face was w^orn and 
 pale. He started up with pleasure on hearing 
 me announced ; I begged he wouldn't move. 
 
 '< It's Mrs. Mahomet and the Literary Moun- 
 tain," I said in explanation, seating myself on 
 the chair which he placed for me and drew 
 forward. 
 
 '' I don't know which of us could be taken 
 for the Literary Mountain," he replied cheer- 
 fully, '< but this is really very kind." 
 
 '' I am anxious to know how you are to-day ; 
 and as you are not able to come round and see 
 me, which I miss very much, and as my boy 
 remains at Wimbledon, I don't get enough 
 bulletins, and I'm — I'm neglected." 
 
 '< Neglected, are you ? No, you are not 
 serious." 
 
 250 
 
May Bl 
 
 ossom 
 
 '* I'm not serious, but I am neglected," I 
 affirmed, smiling, '' so I think I will pay you 
 some afternoon visits in the morning, and 
 this is the inaugural one." I was noticing 
 his pale lips and haggard appearance, and 
 wondered if he wasn't really vefy ill. " Are 
 you feeling better to-day ? " 
 
 '' Much better now. I shall be all right 
 soon. How kind of you to say you miss my 
 coming. Am I really going to have this little 
 treat daily ? Why, I shall feel cheered for the 
 remainder of each day." 
 
 " You poor old friend ! " 
 
 '* Have you ever been told how soothing 
 your voice is ? " 
 
 '' Old Josef Blum used to say so. No one 
 else that I remember, except — no, no one else." 
 
 "There is music in it, and it is peculiarly 
 soft. I've always been sensitive to the quality 
 of people's voices. How often it is that a 
 woman's beauty is painfully bereft of charm 
 w^hen she opens her mouth and her tones are 
 as raucous as a peacock's. Your cousin, Dr. 
 Whyte, was commenting on that only yester- 
 day." 
 
 '' Is he going to keep you a prisoner here 
 
 long ? " 
 
 <' About a week, he seems to think." 
 
 251 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '' May I bring my crochet with me to- 
 morrow ? Would it fidget you ? " 
 
 *' Nothing you do could ever fidget me. 
 What a preposterous notion ! Tell me, when 
 are you going to write another volume of fairy 
 stories ? " 
 
 '< Never. Why should I ? " 
 
 '^ For the coming generation, of course." 
 
 '' I think I might make myself more useful 
 than that." 
 
 ^' How ? Surely you don't contemplate in- 
 dulging in any mad freak like your Aunt 
 Prue ? That's just how she began." He was 
 looking so scared at his fancy that I hastened 
 to reply : 
 
 " Oh no ; I couldn't possibly leave my family 
 with ties so very close." 
 
 ''Ah!" he said, strangely relieved. ''Why, 
 we should all be utterly lost without you." We 
 chatted for some time, and when I left we both 
 felt considerably cheered. 
 
 The next morning I found Mr. Ryan de- 
 cidedly better and dressed in his usual spruce 
 fashion. While I crocheted he read to me 
 from Dickens's " Christmas Carol " — a favourite 
 with us, as with every one who has ever read it, 
 or who is ever likely to read it. (I wonder if 
 that's quite logical.) I had worked round and 
 
 252 
 
May Blossom 
 
 round the coverlet, and as I rolled it up it 
 struck noon, my hour to return. 
 
 '' I shall look forward to to-morrow," he said 
 gratefully, pressing my hand as I rose. How 
 it came about I don't know, but I found 
 myself seated again, and I heard myself saying 
 impulsively : 
 
 '< Oh, Mr. Rvan, I wish I could stay always 
 to take care of you and nurse you well myself." 
 
 He bent towards me with a flush of joy, then 
 resumed his position against the cushion ; the 
 smile faded, and he sighed heavily. 
 
 '' But you couldn't stop here, my dear friend. 
 Why, people might talk." 
 
 " I think I made a mistake," I murmured, 
 and I began to cry. I would have given worlds 
 not to ; I turned my head away, hoping he 
 wouldn't notice it. His hand was on my 
 shoulder, which shook convulsively at the 
 moment and betrayed me more than aught 
 else could have done already. 
 
 ''A mistake?" he repeated. ^' Oh yes; of 
 course. You spoke on the impulse of the 
 moment — I understand." For a moment he 
 was occupied rearranging the papers on the 
 table, which gave me an opportunity furtively 
 to dry my eyes and turn towards him with my 
 usual composure. 
 
 253 
 
My Son and I 
 
 ^' I don't think, Mr. Ryan, that you do quite 
 understand. It is — it is rather difficult to make 
 myself clear. I find that I — that you — " I 
 stopped in dismay at my clumsiness. 
 
 '' Tell me frankly. We have been good 
 friends too long that you should hesitate or 
 feel confused ; for it's many years since I 
 arrogated to myself the position of your humble 
 philosopher and friend." 
 
 He said it with so much earnestness that my 
 diffidence suddenly vanished. '< When I said 
 < I made a mistake ' I meant that what I thought 
 impossible when you spoke to me at Nice, I 
 should now find a solace." I covered my face 
 with my hand, it had got so flushed. The next 
 moment when I looked up I caught sight of 
 myself in the mirror, and I w'as ashy white ; 
 and I saw in it his face, too, so close to mine, 
 looking at me with unutterable tenderness. 
 
 '< Dearest of all women," he said, and my 
 heart began thumping so it was almost painful, 
 '' then your answer to the dearest wish of my 
 soul would be different now ? " 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 " You would consent to be my wife ? '" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 '' You are sorry for me and my loneliness ? " 
 
 '' Yes, indeed." 
 
 254 
 
May Blossom 
 
 '' It really saddens you to see me ailing and 
 alone ? " 
 
 ''Yes. Really." 
 
 '' Do you love — " he checked himself. 
 '' What my life is, what it could be with you 
 always at my side ! But such happiness is not 
 for me. I understand you, dearest, sweetest 
 friend, better, perhaps, than you realise your 
 own feelings." He paused, then resumed 
 slowly and sadly, '' You ' have loved and 
 lost.' It would — it could only be a sacrifice." 
 
 '< Oh, please " 
 
 " If I were to challenge you — which I 
 wouldn't," he replied gently, '^ you could not 
 deny it. Believe me," he said, earnestly press- 
 ing my hand to his lips, '' I am the prouder 
 for knowing what you would do for my sake — 
 for the sacrifice of sacred sentiment you are 
 prepared to make ; but my saint is in her 
 niche and I must be content to worship at 
 her shrine." 
 
 I was dismayed at the turn things had taken. 
 ''And now I've made you more wretched than 
 before," was all I could say. It never occurred 
 to me at the time to argue the matter — what he 
 had said was so true. We both knew it was 
 true, beyond challenge and beyond talk. 
 
 " More wretched ? I assure you I'm prouder 
 
 255 
 
My Son and I 
 
 and deeply grateful, and with a greater reverence 
 than ever for your goodness and forbearance. 
 Let me see you as often as you can, that is all 
 I beg." 
 
 And we remained even firmer friends than of 
 yore, if that were possible. 
 
 The next few days until Mr. Ryan got better 
 and was able to go out my time was divided 
 between him and Aunt Prue. '' How are you 
 getting on with the coverlet ? " asked the latter. 
 
 '' I've not only finished it, I've brought it 
 with me. It wouldn't have been done so 
 quickly if Mr. Ryan hadn't read to me while 
 I sat with him and worked." 
 
 '^ Isn't he better yet, poor man ? He looked 
 very badly when you took me to see him last." 
 
 '^ He's better though, and out again for the 
 first time to-day." 
 
 Aunt Prue had my entire confidence ; she 
 always had that. She proffered no advice ; she 
 knew I needed none. The coverlet for her 
 '' deserving case " was displayed and com- 
 mended. Her deserving cases, I knew for a 
 fact, generally turned out to be most ////de- 
 serving cases. In more than one instance 
 a waistcoat she had knitted and given to one 
 of them was never worn, the man evidently 
 preferring internal warmth to external, and on 
 
 256 
 
May Blossom 
 
 the strength of it his wife had to bail him out 
 'Mike a leaky boat." Had I told Aunt Prue 
 what he had done, she would probably have 
 said : 
 
 '' Poor fellow ! He must have done it to 
 drown his sorrows. I will knit him another." 
 
