Making Allowances for Mamma

by Kathleen Norris

At the head of her own breakfast table,--a breakfast tablecharmingly littered with dark-blue china and shining glass, and madespringlike by a great bowl of daisies,--Mary Venable sat alone,trying to read her letters through a bitter blur of tears. She wasnot interested in her letters, but something must be done, shethought desperately, to check this irresistible impulse to put herhead down on the table and cry like a child, and uninterestingletters, if she could only force her eyes to follow the lines ofthem, and her brain to follow the meaning, would be as steadying tothe nerves as anything else.Cry she would not; for every reason. Lizzie, coming in to carry awaythe plates, would see her, for one thing. It would give her ablazing headache, for another. It would not help her in the least tosolve the problem ahead of her, for a third and best. She must thinkit out clearly and reasonably, and--and--Mary's lip began to quiveragain, she would have to do it all alone. Mamma was the last personin the world who could help her, and George wouldn't.For of course the trouble was Mamma again, and George--Mary wiped her eyes resolutely, finished a glass of water, drew adeep great breath. Then she rang for Lizzie, and carried her lettersto the shaded, cool little study back of the large drawing-room.Fortified by the effort this required, she sank comfortably into adeep chair, and began to plan sensibly and collectedly. Firstly, shereread Mamma's letter.Mary had seen this letter among others at her plate, only an hourago. A deep sigh, reminiscent of the recently suppressed storm,caught her unawares as she remembered how happy she and George hadbeen over their breakfast until Mamma's letter was opened. Mary hadnot wanted to open it, suggesting carelessly that it might waituntil later; she could tell George if there was anything in it. ButGeorge had wanted to hear it read immediately, and of course therehad been something in it. There usually was something unexpected inMamma's letters. In this one she broke the news to her daughter andson-in-law that she hated Milwaukee, she didn't like Cousin Will'shouse, children, or self, she had borrowed her ticket money fromCousin Will, and she was coming home on Tuesday.Mary had gotten only this far when George, prefacing his remarkswith a forcible and heartfelt "damn," had said some very sharp andvery inconsiderate things of Mamma. He had said--But no, Marywouldn't go over that. She would not cry again.The question was, what to do with Mamma now. They had thought her sonicely settled with Cousin Will and his motherless boys, had packedher off to Milwaukee only a fortnight ago with such a generous checkto cover incidental expenses, had felt that now, for a year or twoat least, she was anchored. And in so many ways it seemed a specialblessing, this particular summer, to have Mamma out of the way,--comfortable and happy, but out of the way. For Mary had packed herthree babies and their nurse down to the cottage at Beach Meadow forthe summer, and she and George had determined--with only briefweekend intervals to break it--to try staying in the New York houseall summer.Ordinarily Mary, too, would have been at Beach Meadow with thechildren, seeing George only in the rare intervals when he could runup from town, two or three times a season perhaps, and really rathermore glad than otherwise to have Mamma with her. But this promisedto be a trying and overworked summer for him, and Mary herself wastired from a winter of close attention to her nursery, and to themboth the plan seemed a most tempting chance for jolly little dinnerstogether, Sunday and evening trips in the motor, roof-garden showsand suppers. They had had too little of each other's undividedsociety in the three crowded years that had witnessed the arrival ofthe twins and baby Mary, there had been infantile illnesses, Mary'sown health had been poor, Mamma had been with them, nurses had beenwith them, doctors had been constantly coming and going, nothing hadbeen normal. Both Mary and George had thought and spoken a hundredtimes of that one first, happy year of their marriage, and theywanted to bring back some of its old free charm now. So thechildren, with Miss Fox, who was a "treasure" of a trained nurse,and Myra, whose Irish devotion was maternal in its intensity, weresent away to the seaside, and they were living on the beach all day,and sleeping in the warm sea air all night, and hardier and brownerand happier every time they rushed screaming out to welcome motherand daddy and the motor-car for a brief visit. And Mamma was withCousin Will. Or at least she had been--Well, there was only one thing certain, Mary decided,--Mamma couldnot come to them. That would spoil all the summer they had beenplanning so happily. To picnic in the hot city with one belovedcompanion is one thing, to keep house there for one's family isquite another. Mamma was not adaptable, she had her own verydefinite ideas. She hated a dimly lighted drawing-room, andinterrupted Mary's music--to which George listened in such uttercontent--with cheery random remarks, and the slapping of cards atPatience. Mamma hated silences, she hated town in summer, she madejolly and informal little expeditions the most discussed and tediousof events. If George, settling himself happily in some restaurant,suggested enthusiastically a planked steak, Mamma quite positivelywanted some chicken or just a chop for herself, please. If Georgesuggested red wine, Mamma