: A lady and her husband by Blanco White Amber Reeves - Self-actualization (Psychology) Fiction; Marriage Fiction; Housewives Fiction; Families Fiction; Women employees Fiction; Tearooms Fiction; Work environment Fiction

@FreeBooksSat 23 Sep, 2023

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A LADY AND HER HUSBAND

ROSEMARY looked round her mother's drawing-room. It was a charming room, she thought, of its conventional kind, gay and luxurious, anxious to please, like some soft, pretty woman. She had never considered its origin before, but now she felt sure that her father must have planned it. It revealed his mind--large, cheerful, excellent--and showed the thorough competence of his taste.

She had chosen this room deliberately for an interview with her mother. She was going to tell her mother that she was in love, and she had found herself shy, afraid of the poor lady's emotion. In the publicity of the spacious room, where anyone might interrupt them, a display of feeling would be difficult.

She made sure, once more, of this train of thought. Then she looked anxiously at Mrs. Heyham. Mary was sitting in her usual place by the side of the hearth, and, for the moment, behind the glittering, fire-flushed tea-things, she seemed curiously unreal. She was wearing a chain that her husband had given her, set with pearls and crystals--that caught the light, and so did a brooch that was a present from Trent, her son. Behind these witnesses of masculine esteem there was the vagueness of grey stuff, of lace, of pale brown hair, and a face where the play of lights and shadows blotted out expression. Rosemary, seeking for some promise of immediate, cheerful sympathy, could see nothing but her mother's evident dignity and grace. On the point of speaking, she hesitated. She had not the least idea, after all, how her mother would respond to her.

At that moment Mrs. Heyham looked up and met her daughter's eyes. "Yes," she said, "I like your new way of doing your hair, my dear, it suits you, it gives you height. And I like your funny green frock." She smiled a little shyly. She could not tell the child how lovely she found her.

But the tenderness in her voice reached Rosemary, making her feel suddenly affectionate and ashamed.

"Mother, dear," she cried, "how selfish I am!--Am I very horrid to you?"

She had forgotten the ungenerous detachment which she had planned, and as she spoke she crossed the floor to the rug by her mother's knee. She had been fussing all day about her own feelings, she told herself, and she had hardly given a thought to her mother's!

Mrs. Heyham paused before she answered. It was her custom to consider what she said, with a view to her children's welfare, and her replies, in consequence, were sometimes evasive. Horrid to her? What had made Rosemary, she wondered, worry about such a thing? "I hope you don't think so, my dear," passed this scrutiny, but did not satisfy her daughter.

"You don't say I'm not," she insisted.

Her mother reassured her. "Of course you're not."

Rosemary sighed. "I don't think many mothers are like you!" she admitted, and for a moment her warmth made Mrs. Heyham anxious. These expansions from the children were apt to be connected with remorse. Well, whatever it was, she would hear it now--she put out her hand to smooth the soft hair pressed against her knee. But Rosemary, turning quickly, caught the wandering fingers. To Mary it looked almost as though she had taken fright. Her eyes were wide open and she was trembling a little. "Mother," she said, "I've something to tell you! I've promised--I'm going to marry Anthony."

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