 I really never saw such a worthless, ungrate- 
 ful lot as were some of those whom Aunt Prue 
 befriended. With all her experience she never 
 seemed to see in all its hideous reality the 
 seamy side of life. She would shut her eyes 
 up tight to it and see nothing but the good 
 in the world, and when she was imposed upon, 
 as she frequently w^as, and hadn't shut her 
 eyes quite quickly enough, out would come 
 her " However ! " and the incident would be 
 abruptly closed. Aunt Prue now interrupted 
 my cynical thoughts by remarking : 
 
 <^ Good news from Wimbledon ? " 
 
 ''Yes, but I'm hourly expecting better still. 
 They know at home where I am if a telegram 
 should arrive." When we were taking tea 
 together in the cottage garden, for the weather 
 was very mild that afternoon, Aunt Prue 
 inquired of a sudden : 
 
 " Who's going to be godmother ? " 
 
 " I know w^ho ought to be." 
 
 " You, Dearie." 
 
 257 R 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '' Me ! " I exclaimed (a '' literary woman," 
 too !). '^ Of course not. One venerable duty 
 is quite enough for one small person." 
 
 "Don't let them ask me, Dearie. I don't 
 approve of old godmothers ; she should be 
 a younger woman, a prop, able to help and 
 direct through life — at least through the earlier 
 years of it." 
 
 '' I don't believe they can have the faintest 
 idea of asking any one but you ; and if it's a 
 girl, she is to bear your name and mine." 
 
 "Then tell them my views gently. Dearie. 
 My name they are welcome to, but for the 
 duty as I see it, I am too much of a modern 
 antique." 
 
 " As you wish it, I certainly will tell them ; 
 but I think you ought to suggest a proxy," I 
 added, laughing ; " and I don't see where you 
 are to find one. Mr. Ryan is to be godfather, 
 so for its own credit and renown our family has 
 got to supply the godmother." 
 
 "Then there's only you, Dearie," coaxed 
 Aunt Prue, '' unless we forgive Barbara. I 
 think she regrets her extraordinary slight of us, 
 so that it would mean a reconciliation ; and the 
 infant might have to put up with three names." 
 At that moment the telegraph boy sauntered 
 through the little gate. I tore open the yellow 
 
 258 
 
May Blossom 
 
 envelope I had snatched from him, read the 
 telegram to Aunt Priie, quickly took leave of 
 her, and hurried into the victoria. 
 
 '' To Wimbledon ! Quickly, please ! " I 
 ordered. Yet never did any distance appear 
 to me so long. 
 
 259 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ERIC 
 
 My dearest wish was gratified. The white 
 bassinette was tenanted, and whenever httle 
 Eric set up a lusty cry from its billowy depths, 
 the yellow canary in its gilt cage piped away in 
 chorus. Alex was his second name, and Mr. 
 Ryan supported me nobly in my adoration of 
 our grandson. Aunt Prue attended the little 
 festive gathering. Her suggestion had been 
 accepted — Barbara had come over from abroad 
 on a flying visit specially to be present as god- 
 mother. The event had thus brought about 
 a pleasant reconciliation, quite unexpectedly. 
 Though deep down in my mind I had a sus- 
 picion it was all a deeply hatched plot on Aunt 
 Prue's part, brooded over for some time past, 
 and for her quite ingeniously worked. 
 
 When Aunt Prue first took the sleeping 
 infant in her arms she exclaimed, '' My word ! 
 who'd have thought I should live to see Dearie's 
 grandbaby ! " The appellation was hailed with 
 
 260 
 
Eric 
 
 delight, and in our little circle it became a pet 
 term — '' Dearie's grandbaby." 
 
 The moment was now opportune for parting 
 with MacDonald. He was duly pensioned and 
 took up his abode at the stables, there to lead a 
 restful and epicurean existence. The parting 
 was not so painful in the new circumstances, 
 and he was still to go out driving with me as 
 usual. 
 
 When the time came for Eric's first social 
 appearances in public I took him all alone to 
 pay a visit to Aunt Prue. What a delightful 
 drive in the victoria that was for me ! He slept 
 in my arms all the way, while I watched and 
 gloated over his tiny features, holding one wee 
 hand in mine, and MacDonald slumbered at my 
 feet. When we arrived at the cottage, Lambert 
 received the white silk bundle with a chuckle of 
 joy and admiration, and I thought Aunt Prue 
 never looked better or more beaming. After 
 tea she and I walked slowly arm-in-arm round 
 the sweet-scented garden. 
 
 The air was full of fragrancy, and Aunt Prue 
 with great pride drew my attention to her pear 
 trees with their pinky buds and full blossoms ; 
 to the undergrowth of primrose and moss, and 
 to the few late daffodils. She made me gather 
 some of the pansies that Dulcie loved to have, 
 
 261 
 
Mv Son and I 
 
 
 but I positively refused to touch the wall-flowers 
 and forget-me-nots she herself was so fond of ; 
 for when they were in flower a bowl of each 
 always decorated her dining-table. After I had 
 duly admired her treasures, her face became 
 wreathed in smiles again as she drew me to a 
 bench, saying : 
 
 " And now. Dearie, I have something to tell 
 you, so you cannot go yet, for I have kept it 
 till the end and I can't keep it to myself any 
 longer." 
 
 '* Something very nice, I can see," I replied. 
 '' One of your cases has turned out particularly 
 well ?" I ventured, stopping myself in time from 
 adding '' for once." 
 
 " No, it's. not about poor people at all." 
 
 What she told me only detained me a few 
 minutes, because I was not allowed to argue it, 
 and I hurried home with Eric, having important 
 news to impart. 
 
 When I took the son and heir into Dulcie's 
 room and deposited him, bonnet and all, into his 
 mother's arms, she was lying on the sofa the 
 picture of pretty young motherhood, and my 
 son was sitting contentedly beside her. 
 
 '' Did you have a pleasant drive ? " he asked. 
 
 '^ Did he cry ? " inquired Dulcie. 
 
 '' He was as good as gold the whole time, and 
 
 262 
 
Eric 
 
 has had enough admiration to turn his httle 
 noddle. He has had a present." 
 
 '* Who from ? — Have you been buying niore 
 things ? " they asked simultaneously. 
 
 '' Eric has had a present from Aunt Prue. 
 Keep calm, Dulcie, for it's a very big present 
 indeed. Aunt Prue has hrmly and unalterably 
 decided to make over at once to Eric practically 
 the whole of the ;^3o,ooo legacy old Mr. Josef 
 Blum left her." 
 
 They rather gasped in the suddenness of 
 their surprise. 
 
 ^' Don't interrupt me ; let me tell you in my 
 own way. She wished that it should be I to an- 
 nounce to you her decision. It greatly astonished 
 nic when she spoke to me about it as we sat 
 near the flowers. She said, ' That's what I've 
 been waiting for all this time — and thankful I 
 am that it has happened during my lifetime. 
 On the day grandbaby was born I set my plan 
 in motion ; and to-day I have signed the deed 
 of settlement.' I was overwhelmed, but she 
 wouldn't allow me to express anything. She 
 stopped me by saying, ' Hush ! There's nothing 
 further to be said. I want for nothing. It is 
 my wish and my wish is law — especially as 
 it is now legalised,' she added, with the old 
 humorous twinkle in her eye, and we both 
 
 263 
 
My Son and I 
 
 laughed. What Aunt Prue wants is a simple 
 acknowledgment of acceptance on behalf of 
 Eric, and strictly not of thanks, under pain of 
 displeasure. She laughed as she said, ' Beg 
 dear Dulcie to send him to see me whenever 
 convenient, as the distance tries my brittle old 
 bones now more than it can possibly try his 
 supple young ones.' " 
 
 So Eric's future was handsomely assured. 
 I wonder did the kind old miser ever imagine 
 which way his gift would drift ! Sometimes I 
 fancy he may have done so, for it was his 
 way to reckon far ahead. Aunt Prue was ever 
 tactful, and revelled in the idea that a new-born 
 babe must submit to a deed of gift without 
 demur and without argument. I am sure no 
 one felt happier over it than she. The advent 
 was an immense joy to her ; she was never 
 tired of talking about my grandbaby. Neither 
 was I. 
 
 Eric really developed into one of the beauti- 
 fulest children ever seen. I cannot deny that 
 tlie lovely fair curls and fresh complexion came 
 from his mother's side of the family, but the 
 dark brown eyes were his father's, though they 
 peeped out more roguishly than his ever did. 
 His disposition in due time showed itself gayer, 
 not so thoughtful or so depend-upon-able — just 
 
 264 
 
'^^^4m "^m'^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 Eric 
 
Eric 
 
 a handsome, bright, tender-hearted tomboy, and 
 so not difficult to manage in spite of being 
 somewhat of '' a handful." 
 
 When he was able to toddle amongst the 
 flowers in the cottage garden, holding on to 
 Aunt Prue's ample skirt and chattering away 
 not very distinctly, we came across a mangey 
 cat, one of Aunt Prue's betes noires, prowling 
 amongst the geraniums and mewing piteously. 
 