was longing for just a sip of Pommerey:"You order it, Georgie, and let it be my treat!"It never was her treat, but that was the least of it.No, Mamma simply couldn't come to them now. She would have to go toMiss Fox and the children. Myra wouldn't like it, and Mamma alwaysinterfered with Miss Fox, and would have to take the second bestbedroom, and George would probably make a fuss, but there wasnothing else to do. It couldn't be helped.Sometimes in moments of less strain, Mary was amused to rememberthat it was through Mamma that she had met George. She, Mary, hadgone down from, her settlement work in hot New York for a littlebreathing spell at Atlantic City, where Mamma, who had a very smallroom at the top of a very large hotel, was enjoying a financiallypinched but entirely carefree existence. Mary would have preferredsober and unpretentious boarding in some private family herself, butMamma loved the big dining-room, the piazzas, the music, and thecrowds of the hotel, and Mary amiably engaged the room next to hers.They had to climb a flight of stairs above the last elevator stop toreach their rooms, and rarely saw any one in their corridors exceptmaids and chauffeurs, but Mamma didn't mind that. She knew a scoreof Southern people downstairs who always included her in their goodtimes; her life never lacked the spice of a mild flirtation. Mammararely had to pay for any of her own meals, except breakfast, andthe economy with which she could order a breakfast was a realsurprise to Mary. Mamma swam, motored, danced, walked, gossiped,played bridge, and golfed like any debutante. Mary, watching her,wondered sometimes if the father she had lost when a tiny baby, andthe stepfather whose marriage to her mother, and death had followedonly a few years later, were any more real to her mother than thedreams they both were to her.On the day of Mary's arrival, mother and daughter came down to thewide hotel porch, in the cool idle hour before dinner, and tookpossession of big rocking-chairs, facing the sea. They were barelyseated, when a tall man in white flannels came smilingly towardthem."Mrs. Honeywell!" he said, delightedly, and Mary saw her mother givehim a cordial greeting before she said:"And now, George, I want you to know my little girl, Ma'y,--MissBannister. Ma'y, this is my Southe'n boy I was telling you about!"Mary, turning unsmiling eyes, was quite sure the man would be nearerforty than thirty, as indeed he was, grizzled and rather solid intothe bargain. Mamma's "boys" were rarely less; had he really been atall youthful, Mamma would have introduced him as "that extr'ornarilyintrusting man I've been telling you about, Ma'y, dear!"But he was a nice-looking man, and a nice seeming man, except forhis evidently having flirted with Mamma, which proceeding Maryalways held slightly in contempt. Not that he seemed flirtatiouslyinclined at this particular moment, but Mary could tell from hermother's manner that their friendship had been one of those frothysurface affairs into which Mamma seemed able to draw the soberest ofmen.Mr. Venable sat down next to Mary, and they talked of the sea, inwhich a few belated bathers were splashing, and of the hot anddistant city, and finally of Mary's work. These topics did notinterest Mamma, who carried on a few gay, restless conversationswith various acquaintances on the porch meanwhile, and retied herparasol bow several times.Mamma, with her prettily arranged and only slightly retouched hair,her dashing big hat and smart little gown, her red lips and blackeyes, was an extremely handsome woman, but Mr. Venable even nowcould not seem to move his eyes from Mary's nondescript gray eyes,and rather colorless fair skin, and indefinite, pleasant mouth.Mamma's lines were all compact and trim. Mary was rather long oflimb, even a little gauche in an attractive, unself-conscious sortof way. But something fine and high, something fresh and young andearnest about her, made its instant appeal to the man beside her."Isn't she just the biggest thing!" Mamma said finally, with alittle affectionate slap for Mary's hand. "Makes me feel so old,having a great, big girl of twenty-three!"This was three years short of the fact, but Mary never betrayed hermother in these little weaknesses. Mr. Venable said, not veryspontaneously, that they could pass for sisters."Just hear him, will you!" said Mamma, in gay scorn. "Why there'sseventeen whole years between us! Ma'y was born on the day I wasseventeen. My first husband--dearest fellow ever was--used to say hehad two babies and no wife. I never shall forget," Mamma went onyouthfully, "one day when Ma'y was about two months old, and I hadher out in the garden. I always had a nurse,--smartest looking thingyou ever saw, in caps and ribbons!