A Lady and HerHusband
By
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1914
Copyright, 1914
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
A LADY AND HER HUSBAND
CHAPTER I
ROSEMARY looked round her mother's drawing-room. It was a charming room,she thought, of its conventional kind, gay and luxurious, anxious toplease, like some soft, pretty woman. She had never considered itsorigin before, but now she felt sure that her father must have plannedit. It revealed his mind—large, cheerful, excellent—and showedthe 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 foundherself shy, afraid of the poor lady's emotion. In the publicity of thespacious room, where anyone might interrupt them, a display of feelingwould be difficult.
She made sure, once more, of this train of thought. Then she lookedanxiously at Mrs. Heyham. Mary was sitting in her usual place by theside of the hearth, and, for the moment, behind the glittering,fire-flushed tea-things, she seemed curiously unreal. She was wearing achain that her husband had given her, set with pearls andcrystals—that caught the light, and so did a brooch that was apresent from Trent, her son. Behind these witnesses of masculine esteemthere was the vagueness of grey stuff, of lace, of pale brown hair, anda 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 thepoint 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 suitsyou, it gives you height. And I like your funny green frock." She smileda little shyly. She could not tell the child how lovely she found her.
But the tenderness in her voice reached Rosemary, making her feelsuddenly affectionate and ashamed.
"Mother, dear," she cried, "how selfish I am!—Am I very horrid toyou?"
She had forgotten the ungene