 ^' Poor pussy ! " exclaimed the child. 
 
 << It's hungry, I expect," said Aunt Prue. 
 
 ''Grand-auntie, give poor 'ungry pussy a 
 penny," he pleaded. 
 
 '< I'm afraid, lovey, a penny would only give 
 poor pussy a pain inside," replied Aunt Prue, 
 laughing. '' I expect Lambert will want to 
 give it 'a little bread and butter' presently." 
 
 '' No. Give it some nice milk." And this 
 was done to please him. 
 
 '< And may I come to-morrow-day and see 
 poor pussy ? " 
 
 I noticed that she was only too delighted at 
 the idea of another visit so soon. She readily 
 acceded, although she hated harbouring the 
 arch enemy — but in any case Eric's wish 
 brooked no argument. So ''poor pussy" 
 became a permanent member of the cottage 
 household, and I pitied Aunt Prue whilst 
 
 265 
 
My Son and I 
 
 admiring her devotion and sympathising with 
 the animal. 
 
 ''The child likes the creature," she would 
 reply ; '^ it ivill trample on the geraniums — 
 However!" I tried to coax away Eric's deep 
 affection for the really horrid-looking vagrant, 
 or to make him forget it, but to no purpose. 
 Grand-auntie and the cat were immovably in- 
 separable in his infantile mind. 
 
 Several happy years passed evenly and 
 peacefully. 
 
 I looked round the cosy parlour of my 
 flat, which seemed all the cosier for the 
 snow outside heaping itself high upon the 
 window-sill ; and I sighed as I drew my arm- 
 chair nearer to the fire. It was growing dark. 
 
 There was a sudden noise. The door burst 
 open, and a little flying figure, all pinafore, 
 golden curls, flaming cheeks, extended arms, 
 and scampering legs, shaking so with laughter 
 as to impede his speed, flung himself on to my 
 lap, and clasped me round the neck. Out of 
 breath and blowing into my ear, he whispered 
 excitedly : 
 
 ''Gran! hold me tight. Gran! Pertend I'm 
 asleep ! " 
 
 And my son, whose fairy footsteps stamped 
 
 266 
 
Eric 
 
 audibly as they hurried along, entered the door 
 of communication. 
 
 '' Where's that young rogue ? " he said. 
 ''Ah !" contemplating us both with satisfaction. 
 '< Now he knows perfectly well that it's past 
 bedtime. He coaxes his mother, who allows 
 him an extra half-hour ; and then, when I call 
 out 'Time!' I'm obliged to chase him out; 
 after which I see him flying along the passage 
 in to you. Halloa ! why, he's smiling in his 
 sleep ! Come along, scamp ! Outside ! Your 
 grandmother has a stony heart, and knows you 
 ought to be in bed. He's spoiling your lace, 
 
 too." 
 
 Little Eric opened his merry blue eyes, and 
 unclasped his hands, which he contemplated as 
 though he had never seen them before. Cer- 
 tainly they were very grimy after his evening's 
 romp. Satisfied that they were his, he placed 
 them tightly round my neck frill again. What 
 did my lace matter when my little treasure was 
 nestling in my arms ? 
 
 Putting his face against mine he whispered, 
 coaxingly : 
 
 " Quick ! Tell me a story. Gran ! Never 
 
 mind your son." 
 
 " Never mind your son ! " exclaimed his 
 
 father. " 'Pon my word ! " 
 
 267 
 
My Son and I 
 
 <' I want to keep him just a little while," I 
 pleaded. 
 
 '' Of course you do," replied the outraged 
 parent, with mock vexation. '' I'm glad you 
 never spoilt me like that — my health might have 
 suffered." 
 
 '' You forget," I answered, smiling. 
 
 My son withdrew, laughing and shaking his 
 fist at Eric, who sat up triumphant and shook 
 his back at him, gave me an affectionate wet 
 kiss as token of gratitude, then patted my hair 
 with those dear little black paws. 
 
 '' Now, what shall it be ? " I asked. '' Violet 
 and the Doll-Fairy ? " 
 
 '' No, sanks." 
 
 ^' The Witch and the Jewelled Eggs ? " 
 
 '^ No, sanks." 
 
 '' Littledom Castle ? " 
 
 '' No, sanks ; none of those." 
 
 *' Then what is it to be ? " 
 
 '* I know them and all the others. I want 
 a real story out of your head. Gran." 
 
 '' They are all out of my head, dear." 
 
 '' Oh no," he answered reproachfully ; " they 
 are out of the ink-pot. Father told me he saw 
 you write them down ! " 
 
 I laughed. I didn't argue the point — he was 
 so sure. When can one be sure, if not at six 
 
 268 
 
Eric 
 
 years old ? So I asked for a few moments to 
 think of one that hadn't come out of the ink- 
 pot, during which time he swung his legs in 
 contentment. 
 
 ''Let's call it 'The Babes in St. James's 
 Park,' shall we, Eric ? " 
 
 He nodded. Then he settled down com- 
 fortably in my lap. 
 
 " More than forty years ago, a little boy and 
 girl about your age were very fond of one 
 another." 
 
 '' What's his name and what's her name ? " 
 inquired Eric stolidly. 
 
 " Oh, you're too grown-up to interrupt, are 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied my grandson doubtfully. 
 
 " I'll tell you presently. Well, she was on a 
 visit at his house, and they w^ere together all 
 and every day. They became playmates and 
 sweethearts. The next week he asked if she 
 would marry him, and she replied that she 
 would. After that he always called her ' my 
 wifie,' and was annoyed when people smiled. 
 As no one would believe they were in earnest, 
 they decided that it would be wise to run away 
 together. 
 
 " So one very warm summer's evening they 
 ran away, and never stopped till they got to 
 
 269 
 
My Son and I 
 
 St. James's Park. They clambered across the 
 moored boats, and cUmbed up the steep bank 
 of the island which was to be their hidden 
 home. 
 
 '< The moon shone out. The water shone 
 back diamonds, and the stars twinkled diamonds, 
 and the tiny bead-ring which was gravely 
 thrust upon the bride's finger sparkled like 
 diamonds, too. The little couple roamed 
 proudly about their estate, and laughed to 
 think that the clocks that chimed the hour of 
 ten were clanging their wedding bells. And 
 then they ate their wedding feast of cake out 
 of a paper bag. Then, lying down with an 
 arm round one another's neck, they fell sound 
 
 asleep. 
 
 '' The park-keepers found them, and carried 
 them gently, still asleep, to their dear ones who 
 had been searching for them. 
 
 '^ Next morning, to their surprise, they awoke 
 and rubbed their eyes to find themselves in 
 their own beds. They were not scolded, for 
 they promised to be very patient, and wait to 
 get married until they were more grown up. 
 And although they didn't wait so very, very 
 long, they did grow up, and were really married, 
 and were so very happy for as long as he — as 
 
 they lived." 
 
 270 
 
Eric 
 
 '< Sanks ; very pretty," exclaimed Eric. " But 
 what was her name ? " 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 " Her name, dear ? Her name was — Gran." 
 
 <' Couldn't be," he replied flatly. ''And 
 his ? " 
 
 '' His ? The — the same as your father's," 
 and I sighed. 
 
 '' How funny ! Gran," confided Eric, ''when 
 I call father ' Percy* he calls me 'rascal' — and 
 that always begins a pillow-fight," and Eric 
 bubbled over with glee at the recollection, which 
 he accompanied by such an upheaval of his 
 legs that it nearly bounced him out of my lap. 
 Then he looked up at me. " Why, Gran, you're 
 tired before me. Your eyes are all sleepy ! 
 Dustman's come ! " and Eric yawned himself 
 at the thought. 
 
 Except for the glow of the fire, the room had 
 grown quite dark. Except for the child's 
 breathing, all was still. The boy's head had 
 fallen on my breast — he was asleep. I laid my 
 cheek against his little hot face, and folded my 
 arms closer around him. It seemed to me that 
 I was young again — that my son was little once 
 more, and lay softly in his mother's arms. 
 
 271 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 WIDOW AND WIDOWER 
 
 '' What is the matter ? " asked my cousin, 
 Dr. Lawrence Whyte, entering my parlour. 
 '' I had such an urgent message. Nothing 
 much, I hope ? " 
 
 '^There's nothing the matter with me. I 
 sent for you as I'm in an extremely anxious 
 condition. I am suddenly told to-day at the 
 hotel that Mr. Ryan is too ill to see any one, 
 and that his valet cannot leave him. What 
 does it mean ? " 
 
 '^ It's quite true." 
 