--but she was out, I forget where.Anyway our old Doctor Wallis came in, and he saw me, with my hairall hanging in curls, and a little blue dress on, and he called out,'Look here, Ma'y Lou Duval, ain't you too old to be playin' withdolls?'"Mary had often heard this, but she laughed, and Mr. Venable laughed,too, although he cut short an indication of further reminiscence onMamma's part by entering briskly upon the subject of dinner. WouldMrs. Honeywell and Miss Bannister dine with him, in the piazza,dining-room, that wasn't too near the music, and was always cool,and then afterward he'd have the car brought about--? Mary's firstsmiling shake of the head subsided before these tempting details. Itdid sound so cool and restful and attractive! And after all, whyshouldn't one dine with the big, responsible person who was one ofNew York's biggest construction engineers, with whom one's motherwas on such friendly terms?That was the first of many delightful times. George Venable fell inlove with Mary and grew serious for the first time in his life. AndMary fell in love with George, and grew frivolous for the first timein hers. And in the breathless joy that attended their discovery ofeach other, they rather forgot Mamma."Stealing my beau!" said the little lady, accusatively, one night,when mother and daughter were dressing. Mary turned an uncomfortablescarlet."Oh, don't be such a little goosie!" Mrs. Honeywell said, with agreat hug. And she artlessly added, "My goodness, Mary, I've got allthe beaux I want! I'm only too tickled to have you have one atlast!"By the time the engagement, with proper formality, was announced,George's attitude toward his prospective mother-in-law had shiftedcompletely. He was no longer Mamma's gallant squire, but had assumedsomething of Mary's tolerant, protective manner toward her. Later,when they were married, this change went still further, and Georgebecame rather scornful of the giddy little butterfly, casuallycritical of her in conversations with Mary.Mrs. Honeywell enjoyed the wedding as if she had been the bride'syounger sister now allowed a first peep at real romance."But I'm going to give you one piece of advice, dearie," said she,the night before the ceremony. Mary, wrapped in all the mysteriousthoughts of that unreal time, winced inwardly. This was all so new,so sacred, so inexpressible to her that she felt Mamma couldn'tunderstand it. Of course she had been married twice herself, butthen she was so different."It's this," said Mrs. Honeywell, cheerfully, after a pause."There'll come a time when you'll simply hate him--""Oh, Mamma!" Mary said, with distaste."Yes, there will," her mother went on placidly, "and then you justsay to yourself that the best of 'em's only a big boy, and treat himas you'd treat a boy!""All right, darling!" Mary laughed, kissing her. But she thought toherself that the men Mamma had married were of very differentcaliber from George.Parenthood developed new gravities in George, all life became purer,sweeter, more simple, with Mary beside him. Through the stress oftheir first married years they became more and more closely devoted,marvelled more and more at the miracle that had brought themtogether. But Mamma suffered to this. The atmosphere of gayirresponsibility and gossip that she brought with her on herfrequent visitations became very trying to George. He resented hershallowness, her youthful gowns, her extravagances. Mary foundherself eternally defending Mamma, in an unobtrusive sort of way,inventing and assuming congenialities between her and George. It hadbeen an unmitigated blessing to have the little lady start gayly offfor Cousin Will's, only a month ago--And now here she was again!Mary sighed, pushed her letters aside, and stared thoughtfully outof the window. The first of New York's blazing summer days hungheavily over the gay Drive and the sluggish river. The Jersey hillswere blurred with heat. Dull, brief whistles of river-craft came toher; under the full leafage of trees on the Drive green omnibuseslumbered; baby carriages, each with its attendant, were motionlessin the shade. Mary drew her desk telephone toward her, pushed itaway again, hesitated over a note. Then she sent for her cook anddiscussed the day's meals.Alone again, she reached a second time for the telephone, waited fora number, and asked for Mr. Venable."George, this is Mary," said Mary, a moment later. Silence. "George,darling," said Mary, in a rush, "I am so sorry about Mamma, and Irealize how trying it is for you, and I'm so sorry I took what yousaid at breakfast that way. Don't worry, dear, we'll settle hersomehow. And I'll spare you all I can! George, would you like me tocome down to the office at six, and have dinner somewhere? She won'tbe here until tomorrow. And my new hat has come, and I want to wearit--?" She paused; there was a moment's silence before George's warm,big voice answered:"You are absolutely the most adorable angel that ever breathed,Mary. You make me ashamed of myself. I've been sitting here as blueas indigo. Everything going wrong! Those confounded Carter peoplegot the order for the Whitely building--you remember I told youabout it? It was a three-million dollar contract."Oh, George!" Mary lamented."Oh, well, it's not serious, dear. Only I thought we 'had itnailed.' I'd give a good deal to know how Carter does it. SometimesI have the profoundest contempt for that fellow's methods--then helands something like this. I don't believe he can handle it,either.""I hate that man!" said Mary, calmly. George laughed boyishly."Well, you were an angel to telephone," he said. "Come early,sweetheart, and we'll go up to Macbeth's,--they say it's quite anextraordinary collection. And don't worry--I'll be nice to Mamma.And wear your blessed little pink hat--"Mary went upstairs ten minutes later with a singing heart. Let Mammaand her attendant problems arrive tomorrow if she must. Today wouldbe all their own! She began to dress at three o'clock, as pleasantlyexcited as a girl. She laid her prettiest white linen gown besidethe pink hat on the bed, selected an especially frilled petticoat,was fastidious over white shoes and silken stockings.The big house was very still. Lizzie, hitherto un-compromisingly acook, had so far unbent this summer as to offer to fill the place ofwaitress as well as her own. Today she had joyously accepted Mary'soffer of a whole unexpected free afternoon and evening. Mary wasalone, and rather enjoying it. She walked, trailing her ruffledwrapper, to one of the windows, and looked down on the Drive. It wasalmost deserted.While she stood there idle and smiling, a taxicab veered to thecurb, hesitated, came to a full stop. Out of it came a small glovedhand with a parasol clasped in it, a small struggling foot in a graysuede shoe, a small doubled-up form clad in gray-blue silk, a hatcovered with corn-flowers.Mamma had arrived, as Mamma always did, unexpectedly.Mary stared at the apparition with a sudden rebellious surge at herheart. She knew what this meant, but for a moment the fullsignificance of it seemed too exasperating to be true. Oh, how couldshe!