 <' Why, whatever is it ? Lawrence, do tell 
 me quickly," I added, as my cousin hesitated. 
 
 ^' I know Mr. Ryan would rather the matter 
 did not get about, and in my professional 
 capacity I really " 
 
 '< Oh, Lawrence," I protested, '' I'm such an 
 old friend and neighbour of his." 
 
 He looked curiously on at my growing 
 agitation, still hesitating. He was not a 
 
 272 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 sympathetic man — at least not to me. Barbara 
 told me years ago that he had cared for me, 
 but I never believed it. I remembered him 
 always the same, and I never liked him. It 
 was only out of family feeling that I appointed 
 him, rather than a stranger, to be my medical 
 adviser when our dear Sir Alan deserted us 
 all, and my little circle followed my example. 
 I felt displeased at his attitude now. His tall, 
 spare figure, as he stood there, had never struck 
 me before as looking so — well, so uncanny, 
 with his thin, freckled face, and thin, sandy 
 hair and moustache, and his light eyes that 
 gazed at my distress from under their sandy 
 lashes with cold apathy. 
 
 '' I think you might understand, Lawrence, 
 that this suspense is positively cruel." 
 
 '' Well, the fact is that Mr. Ryan is suffering 
 from an internal malady that is incurable." 
 
 '' Oh dear ! " I cried. '' Yes. Sit down. 
 Serious ? " 
 
 He took a chair, and looked at his watch. 
 '' Yes." 
 
 '' Tell me, Lawrence. Is it hopeless ? — in 
 confidence. I must know." 
 
 ^'Yes." 
 
 " Does he know it ? " 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 273 s 
 
My Son and I 
 
 '' Long ? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 I said nothing. It was he who went on : 
 
 '^ I wish now I hadn't told you. You are 
 sure to betray yourself. Women always do. 
 And he is most anxious his daughter should 
 know nothing of the facts, even that her husband 
 should have no inkling." 
 
 I was so shocked at the news that I had to 
 ask him to repeat what he said. 
 
 '' For Dulcie's sake — of course — I under- 
 stand — " I stammered. 
 
 '' Yes, in the delicate condition she now is, 
 it is highly important. Her health is very 
 fragile, very different to what it was before Eric 
 was born, as you have yourself remarked." 
 He took out his watch again. ^' I must go. 
 I thought you were in urgent need of me. 
 I have a patient who is suffering a good deal, 
 and I ought to be there instead of here." 
 
 '' Only just one moment. Is poor Mr. Ryan 
 resigned to his fate ? " 
 
 " He takes it cheerfully." 
 
 '' Did he insist upon knowing ? " 
 
 '' Of course. We doctors are not accustomed 
 to babble out these matters." 
 
 <^ Has he a good nurse ? " 
 
 '' I'm sending one." 
 
 274 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 ^' Do let me write for Nurse Patrick." 
 
 Again he stared at me as though my concern 
 appeared strange to him. 
 
 ^^Very well — and remember, not a sign be- 
 traying your knowledge." 
 
 ^' I will be careful." 
 
 '^ Good-bye. Oh — er — there is a possibility 
 of my being summoned down to Hampshire. 
 You won't mind my partner taking my 
 place ? " 
 
 '' You know I don't like him, Lawrence. 
 Old Dr. Rufford said at any time, if neces- 
 sary " 
 
 ''Just as you please," said my cousin coldly. 
 ''Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye. I'm sorry I kept you so long." 
 
 How I missed Sir Alan at this time of trial, 
 when my knowledge of the facts had to be kept 
 so secret ! In him alone could I have found 
 comfort. I locked myself in my room, and 
 even Eric couldn't coax me out. 
 
 Nurse Patrick was in attendance on my poor 
 friend ; that w^as all I could do for him, and he 
 was grateful for her skilled care. She kept me 
 fully informed. The doctor insisted on his 
 being kept so quiet that he was allowed to 
 see no one. She wrote me that he repeatedly 
 kept inquiring after us all, sending us messages 
 
 275 
 
My Son and I 
 
 that he was better, and hoping to see us soon ; 
 especially he enjoined : 
 
 '^ Don't let Diilcie know. She mustn't even 
 suspect that I am bedridden. The poor child 
 must have no anxiety at present." 
 
 And Dulcie wondered why he didn't call, and 
 I listened while my son, who didn't know what 
 I did, laughed and made light of it, making 
 some excuse, and joking about her father's 
 absence. Joking ! And I had to smile at the 
 joke and make merry, or Dulcie would assert 
 positively that I was ailing: "You look so 
 pale," she had said more than once. 
 
 " It isn't what one looks, Dulcie ; it is what 
 one feels, and at present I am particularly 
 strong for me. When you are trotting about 
 vigorously again, well — " I paused, for I 
 shrank day by day from thinking of the future. 
 
 <' Do you know. Mater," said Dulcie, who 
 had adopted that term from my son — she 
 evidently hadn't noticed my sudden embar- 
 rassment — '< that Alma and Charlie are quar- 
 relling ? " 
 
 '' Quarrelling ! " I repeated in alarm. 
 
 "Yes," she rejoined, smiling; "they are 
 quarrelling over the name they shall give their 
 little daughter." 
 
 ''That's not very usual over a first-born. 
 
 276 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 They've had long enougli, too, for discussion, 
 one would think. The only similar instance 
 I know of was in my mother's family. For 
 years the couple quarrelled as to whether, 
 when a child was born to them, it should or 
 it should not be called Joseph or Josephine, 
 and they died childless after all." 
 
 Dulcie laughed. '^ When you were out the 
 other day, Charlie came across to our flat 
 to tell us the news, and he wants to call her 
 after you." 
 
 *' Oh, this naming business ! " I exclaimed, 
 with mock tragedy. '' Well ? " 
 
 ''Well, to speak plainly, Alma loves the name 
 of ' Viva,' and Mrs. Dryden considers the child 
 should be called Georgina, after her. Alma 
 rebels against Georgina." 
 
 '' Why not choose all three, which is the 
 usual way out of it ? " 
 
 '' Because Alma won't ; and Charlie says 
 he cannot take it upon himself to refuse her 
 mother." 
 
 '' I should think they'll give Alma a fever 
 between them, with her passionate nature," 1 
 prophesied. 
 
 ''Charlie says he wishes you would call soon. 
 And then, Mater, there's another aspect to the 
 case — most important : you know our views 
 
 277 
 
My Son and I 
 
 about your dear name and — and that we have 
 copyrighted it, morally." She said it so sweetly 
 and with such a winning smile. Dulcie has 
 always seemed to me as though she must be a 
 lovely princess out of a fairy tale, and it struck 
 me more than ever that there was something 
 spu'itual about her gentleness. " Will you tell 
 them, Mater ? " 
 
 ''Certainly I will." 
 
 '' Father is coming to-day, so I could spare 
 you this afternoon." • I gave a little shudder, 
 but did not look up. I said : 
 
 '' Eric asked if he might bring his soldiers 
 here and have tea with you ? He seems to feel 
 he is not with you as much as usual, and with 
 his soldiers he is sure to keep quiet." 
 
 It was arranged as I planned, and I left the 
 two quietly happy together. Although I went 
 about my occupations as usual, my thoughts 
 were all the time elsewhere, and I didn't dare 
 give way to my distress and anxiety. Nerves 
 of iron are needed in this world ; fortunate 
 indeed and greatly to be envied are they who 
 possess them ! They lose many of the sweets 
 of life, but are spared more of its bitterness. 
 
 I had a fairly good bulletin from the valet 
 when I called at the hotel, and left some flowers 
 on my way to the Lanes' house in the west end. 
 
 278 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 They lived in one of those formal high 
 London houses which, to my mind, embody 
 every discomfort that money can buy for a 
 fair rental. By which I mean, heavily draped 
 depressing rooms, not too much light any- 
 where ; and stairs enough to toil up and take 
 away your breath, and keep you out of breath 
 long after you have reached the best bedroom, 
 which couldn't by any means be situated any- 
 where but over the stereotyped lofty London 
 front drawing-room of middle-class gentility 
 — a middle-class brought up to think no other 
 sort of gentility conveniently possible. If I 
 were to live in such dismally prosaic sur- 
 roundings, with my boudoir at the back, and 
 drooping, air-confined greenery behind glass 
 in place of a window^ which, but for these 
 plants in jail, would look upon a blank wall, 
 I think that even no amount of philosophic 
 resignation would keep me from being straight- 
 way removed to one of our necessary public 
 institutions. 
 
 I sat gasping from the unaccustomed journey 
 up the stairs, pretending I wasn't. I had taken 
 a place next to Alma, and Mrs. Dryden sat 
 and surveyed me from the other side of the 
 bed. She made me feel, as usual, that she 
 didn't approve of what I was wearing, by her 
 
 279 
 
My Son and I 
 
 unblinking stare at everything visible in suc- 
 cession, beginning, as was her wont, with the 
 gear on my head and ending with that on my 
 feet ; but the latter she couldn't see now. Yet 
 I heard she was always endeavouring to get 
 to know who were the purveyors of those 
 very articles, and complaining of her own 
 dressmaker, milliner, and shoemaker, inquiring 
 of Dulcie, never of me ; but we kept our counsel 
 well, for we two were sworn to that most sacred 
 of feminine freemasonry — the sanctity of the 
 source of our female attire. Mrs. Drvden, 
 having finished her survey while murmuring 
 some formal words of greeting, looked long- 
 ingly at the infant lying so cosily under the bed- 
 clothes on Alma's arm, with its healthy, little 
 pink face peeping out of the headshawl. 
 
 " What a precious bit of humanity ! " I ex- 
 claimed. So its grandmother evidently thought, 
 though she sat stiffly there and no word of 
 endearment escaped her lips. Indeed, such 
 words would have sounded incongruous coming 
 from them. She gave me the impression that 
 she was afraid of her daughter and was altogether 
 ill at ease, perhaps the more as Alma treated 
 her just as usual, with a deferential politeness 
 that ignored the new feelings which had been 
 growing in her mother's breast, and which I 
 
 280 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 could see were readv to <£ush forth with the 
 shghtest encouragement. Whatever change was 
 wrought in Ahna herself it was concentrated on 
 her offspring only ; and it didn't seem to occur to 
 her that there was just such another love which 
 had budded at last, and was hungrily awaiting 
 her if only she would forget the past and realise 
 she had a sympathetic mother in Mrs. Dryden. 
 
 I couldn't blame the girl, though I felt more 
 than sorry for Mrs. Dryden, sitting with that 
 painful longing look in her eyes, watching the 
 pair lying there, full of pride and yearning to 
 take the child and press it to her heart, but so 
 constrained and awkward that she dare not ask 
 — yearning for a word of affection, and treated 
 like a stranger ! She talked softly and kindly, 
 trying to engender some sympathetic response, 
 but it had been too effectually choked in long 
 years of repression and neglect. The seeds 
 must be sown, carefully sown and tended, 
 if they are to be reaped. Alma was frankly, 
 mnocently unconscious of all this pathetic 
 manoeuvring, and dropped for her mother not 
 the very smallest grain of the wealth of love she 
 was showering in endearing terms on her owii 
 little daughter, accompanied by that look of pro- 
 tective gloating maternity that seems to emanate 
 from a higher sphere than our own. 
 
 281 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Then I could no longer restrain the impulse. 
 I bent over the bed and softly took the child up. 
 I felt the two women's eyes upon me as I walked 
 round and placed it in Mrs. Dryden's arms. 
 
 '^Alma wants you to nurse her," I said, ''but 
 didn't like to suggest it first." I am telling the 
 plain truth when I say that as I looked into Mrs. 
 Dryden's face I thought another being was before 
 me — a face all smiles, all gratitude. She could 
 say nothing, but look from me to the baby, and 
 from the baby to her daughter. 
 
 '' Alma dear ! " was all she could say. Alma 
 in happiness and surprise — a surprise 1 could 
 see that brought a look of pain to her face for a 
 flash — put out her arms and her mother moved 
 towards her. I went to the window to make 
 sure what the weather was. 
 
 " Did Dulcie tell you," asked Alma, smiling, 
 when I resumed my seat, '' that Charlie and I 
 have been quarrelling ? " 
 
 " Why ? " asked Mrs. Dryden, in surprise. I 
 only gave a little nod of assent. At that moment 
 a tap came at the dressing-room door, so she 
 rose and went to see what it w^as. 
 
 '' Then you know that Charlie wants one name 
 and I want another." 
 
 '' You must tell him. Alma dear, that so far as 
 my name is concerned my son seems to think he 
 
 282 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 possesses a certain claim to copyright in it/' I 
 replied pointedly and laughing. 
 
 '' I understand," she answered. " I think in 
 the circumstances he is quite right, and so of 
 course will Charlie. Is Dulcie any better ? Will 
 she be able to come and see what I have to show 
 her here ? " 
 
 " She isn't at all strong now. Perhaps later 
 she — " Mrs. Dryden came back into the room 
 and beckoned to me. I kissed Alma and her 
 child and withdrew. 
 
 On the landing I found Williams, Air. Ryan's 
 valet, who had been to my fiat and followed me 
 on, and would I please come at once ; Mr. Rvan 
 was asking for me. To my dismay the good 
 fellow was perfectly blanched. I asked him to 
 see me to the carriage, to ride back on the 
 box, and to tell the coachman I should not be 
 nervous if he drove very quickly. 
 
 My brain was in such an excited state that 
 all objects passed stood out before my vision 
 with remarkable intensity — much as a distant 
 landscape is clearer in its details under certain 
 atmospheric conditions. I remember that, but 
 I don't remember entering the hotel, though 
 I call to mind Nurse Patrick gently turning the 
 handle of the invalid's door and as gently closing 
 it behind me. 
 
 283 
 
My Son and I 
 
 The simplicity of the room struck me — the 
 deHcate green walls with a few engravings hung 
 upon them, the lace-curtained windows, the re- 
 fined furniture — I saw it all in a flash, and all 
 was so quiet that it seemed uninhabited. In 
 the corner w^as a brass bedstead. I approached. 
 My poor friend lay there, so changed. His hair 
 and beard were w^hite. He turned his eyes 
 towards me and they smiled a recognition. He 
 was dying. I realised it, and he knew I had 
 realised it. I knelt down beside him, and his 
 hand rested on my shoulder. Then he raised 
 my face, scanning it with eyes from which the 
 w^onted piercing intensity had entirely vanished ; 
 eyes now lustreless and full of pain, as strange 
 as though I had never seen them before. He 
 said, scarcely above a whisper : 
 
 '' Thank God, you have come ! " 
 
 I hid my face in the coverlet ; I couldn't 
 speak a word ; there was like an iron band 
 pressing round my throat. 
 
 << Let me see your dear features — every 
 moment is precious." 
 
 I looked up. His hands were feebly stretched 
 out towards me, and I took them in mine. 
 His pallor was extreme. 
 
 '' You and I alone," he muttered and rambled 
 on, '' no one else to come. The only woman I 
 
 284 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 ever — revered — I have ever loved. So very 
 weary- — ready." After a silence that seemed 
 an hour, he said, '' Dulcie mustn't know — till 
 after her baby is born. Promise?" 
 
 I promised with a pressure of the hand. 
 
 ^* God bless my child and — your son ! " 
 There was another pause. His eyes never left 
 my face. Our hands remained intertwined. 
 Then he raised his head slightly, and said with 
 startling distinctness in the old tender tones I 
 well remembered : 
 
 '^ Heaven bless you, Dearie ! " He raised my 
 hand nearly to his lips when his own dropped 
 heavily. His head rested again on the pillow 
 and a greenish pallor came stealing over his 
 dear face. A giddiness seized me. 
 
 Some time must have elapsed, for the thin 
 hands I held in mine were growing cold, 
 quite cold. '' There were three doctors here 
 this morning," said Nurse Patrick, in a sub- 
 dued, agitated voice, as she busied herself 
 about. ^' They never imagined the end was 
 so near." 
 
 ^' I am sure he knew it," I whispered. She 
 didn't reply, she saw^ I was at prayer. Then I 
 rose stiffly. She took my arm and pressed it 
 affectionately and led me outside, where she 
 gave some hasty directions, and insisted upon 
 
 285 
 
My Son and I 
 
 accompanying me home. On our way down- 
 stairs we passed his valet, who mutely asked for 
 news. Our silence was his answer, and he took 
 it so. 
 
 The pavements were wet, and a cold November 
 mist was falling as we returned to my home. 
 As the lift wasn't working, we had to walk 
 upstairs. I opened the door with my latchkey, 
 and I sat down in my parlour with the feeling of 
 being a stranger there. I was as though turned 
 to stone — quite numb ; and my eyes felt as 
 though they had never shed a tear, nor ever 
 could. Nurse Patrick began to rub my cold 
 hands, but I begged she would go back, as she 
 would be wanted ; and she left me, promising 
 that she would give directions I was not to 
 be disturbed, and undertaking herself to com- 
 municate at once with my son, to intercept his 
 return home and break the sad news. 
 