--spoil their last day together, upset their plans, maddenGeorge afresh, when he was only this moment pacified! Mary utteredan impatient little sigh as she went down to open the door; but itwas the anticipation of George's vexation--not her own--that stirredher, and the sight of Mamma was really unwelcome to Mary onlybecause of George's lack of welcome."No Lizzie?" asked Mamma, blithely, when her first greetings wereover, and the case of Cousin Will had been dismissed with a fewemphatic sentences."I let her go this afternoon instead of to-morrow, Muddie, dear.We're going down town to dinner.""Oh; that's nice,--but I look a perfect fright!" said Mrs.Honeywell, following Mary upstairs. "Nasty trip! I don't want athing but a cup of tea for supper anyway--bit of toast. I'll be gladto get my things off for a while.""If you like, Mamma, why don't you just turn in?" Mary suggested."It's nearly four now. I'll bring you up some cold meat and tea andso on.""Sounds awfully nice," her mother said, getting a thin little silkwrapper out of her suit-case. "But we'll see,--there's no hurry.What time are you meeting Georgie?""Well, we were going to Macbeth's,--but that's not important,--weneedn't meet him until nearly seven, I suppose," Mary saidpatiently, "only I ought to telephone him what we are going to do.""Oh, telephone that I'll come too, I'll feel fine in half an hour,"Mrs. Honeywell said decidedly.Mary, unsatisfied with this message, temporized by sitting down in adeep chair. The room, which had all been made ready for Mamma, wascool and pleasant. Awnings shaded the open windows; the rugs, thewall-paper, the chintzes were all in gay and roseate tints. Mrs.Honeywell stretched herself luxuriously on the bed, both pillowsunder her head."I'm sure she'd be much more comfortable here than tearing abouttown this stuffy night!" the daughter reflected, while listening toan account of Cousin Will's dreadful house, and dreadful children.It was so easy when Mamma was away to think generously,affectionately of her, to laugh kindly at the memory of her tryingmoods. But it was very different to have Mamma actually about, tohumor her whims, listen to her ceaseless chatter, silently sacrificeto her comfort a thousand comforts of one's own.After a half hour of playing listener she went down to telephoneGeorge."Oh, damn!" said George, heartily. "And here I've been hustlingthrough things thinking any minute that you'd come in. Well, thisspoils it all. I'll come home.""Oh, dearest,--it'll be just a 'pick-up' dinner, then. I don't knowwhat's in the house. Lizzie's gone," Mary submitted hesitatingly."Oh, damn!" George said forcibly, again."What does your mother propose to do?" he asked Mary some hourslater, when the rather unsuccessful dinner was over, Mamma hadretired, and he and his wife were in their own rooms. Mary feltimpending unpleasantness in his tone, and battled with a risingsense of antagonism. She tucked her pink hat into its flowered box,folded the silky tissue paper about it, tied the strings."Why, I don't know, dear!" she said pleasantly, carrying the box toher wardrobe."Does she plan to stay here?" George asked, with a reasonable air,carefully transferring letters, pocket-book, and watch-case from onevest to another."George, when does Mamma ever plan anything!" Mary reminded him,with elaborate gentleness.There was a short silence. The night was very sultry, and no airstirred the thin window-curtains. The room, with its rich litter ofglass and silver, its dark wood and bright hangings, seemed somehowhot and crowded. Mary flung her dark cloud of hair impatiently back,as she sat at her dressing table. Brushing was too hot a businesstonight."I confess I think I have a right to ask what your mother proposesto do," George said presently, with marked politeness."Oh, Georgie! Don't be so ridiculous!" Mary protested impatiently."You know what Mamma is!""I may be ridiculous," George conceded, magnificently, "but I failto see--""I don't mean that," Mary said hastily. "But need we decidetonight?" she added with laudable calm. "It's so hot, dearest, and Iam so sleepy. Mamma could go to Beach Meadow, I suppose?" shefinished unthinkingly.This was a wrong move. George was disappearing into his dressing-room at the moment, and did not turn back. Mary put out all thelights but one, turned down the beds, settled on her pillows with agreat sigh of relief. But George, returning in a trailing wrapper,was mighty with resolution."I mean to make just one final remark on this subject, Mary," saidGeorge, flashing on three lights with one turn of the wrist, "butyou may as well understand me. I mean it! I don't propose to haveyour mother at Beach Meadow, not for a