 Only now did I realise to the full extent 
 all I had lost in this dear friend. His many 
 kindnesses, his care, his sympathy, his acts of 
 most unselfish and rare devotion came crowding 
 to my brain. Friendship can indeed go no 
 higher than that of a man for the woman whom 
 he places in a shrine, there to be regarded as 
 a saint to be worshipped. Life has its many 
 compensations, but nothing in this world could 
 
 286 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 ever fill the gap of the loss to me of sucli a 
 friend. 
 
 When I was only twenty-one, my grief gushed 
 forth as it does in all the passion of a youthful 
 sorrow. Now I had lost my lifelong friend, I 
 was a woman getting old in years, and my eyes 
 remained dry whilst my heart ached in a silent 
 agony as only those hearts can ache when grief 
 bleaches the colour from the hair. Little could 
 he guess, when he used to marvel at the absence 
 of grey hairs, that it would be his own loss which 
 would bring with magic swiftness those silver 
 streaks in heavy masses about my temples. 
 
 I wore my gay dresses in spite of the mourn- 
 ing in my heart, and I spent nearly all my time 
 in Dulcie's fiat, looking after her household and 
 sitting with her until her husband returned home. 
 He and I kept our secret with the greatest 
 difficulty, and Dulcie's fretting to see her father 
 was painful to witness. She now believed that 
 rheumatism had crippled his hand so that he 
 could not write, and that he might not go out. 
 I would take the opportunity to borrow Eric for 
 an hour before he went to bed so as to have 
 him all to myself, and his bright chatter and 
 boyish ways vividly brought back the past to 
 memory. He knew Gran was his slave, and 
 Grand-auntie was even more easily subjugated 
 
 287 
 
My Son and I 
 
 to his whims ; and we smiled when we noticed 
 the extent to which he took advantage of us. 
 But he was a well-mannered and affectionate 
 child, and so handsome ! After all, Aunt Prue 
 and I had lived long enough to know that wise 
 indulgence in a child's surroundings do no harm 
 but bring an exhilarating independence that 
 tends to invigorate and enlarge the character. 
 Constant criticism and sternness without the 
 wholesome counteraction of a fond grandparent 
 are not so conducive to a happy development. 
 
 But Eric was having a fine time just now, 
 because he was actually on a visit to Aunt Prue, 
 with Lambert as bodyguard. He ruled Lam- 
 bert with a rod of iron. If any tricks were to 
 be played upon any one, Lambert was his in- 
 variable choice. I believe he used to concoct 
 these tricks in our flat and then wait to let them 
 off at Highgate, for they were generally so in- 
 genious and were let off with such swiftness and 
 neatness of execution. But he knew he had 
 only to put his arms round her neck and say 
 he was '' sorry for vexing the poor old Lamb," 
 for' her to forget all about it and set to making 
 him toffee. I'm not sure that in most cases 
 toffee was not the ultimate objective of much of 
 his mischief. 
 
 We were consequently very quiet at home. 
 
 288 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 Dulcie was ailing more than usual and had 
 slept so badly that she lay this special after- 
 noon on the sofa in her bedroom and fell into 
 a sound, refreshing sleep. My son had decided 
 not to go out that day, so I took advantage of 
 the circumstances to take some things to High- 
 gate for Eric and spend a little time with him 
 and Aunt Prue before doing some shopping for 
 Dulcie. I also took pleasure in purchasing a 
 lace-trimmed infant's pelisse, which was to be 
 my little gift. Thus it was quite late when I 
 returned. 
 
 Upon my dressing-table I found a note in 
 my son's handwriting, hastily scrawled some 
 hours before, for he had noted the time. I 
 read it twice over; the words were few, yet they 
 meant so much : 
 
 '' Hurrah ! Come at once and see our little 
 daughter. Don't wait to take your bonnet ofT." 
 My face flushed with joy, so unaccustomed 
 to joy of late. I didn't wait a moment. I 
 hurried across to their fiat, rang the bell and 
 impatiently waited, I rang again — no doubt 
 they must all be busy. After a third time the 
 maid opened the door, looking scared, but of 
 course I understood that their time was fully 
 occupied. The whole place was nice and quiet, 
 just as it should be, I thought. There was no 
 
 289 T 
 
My Son and I 
 
 one in the drawing-room. I entered my son's 
 study; it was all dark there. I was leaving it 
 when his voice suddenly made me jump so 
 much it startled me : 
 
 '' Mater, stay here ! " The words were 
 peremptory, and the voice sounded strange 
 and grating. But I didn't stop nor wait to 
 think what it could mean. I said nothing, but 
 went softly along the passage and very softly 
 into Dulcie's room, which was dimly lighted. 
 A nurse was sitting near the lamp. 
 
 I glanced at the bed — and there I stood and 
 stared at it; for the sheet was drawn right 
 over it, and under the sheet — O merciful God ! 
 — under the sheet I could discern the outlined 
 form of our darling lying quite still, and beside 
 her lay something quite small, quite still. 
 
 " My poor boy ! " My brain could only 
 form those three words as with trembling limbs 
 1 made my way back to him, to the room all 
 dark, where he sat motionless. The window 
 was uncurtained, and some stars were shining. 
 After a moment I could distinguish him crouched 
 on the sofa. '< My poor boy ! " I put my arm 
 round his neck and he suffered it to remain. 
 
 Several times the maid came to the door and 
 gently tapped, and, getting no answer, went 
 away again. And there I sat, holding him in 
 
 290 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 my arms. Our anguish was unutterable, in- 
 describable. At last from sheer exhaustion he 
 dropped asleep, and I slipped quietly away. 
 
 Lying there in the moonlight so peacefully 
 at rest with her little one lying on her arm she 
 wore that sweet spiritual expression I had last 
 noticed — now too beautiful for mortal eyes to 
 see. I blessed her dear memory as I kissed 
 her, and I prayed God to help my son in his 
 hour of grief. I had suffered so much in my 
 life. But he ! Stricken like this in his moment 
 of joy ! 
 
 Aunt Prue didn't bear these heavy troubles 
 well. Yet, for her, as for most old people, time 
 seems to do much in blunting the sharp edge 
 of the blade of sorrow. It is foolishly called 
 the selfishness of old age ; but it comes from 
 sad experience. They are able still to think 
 life worth the living, though trouble be one of 
 its contingencies. So although dear Aunt Prue 
 now fully looked her age, and kept on repeating 
 '' Poor Dearie — However ! " with a dreary mono- 
 tony that was unnerving, still I could get her 
 on to brighter topics and she was able to forget. 
 Oh, to be able to forget ! 
 
 Eric was not allowed to return to our 
 saddened home at present ; he remained with 
 Aunt Prue, and was gently told why he would 
 
 291 
 
My Son and I 
 
 never see his mother again. Aunt Prue did 
 wonders for him in the matter of comfort, 
 and it did her good at the same time. And 
 then an invitation came to Eric to visit '' Aunt 
 Barbara/' as she wished him to style her, in her 
 home in Austria, and as Aunt Prue thought it 
 would be wise to accept her kindness until our 
 plans were more settled, and his father raised 
 no objection, of course I had no objection 
 either, especially as Eric was very keen on going 
 in a ship to discover foreign parts. He insisted 
 that he would go in a ship all the way to 
 Austria. He was full of the idea, and the pre- 
 parations for his journey, and placing him in 
 the care of a lady friend who would take him to 
 his destination, came as a distraction to us all. 
 As Eric considered that at eight years old he 
 ought to be allowed to travel alone, we agreed 
 together that the lady friend should be in 
 his care, and he volunteered that he would 
 behave like a grown-up, and pay every attention 
 to his companion's comfort. He carried out 
 his promise, too. 
 
 All my suffering, present and past, was 
 epitomised in the bereavement of my son. I 
 believe that the sight of his pale, sad face would 
 nearly have killed me, but the fortitude I never 
 thought myself to possess came to my aid. 
 
 292 
 
Widow and Widower 
 
 ''What should I do without you, Mater 
 
 now ! — or ever ! " 
 
 I smiled gratefully as I replied : 
 
 '' I know you have quite enough grit to fight 
 
 your way through your sorrow without me 
 
 and I'm proud of you — and may Eric prove 
 himself as worthy as his father in every- 
 thing ! . . . Oh, call it maternal pride, if you 
 like — and let every mother have that pride if 
 only she has a son who can instil it ! " 
 
 While Eric was still abroad we intended to 
 move to a villa we knew of close to Aunt Prue's 
 cottage, where he and I and our bit of sunshine 
 w^ould live together ; and, later on, Eric should 
 go to Harrow and would spend all holidays with 
 us. I looked forward to the new surroundings 
 for the sake of my son, though I knew that 
 out of sight could never mean out of memory 
 to him, and I doubted if Time would ever do 
 more for him than it had done for me. 
 