single night--not for a day!She demoralizes the boys, she has a very bad effect on the nurse. Isympathize with Miss Fox, and I refuse to allow my children to begiven candy, and things injurious to their constitutions, and to bekept up until late hours, and to have their first perceptions ofhonor and truth misled--""George!""Well,' said George, after a brief pause, more mildly, "I won't haveit.""Then--but she can't stay here, George. It will spoil our wholesummer.""Exactly," George assented. There was another pause."I'll talk to Mamma--she may have some plan," Mary said at last,with a long sigh.Mamma had no plan to unfold on the following day, and a week andthen ten days went by without any suggestion of change on her part.The weather was very hot, and Lizzie complained more than once thatMrs. Honeywell must have her iced coffee and sandwiches at four andthat breakfast, luncheon, and dinner regularly for three was not atall like getting two meals for two every day, and besides, there wasanother bedroom to care for, and the kitchen was never in order!Mary applied an unfailing remedy to Lizzie's case, and sent for acharwoman besides. Less easily solved were other difficulties.George, for example, liked to take long motoring trips out of thecity, on warm summer evenings. He ran his own car, and was never sohappy as when Mary was on the driver's seat beside him, where hecould amuse her with the little news of the day, or repeat to herlong and, to Mary, unintelligible business conversations in which hehad borne a part.But Mamma's return spoiled all this. Obviously, the little ladycouldn't be left to bounce about alone in the tonneau. If Maryjoined her there, George would sit silently, immovably, in the frontseat, chewing his cigar, his eyes on the road. Only when they had afriend or two with them did Mary enjoy these drives.Mamma had an unlucky habit of scattering George's valuable bookscarelessly about the house, and George was fussy about his books.And she would sometimes amuse herself by trying roll after roll onthe piano-player, until George, perhaps trying to read in theadjoining library, was almost frantic. And she mislaid his telephonedirectory, and took telephone messages for him that she forgot todeliver, and insisted upon knowing why he was late for dinner, inspite of Mary's warning, "Let him change and get his breath Mamma,dear,--he's exhausted. What does it matter, anyway?"Sometimes Mary's heart would ache for the little, resourceless lady,drifting aimlessly through her same and stupid days. Mamma hadalways been spoiled, loved, amused,--it was too much to expectstrength and unselfishness of her now. And at other times, when shesaw the tired droop to George's big shoulders, and the gallanteffort he made to be sweet to Mamma, George who was so good, and sogenerous, and who only asked to have his wife and home quietly tohimself after the long day, Mary's heart would burn with longing toput her arms about him, and go off alone with him somewhere, andsmooth the wrinkles from. his forehead, and let him rest.One warm Sunday in mid-July they all went down to Long Island to seethe rosy, noisy babies. It was a happy day for Mary. George was verygracious, Mamma charming and complaisant. The weather wasperfection, and the children angelic. They shared the noonday dinnerwith little George and Richard and Mary, and motored home throughthe level light of late afternoon. Slowly passing through a certaincharming colony of summer homes, they were suddenly hailed.Out from a shingled bungalow, and across a velvet lawn streamedthree old friends of Mamma's, Mrs. Law'nce Arch'bald, and herdaughter, 'Lizabeth Sarah, who was almost Mamma's age, and 'LizabethSarah's husband, Harry Fairfax. These three were rapturouslypresented to the Venables by Mrs. Honeywell, and presently they allwent up to the porch for tea.Mary thought, and she could see George thought, that it was verypleasant to discuss the delicious Oolong and Maryland biscuit, andSouthern white fruit-cake, while listening to Mamma's happy chatterwith her old friends. The old negress who served tea called Mamma"chile," and Mrs. Archibald, an aristocratic, elderly woman, treatedher as if she were no more than a girl. Mary thought she had neverseen her mother so charming."I wonder if the's any reason, Mary Lou'siana, why you can't justcome down here and stay with me this summah?" said Mrs. Archibald,suddenly. "'Lizabeth Sarah and Harry Fairfax, they're always comingand going, and Lord knows it would be like havin' one of my owngirls back, to me. We've room, and there's a lot of nice people downhereabouts--"A chorus arose, Mrs. Honey well protesting joyously that that wastoo much imp'sition for any use, 'Lizabeth Sarah and Harry Fairfaxviolently favorable to the idea, Mrs. Archibald magnificentlyoverriding objections, Mary and George trying with laughter toseparate jest from earnest. Mrs. Honeywell, overborne, was draggedupstairs to inspect "her room," old Aunt Curry, the colored maid andcook, adding her deep-noted welcome to "Miss Mar' Lou." It wasarranged that Mamma should at least spend the night, and George andMary left her there, and came happily home together, laughing, overtheir little downtown dinner, with an almost parental indulgence, atMamma.In the end, Mamma did go down to the Archibald's for an indefinitestay. Mary quite overwhelmed her with generous contributions to herwardrobe, and George presented her with a long-coveted chain. Theparting took place with great affection and regret expressed