 Aunt Prue was greatly cheered by this de- 
 cision of ours to live near to her, and she beamed 
 like her own self again. My son's time when 
 he was not at work was thus completely taken 
 up seeing to our affairs and to our new life ; 
 for we were now widow and widower. 
 
 293 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN THE FUTURE 
 
 It took a little time to settle in our new house, 
 but it didn't seem like home until Eric returned 
 from abroad. What with his new surroundings 
 to examine and comment upon, and all his 
 recent experiences to impart, he was as joyous 
 a little personality as could be wished. At first 
 he would talk of his mother and sob, but only 
 when he and I were alone ; for he soon found 
 his father unwilling to talk on the subject — just 
 an embrace and then another topic of conversa- 
 tion. I, too, would gradually get his mind on 
 to other subjects, and we would \vind up by 
 discussing how his next birthday should be 
 celebrated, and when that was threadbare, what 
 should be the programme for the next after that. 
 The range was wide and taste unstable. 
 
 '' I say, Gran," was his opening, the morn- 
 ing after he returned, '* there's such a funny 
 old lady living at Aunt Barbara's, not a bit like 
 
 you." 
 
 294 
 
In the Future 
 
 ''Where's the difference, Eric ? " asked his 
 father. '' Has she got two heads ? " 
 
 '' No/' replied Eric seriously. '' She's got 
 one head, but it's very ugly ; and she eats such 
 a lot and is so fat ; and she's got heaps of light 
 brown curls, which Gran hasn't ; and a red face ; 
 and her teeth move so funny. I don't know 
 what she talked about 'cos she doesn't talk Eng- 
 lish. But I didn't like her, 'cos she made Aunt 
 Barbara cry." 
 
 '* I wonder why ? " I asked, concerned. 
 
 '' And Uncle Barbara ? " interrupted my son 
 facetiously, <' is he Hke his mother ? " 
 
 *' No ; he's very quiet. He can't take 
 milk." 
 
 '' Doesn't it agree with him ? " 
 
 '' I don't know. Gran. When I asked him, he 
 told me he was obliged to take port wine when 
 he was thirsty, and he was afraid to take milk 
 on top." 
 
 <' I heard from Lawrence Whyte," whispered 
 my son to me, '' that his brother-in-law was a 
 thirsty subject." 
 
 ''What does Aunt Barbara do all day?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 ".Oh, nothing much. She spends a lot of 
 money in the shops, and she and I went to 
 the circus, and the clown fell down right over 
 
 295 
 
My Son and I 
 
 the dinner-tray with all the vegetables and 
 things." 
 
 Eric chuckled so at the recollection that we 
 caught the infection. 
 
 '' Well, old chap, go ahead/' urged his father 
 after a time. 
 
 ^' We went driving in the Prater very quickly 
 indeed ; saw pictures and things — I must show 
 you the musical-box she bought me, and — oh, I 
 do think this place far jollier than anything, and 
 I am so jolly glad I'm going to a school. How's 
 Grand-auntie ? " 
 
 '' She's longing to see you, dear, so you 
 must go and find out," I replied, rising from 
 table, and we adjourned to the morning-room 
 bright with fresh white paint, new rosewood 
 furniture, and gay flower-designed wall-paper. 
 The verandah covered with wisteria steps led 
 down to our garden. We were on the point 
 of going out to enjoy a little of its freshness, as 
 we generally did at this hour, when all at once 
 up those steps and into our room walked Sir 
 Alan Charleston, Marcella, and two sturdy boys. 
 They all laughed like children at our astonish- 
 ment, and I could hardly believe my senses. 
 There they were, and, what was better still, was 
 the fact that there they would often be, for they 
 had returned to London to live in the old house 
 
 296 
 
In the Future 
 
 in Harley Street, where Sir Alan was again to 
 resume his practice. Marcella's health was 
 entirely restored, their exile was over, and their 
 sunburnt lads had come to make acquaintance 
 with the great grey city. My son and I were 
 overjoyed to hear it. 
 
 After Marcella had told me of their news 
 and plans, I inquired after Madame Paul Ana- 
 tole Baptiste. 
 
 '' Oh, Clairette is doing very well," she re- 
 plied, as she got up to replace her veil. She 
 looked very handsome as she stood there before 
 the glass. '' They are both thrifty and are quite 
 comfortably off. She is very good to him, and 
 has adopted an orphan nephew of his that no 
 one had ever heard of before." 
 
 '^ Oh ! She was always fond of children," 
 was all I replied. '^ Ce monsieur, her husband, 
 is good to her ? " 
 
 '< Verv." 
 
 While we talked I couldn't help noticing 
 Eric. He had been presented to the parents, 
 and was now ineffectually trying to act the host 
 and overcome the shyness of the two boys 
 whilst he showed off the tricks of the new 
 canary in the old gilt cage — a descendant of 
 a predecessor, the stuffed inhabitant of a glass 
 case, that had piped to him in days gone by. 
 
 297 
 
My Son and I 
 
 The elder boy was slightly Eric's senior, and the 
 younger was his junior by a year. The elder 
 child's auburn fluff, which I had admired when 
 I was in Nice, had grown into wavy locks that 
 reminded me of his mother's ; his brother wore 
 the same in black. 
 
 When they were settled in Harley Street it 
 was arranged that the boys were to be educated 
 with Eric, and Marcella and I managed to be 
 as much together as possible. It was during 
 the first rush of patients who attested their ap- 
 preciation of Sir Alan Charleston's resumption 
 of his practice in London that a gentleman called 
 whose card bore the name of the Honourable 
 James Henshaw. 
 
 " I have come to consult you. Sir Alan," he 
 said, on entering, '' as I am given to understand 
 that you are the most eminent specialist for 
 consumption. I have a fancy that I am tend- 
 ing that way — at least, that there is something 
 wrong ; and, as I am passing through London, 
 I am anxious to have the benefit of your 
 opinion. I have here a letter from my medical 
 attendant in Boulogne." 
 
 Sir Alan bowed silently and glanced at the 
 missive. Meanwhile the visitor sighed sorrow- 
 fully for himself and let his eyes wander to the 
 Old Masters on the walls. Sir Alan, however, 
 
 298 
 
In the Future 
 
 did not read the letter at once, although he 
 pretended to. He was carefully noting, un- 
 observed, the appearance and physique of his 
 patient — a tall, loosely jointed man, who had 
 sauntered in with a shuffling swagger. His 
 nose was much on one side, and the black, 
 drooping moustache only partially concealed the 
 twitching of the thin lips when he spoke, whilst 
 his alert grey eyes, frank in expression when 
 they looked full at you, had they not moved so 
 restlessly, would have redeemed the face. Then 
 Sir Alan read the letter, and, with a thoughtful 
 air, discussed the symptoms, and concluded 
 there was no reason for apprehension. 
 
 ''Thank you. That's very consoling," re- 
 plied the Honourable James. '< Perhaps, as I 
 am here, it would be well if you would over- 
 haul me a bit." 
 
 " Very well ; just unfasten your waistcoat. 
 Thank you ; that is quite sufficient. That will 
 do nicely. You are wise to wear flannel. 
 English people often need to be carefully 
 protected. Say 'nine'!" directed Sir Alan, 
 listening to the patient's lung. 
 
 " Nine ! " 
 
 " Say ' ninety-nine.' " 
 
 The Honourable James did as he was bid. 
 
 " Quite sound. The feeling of lassitude is 
 
 299 
 
My Son and I 
 
 often accounted for by overwork. You are 
 one of the brainworkers, I should say, eh ? " 
 
 '' I have done a good deal in my day, but I 
 have retired these many years past." 
 
 '' A good deal of night work, eh ? I should 
 guess editorial." 
 
 '' No. Law." 
 
 '^ Just as strenuous. Are you returning to 
 Boulogne ? " 
 
 " Yes. I want to get back as soon as possible." 
 
 '< I ask because I think a course of waters 
 might improve your general condition, though 
 I cannot say they are absolutely necessary." 
 
 '' I should have no objection, Sir Alan." 
 
 '< Well then, what do you say to spending a 
 few weeks in Bath ? " 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't believe in any English 
 place ! " 
 
 <' But do you know the fine air there ? " 
 
 <' No, but I shouldn't believe in it." 
 