on bothsides. But this timely relief was clouded for Mary when Mammaflitted in to see her a day or two later. Mamma wondered if Ma'ydearest could possibly let her have two hundred dollars."Muddie, you've overdrawn again!" Mary accused her. For Mamma had anincome of a thousand a year."No, dear, it's not that. I am a little overdrawn, but it's notthat. But you see Richie Carter lives right next do' to theArch'balds,"--Mamma's natural Southern accent was gaining strengthevery day now,--"and it might be awkward, meetin' him, don't youknow?""Awkward?" Mary echoed, frowning."Well, you see, Ma'y, love, some years ago I was intimate with hiswife," her mother proceeded with some little embarrassment, "and sowhen I met him at the Springs last year, I confided in him about--laws! I forget what it was exactly, some bills I didn't want tobother Georgie about, anyway. And he was perfectly charmin' about itI""Oh, Mamma!" Mary said in distress, "not Richard Carter of theCarter Construction Company? Oh, Mamma, you know how George hatesthat whole crowd! You didn't borrow money of him!""Not that he'd ever speak of it--he'd die first!" Mrs. Honeywellsaid hastily."I'll have to ask George for it," Mary said after a long pause, "andhe'll be furious." To which Mamma, who was on the point ofdeparture, agreed, adding thoughtfully, "I'm always glad not to behere if Georgie's going to fly into a rage."George did fly into a rage at this piece of news, and said somescathing things of Mamma, even while he wrote out a check for twohundred dollars."Here, you send it to her," he said bitterly to Mary, folding thepaper with a frown. "I don't feel as if I ever wanted to see heragain. I tell you, Mary, I warn you, my dear, that things can't goon this way much longer. I never refused her money that I know of,and yet she turns to this fellow Carter!" He interrupted himselfwith an exasperated shrug, and began to walk about the room. "Sheturns to Carter," he burst out again angrily, "a man who could hurtme irreparably by letting it get about that my mother-in-law had toask him for a petty loan!"Mary, with a troubled face, was slowly, silently setting up a gameof chess. She took the check, feeling like Becky Sharp, and tuckedit into her blouse."Come on, George, dear," she said, after an uneasy silence. Shepushed a white pawn forward. George somewhat unwillingly took hisseat opposite her, but could not easily capture the spirit of thegame. He made a hasty move or two, scowled up at the lights, scowledat the windows that were already wide open to the sultry night,loosened his collar with two impatient fingers."I'd give a good deal to understand your mother, Mary," he burst outsuddenly. "I'd give a great deal! Her love of pleasure I canunderstand--her utter lack of any possible vestige of business senseI can understand, although my own mother was a woman who conductedan immense business with absolute scrupulousness and integrity--""Georgie, dear! What has your mother's business ability to do withpoor Mamma!" Mary said patiently, screwing the separated halves of aknight firmly together."It has this to do with it," George said with sudden heat, "that mymother's principles gave me a pretty clear idea of what a lady doesand does not do! And my mother would have starved before she turnedto a comparative stranger for a personal loan.""But neither one of her sons could bear to live with her, she was socold-blooded," Mary thought, but with heroic self-control she keptsilent. She answered only by the masterly advance of a bishop."Queen," she said calmly."Queen nothing!" George said, suddenly attentive."Give me a piece then," Mary chanted. George gave a fully arousedattention to the game, and saving it, saved the evening for Mary."But please keep Mamma quiet now for a while!" she prayed ferventlyin her evening devotions a few hours later. "I can't keep this up--we'll have serious trouble here. Please make her stay where she isfor a year at least."Two weeks, three weeks, went peaceably by. The Venables spent ahappy week-end or two with their children. Between these visits theywere as light-hearted as children themselves, in the quiet roominessof the New York home. Mamma's letters were regular and cheerful, sheshowed no inclination to return, and Mary, relieved for the firsttime since her childhood of pressing responsibility, bloomed like arose.Sometimes she reflected uneasily that Mamma's affairs were onlytemporarily settled, after all, and sometimes George made her heartsink with uncompromising statements regarding the future, but forthe most part Mary's natural sunniness kept her cheerful andunapprehensive.Almost unexpectedly, therefore, the crash came. It came on a veryhot day, which, following a week of delightfully cool weather, waslike a last flaming hand-clasp from the departing summer. It was aMonday, and had started wrong with a burned omelette at breakfast,and unripe melons. And the one suit George had particularly asked tohave cleaned and pressed had somehow escaped Mary's vigilance, andstill hung creased and limp in the closet. So George went off,feeling a little abused, and Mary, feeling cross, too, went slowlyabout her morning tasks. Another annoyance was when the telephoneshad been cut off; a man with a small black bag mysteriouslyappearing to disconnect them, and as mysteriously vanishing whenonce their separated parts lay useless on the floor. Mary, idlyreading, and comfortably stretched on a couch in her own room ateleven o'clock, was disturbed by the frantic and incessant