 '' Really ! You surprise me, Mr. Henshaw. 
 Now^ I should like to listen a moment to the 
 heart before you fasten your waistcoat," and 
 Sir Alan put his head close to that organ and 
 asked : <' Did you ever in Boulogne come across 
 a man called James Harkspur ? Ah ! You 
 are subject to sudden palpitation ? " 
 
 <' Not at all. Never. I shan't trespass any 
 
 300 
 
In the Future 
 
 longer on your valuable time. In fact, I never 
 expected you would be so kind." He got 
 quickly into his coat. '' I'll think over the 
 matter, as it is not essential. Good morning ! " 
 he added, shaking the doctor's hand and press- 
 ing his palm. 
 
 '' Good morning ! Thanks. I have given 
 you my professional opinion to the best of my 
 ability, and now I should like to detain you a 
 few minutes and give you my private one — 
 Harkspur, you are an infernal rascal ! " And 
 Sir Alan, with an iron grip, suddenly seized him 
 by both shoulders, pushed him to the table, 
 rang the hand-bell, then placed himself with 
 his back to the door. Harkspur stood there 
 motionless, his mouth twitching violently, but no 
 sound escaping. " Perhaps, as you have never 
 been to Bath," continued Sir Alan sternly, '<you 
 have never heard of a Miss Prudence Whyte, 
 whose blackguardly lawyer absconded with all 
 her money. Perhaps, as you have never seen 
 me before, you were under the calm delusion 
 that I have never seen you, and that you would 
 be safe here. But when I was in Bath, the 
 elder Miss Whyte pointed you out in the Pump- 
 room as her trusty lawyer. To experienced 
 eyes you have not changed much, in spite of 
 your moustache." 
 
 301 
 
My Son and I 
 
 Harkspur, realising his danger, rushed at Sir 
 Alan, who dodged the blow aimed at him, and 
 which struck the door with a thud that made 
 the man utter a groan ; nevertheless he turned 
 the handle quickly, and darted from the room, 
 straight into Sutherland, the portly butler, and 
 both men fell heavily to the ground. Sir Alan 
 was a big man, but agile for his years. He 
 rushed to them ; the butler was little the worse, 
 but I believe Harkspur for a few moments lay 
 stunned upon the floor. The commotion quickly 
 brought Marcella on the scene, for I found 
 her there in the hall ; she told me so when 
 I learnt all these details from her later. 
 I witnessed the rest myself, for I had come 
 to keep an appointment to lunch and read 
 duets with her. I had thought it very strange, 
 when I arrived and rang at the front door, 
 that I should be kept waiting so long on the 
 doorstep. 
 
 I had rung several times, when all at once I 
 heard sounds of scuffling going on inside to the 
 accompaniment of angry voices, and I hesitated 
 whether or not to beat a hasty retreat. Sud- 
 denly the front door was flung open, and I 
 stepped quickly on one side as three men came 
 struggling towards me. That one of them 
 must be a lunatic patient I had no doubt. 
 
 302 
 
In the Future 
 
 ''Would you kindly ask your coachman to 
 find a policeman, and drive him here quickly ? " 
 said Sir Alan, very red in the face from his 
 exertions. In spite of my amazement, I noticed 
 the portly butler was puffing and blowing, and 
 his usually plastered-down hair was unpre- 
 cedentedly rumpled, while Mr. Harkspur's 
 quaint sitting posture on the hall floor was 
 evidently not one of his own choice. Marcella 
 formed an excited background. When I re- 
 turned, after giving the message, she wouldn't 
 hear of my visit being abandoned, but led me 
 upstairs to hear all the news. '* Don't wait 
 lunch for me," called Sir Alan after us, " 1 
 may be back late." 
 
 He did come back rather late, and we 
 stopped playing, eager for further details. 
 
 *' Just like your Aunt Prue ! " exclaimed Sir 
 Alan ruefully, as he dropped into the nearest 
 armchair. '' Here I discover the scoundrel who 
 beggared her. I accompany the captive to 
 the police station. The police are telephoned 
 to at Highgate to acquaint your Aunt Prue with 
 the facts and invite her to prosecute, and she 
 replies : 
 
 <' ' Poor man ! I certainly won't prosecute. 
 If he had happened to have any of my money 
 left, I should have made him endow a free 
 
 303 
 
My Son and I 
 
 library or something with it ; but as it is all 
 gone, let him go — it annoyed my dear sister, 
 not me.' So that rogue leaves scot-free to- 
 night for Boulogne ! Just like your Aunt 
 Prue ! " 
 
 I only smiled. 
 
 '< Your luncheon is served, Sir Alan," an- 
 nounced Sutherland sedately, with every hair 
 in its place ; but there was a bluish swelling 
 near one eye which detracted pathetically from 
 his solemn dignity. 
 
 Five more years had come and gone, and my 
 son, though graver than of yore, would become 
 at times more like his dear self ; and when- 
 ever Eric came from Harrow for the holi- 
 days, they were like two boys together. Little 
 Viva Georgina Lane often came to tea with 
 us. Eric had taken quite a fancy to her, 
 patronising her with a lofty schoolboy air, 
 and amusing her just to hear her laugh — she 
 had such a pretty rippling laugh. She quite 
 took the place in his affections of '^ poor 
 pussy" of old. She had her mother's merry, 
 impulsive disposition, and on her head her 
 father's golden top-kiiot of early youth that I 
 so w^ell remember — but a modern version and 
 w^ith feminine embellishments. 
 
 A letter came to me from Harry Wallace of 
 
 304 
 
0\HTlxr>u.-^^^--^>^ 
 
 °? 
 
 I HAVE OFTEN THREATENED TO WrITE ABOUT HeR 
 
In the Future 
 
 all people, forwarded on from my old flat. It 
 was written in his old racy manner, and in- 
 formed us that he had just married his partner's 
 daughter. He inquired pleasantly after us all, 
 and begged I would write ; which I did — a letter 
 of cordial congratulation. 
 
 Aunt Prue, God bless her ! still lives and 
 thrives. She always welcomes us as her 
 '' dearly beloved trio " with ever the same dig- 
 nified and loving welcome. 
 
 ''We represent four generations!" I exclaim 
 with a quiet laugh (with a sort of surprise as if 
 I had never discovered it before), for that will 
 always set her off in fine form on anecdotes and 
 recollections of the past in which we all delight 
 — reminiscences always told with the same old 
 sympathy and humour, and always listened to 
 in the same old spirit of respect and enjoyment. 
 I have often threatened to write about her, 
 and she has only been amused and not a bit 
 frightened. She relies upon me for choice 
 of her literature ; but she is particular, and 
 only those books and magazines are read to 
 her which I recommend, so I, with regard to 
 this same screed, I hardly think — but I am 
 digressing. Dear Aunt Prue ! She lives on 
 serenely at the little cottage in Highgate. 
 Robust in health, with an excellent appetite, 
 
 305 u 
 
My Son and I 
 
 and alert in mind, she certainly carries her four- 
 score years very lightly. 
 
 '^ Just a little stiff, Dearie, in the knees and 
 back. However ! " she is apt to remark ; then 
 to repeat confidentially, '' You know we must 
 expect all these things when we grow old. It's 
 the old people's privilege." Her parlour is 
 always gay with flowers, which she gathers and 
 arranges herself. '^They are just those that 
 grow high, and don't want stooping down to," 
 she explains. 
 
 From the wall the old portrait of herself, as 
 a pretty infant in a frilled cap, looks cheerfully 
 down upon her old real self in much the same 
 cap and frills — the two faces bearing a quaint 
 resemblance, and reflecting the same sweetness, 
 as she sits in her large armchair by the fire 
 busily knitting for '' the most deserving case of 
 all," or sits thinking whilst she slowly twirls her 
 thumbs. She is a big woman with a great 
 loving heart, and to my mind the sweetest old 
 lady that ever lived. 
 
 The other night, when I was talking with my 
 son about little Viva and Eric, and their affec- 
 tion for one another, I touched upon the happy 
 married life of Charlie and Alma, and I ven- 
 turec| to remark on what had long been in my 
 
 mind. 
 
 306 
 
In the Future 
 
 ** My dear boy," I began timidly, '' I cannot 
 last for ever, and sometimes I wonder what your 
 life will be when I am gone." 
 
 '' Don't talk of such things, Mater. You 
 know I won't put up with it." 
 
 ^' Is it perhaps — possible — " I continued 
 anxiously with what was in my mind, '' just 
 possible that in the future — oh, what will be 
 your future life through the long years to 
 come ! " 
 
 ''Dear old Mater!" He leant over me and 
 stroked my cheek in his old nearly-forgotten 
 way ; then he added firmly, '' What my life 
 would be in the future ? It would be just what 
 it always used to be with you and me — just — 
 my son and I." 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &> Co. 
 Edinburgh <5r» London 
 

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