ringingof the front doorbell."Lizzie went in to Broadway, I suppose," she reflected uneasily."But I oughtn't to go down this way! Let him try again.""He"--whoever he was--did try again so forcibly and so many timesthat Mary, after going to the head of the kitchen stairs to callLizzie, with no result, finally ran down the main stairway herself,and gathering the loose frills of her morning wrapper about her,warily unbolted the door.She admitted George, whose face was dark with heat, and whose voicerasped."Where's Lizzie?" he asked, eying Mary's negligee."Oh, dearie--and I've been keeping you waiting!" Mary lamented."Come into the dining-room, it's cooler. She's marketing."George dropped into a chair and mopped his forehead."No one to answer the telephone?" he pursued, frowning."It's disconnected, dear. Georgie, what is it?--you look sick.""Well, I am, just about!" George said sternly. Then, irrelevantly,he demanded: "Mary, did you know your mother had disposed of herSunbright shares?""Sold her copper stock!" Mary ejaculated, aghast For Mamma's entireincome was drawn from this eminently safe and sane investment, andMary and George had never ceased to congratulate themselves upon hergood fortune in getting it at all."Two months ago," said George, with a shrewdly observant eye.Mary interpreted his expression."Certainly I didn't know it!" she said with spirit."Didn't, eh? She says you did," George said."Mamma does?" Mary was astounded."Read that!" Her husband flung a letter on the table.Mary caught it up, ran through it hastily. It was from Mamma: Shewas ending her visit at Rock Bar, the Archibalds were going Southrather early, they had begged her to go, but she didn't want to, andMary could look for her any day now. And she was writing to Georgiebecause she was afraid she'd have to tell him that she had done anawfully silly thing: she had sold her Sunbright shares to an awfullyattractive young fellow whom Mr. Pierce had sent to her--and so onand so on. Mary's eye leaped several lines to her own name. "Maryagreed with me that the Potter electric light stock was just as safeand they offered seven per cent," wrote Mamma."I do remember now her saying something about the Potter," Marysaid, raising honest, distressed eyes from the letter, "but with nopossible idea that she meditated anything like this!"George had been walking up and down the room."She's lost every cent!" he said savagely. And he flung both handsout with an air of frenzy before beginning his angry march again.Mary sat in stony despair."Have you heard from her today?" he flung out.His wife shook her head."Well, she's in town," George presently resumed, "because Bates toldme she telephoned the office while I was out this morning. Now,listen, Mary. I've done all I'm going to do for your mother! Andshe's not to enter this house again--do you understand?""George!" said Mary."She is not going to enter my house," reiterated George. "I haveoften wondered what led to estrangements in families, but by theLord, I think there's some excuse in this case! She lies to me, shesets my judgment at naught, she does the things with my childrenthat I've expressly asked her not to do, she cultivates the people Iloathe, she works you into a state of nervous collapse--it's toomuch! Now she's thrown her income away,--thrown it away! Now I tellyou, Mary, I'll support her, if that's what she expects--""Really, George, you are--you are--Be careful!" Mary exclaimed,roused in her turn. "You forget to whom you are speaking. I admitthat Mamma is annoying, I admit that you have some cause forcomplaint,--but you forget to whom you are speaking! I love mymother," said Mary, her feeling rising with every word. "I won'thave her so spoken of! Not have her enter the house again? Why, doyou suppose I am going to meet her in the street, and send herclothes after her as if she were a discharged servant?""She may come here for her clothes," George conceded, "but she shallnot spend another night under my roof. Let her try taking care ofherself for a change!"There was a silence."George, don't you see how unreasonable you are?" Mary said, after abitter struggle for calm."That's final," George said briefly."I don't know what you mean by final," his wife answered withwarmth. "If you really think--""I won't argue it, my dear. And I won't have my life ruined by yourmother, as thousands of men's lives have been ruined, by just suchunscrupulous irresponsible women!""George," said Mary, very white, "I won't turn against my mother!""Then you turn against me," George said in a deadly calm."Do you expect her to board, George, in the same city that I have myhome?" Mary demanded, after a pause."Plenty of women do it," George said inflexibly."But, George, you know Mamma! She'd simply be here all the time; itwould come to exactly the same thing. She'd come after breakfast,and you'd have to take her home after dinner. She'd have her clothesmade here, and laundered here, and she'd do all her telephoning...""That is exactly what has got to stop," said George. "I will pay herboard at some good place. But I'll pay it... she won't touch themoney. Besides that, she can have an allowance. But she mustunderstand that she is not to come here except when she isespecially invited, at certain intervals.""George, dear, that is absolutely absurd!""Very well," George said, flushing, "but if she is here to-night, Iwill not come home. I'll dine at the club. When she has gone, I'llcome home again."Mary's head was awhirl. She scarcely knew where the conversation wasleading then, or what the reckless things they said involved. Shewas merely feeling blindly now for the arguments that should giveher the advantage."You needn't stay at the club, George," she said, "for Mamma and Iwill go down to Beach Meadow. When you have come to your senses,I'll come back. I'll let Miss Fox go, and Mamma and I will look outfor the children--""I warn you," George interrupted her coldly, "that if you take anysuch step, you will have a long time to think it over before youhear from me! I warn you that it has taken much less than this toruin the happiness of many a man and woman!"Mary faced him, breathing hard. This was their first real quarrel.Brief times of impatience, unsympathy, differences of opinion therehad been, but this--this Mary felt even now--was gravely different.With a feeling curiously alien and cold, almost hostile, she eyedthe face opposite her own; the strange face that had been sofamiliar and dear only at breakfast time."I will go," she said quietly. "I think it will do us both good.""Nonsense!" George said. "I won't permit it.""What will you do, make a public affair of it?""No, you know I won't do that. But don't talk like a child, Mary.Remember, I mean what I say about your mother, and tell her so whenshe arrives."After that, he went away. A long time passed, while Mary sat verystill in the big leather chair at the head of the table. Thesunlight shifted, fell lower,--shone ruby red through a decanter ofclaret on the sideboard. The house was very still.After a while she went slowly upstairs. She dragged a little trunkfrom a hall closet, and began quietly, methodically, to pack it withher own clothes. Now and then her breast rose with a great sob, butshe controlled herself instantly."This can't go on," she said aloud to herself. "It's not today--it'snot to-morrow--but it's for all time. I can't keep this up. I can'tworry and apologize, and neglect George, and hurt Mamma's feelingsfor the rest of my life. Mamma has always done her best for me, andI never saw George until five years ago--"It's not," she went on presently, "as if I were a woman who takesmarriage lightly. I have tried. But I won't desert Mamma. And Iwon't--I will not!--endure having George talk to me as he didtoday!"She would go down to the children, she would rest, she would readagain during the quiet evenings. Days would go by, weeks. Butfinally George would write her--would come to her. He must. Whatelse could he do?Something like terror shook her. Was this the way serious, endlessseparations began between men and their wives? Her mind flittedsickly to other people's troubles: the Waynes, who had separatedbecause Rose liked gayety and Fred liked domestic peace; theGardiners, who--well, there never did seem to be any reason there.Frances and the baby just went to her mother's home, and stayedhome, and after a while people said she and Sid had separated,though Frances said she would always like Sid as a friend--not veryserious reasons, these! Yet they had proved enough.Mary paused. Was she playing with fire? Ah, no, she told herself, itwas very different in her case. This was no imaginary case of"neglect" or "incompatibility." There was the living trouble,--Mamma. And even if tonight she conceded this point to George, andMamma was banished, sooner or later resentment, bitter anduncontrollable, would rise again, she knew, in her heart. No. Shewould go. George might do the yielding.Once or twice tears threatened her calm. But it was only necessaryto remind herself of what George had said to dry her eyes into angrybrilliance again. Too late now for tears.At five o'clock the trunk was packed, but Mamma had not yet arrived.There remained merely to wait for her, and to start with her forBeach Meadow. Mary's heart was beating fast now, but it was lesswith regret than with a nervous fear that something would delay hernow. She turned the key in the trunk lock and straightened up withthe sudden realization that her back was aching.For a moment she stood, undecided, in the centre of her room. Shouldshe leave a little note for George, "on his pincushion," or simplyask Lizzie to say that she had gone to Beach Meadow? He would notfollow her there, she knew; George understood her. He knew of howlittle use bullying or coaxing would be. There would be no scenes.She would be allowed to settle down to an existence that would behappy for Mamma, good for the children, restful--free fromdistressing strain--for Mary herself.With a curious freedom from emotion of any sort, she selected a hat,and laid her gloves beside it on the bed. Just then the front door,below her, opened to admit the noise of hurried feet and of joyouslaughter. Several voices were talking at once. Mary, to whom thegroup was still invisible, recognized one of these as belonging toMamma. As she went downstairs, she had only time for oneapprehensive thrill, before Mamma herself ran about the curve of thestairway, and flung herself into Mary's arms.Mamma was dressed in corn-colored silk, over which an exquisite wrapof the same shade fell in rich folds. Her hat was a creation of paleyellow plumes and hydrangeas, her silk stockings and little bootscorn-colored. She dragged the bewildered Mary down the stairway, andMary, pausing at the landing, looked dazedly at her husband, whostood in the hall below with a dark, middle-aged man whom she hadnever seen before."Here she is!" Mamma cried joyously. "Richie, come kiss her rightthis minute! Ma'y, darling, this is your new papa!""What!" said Mary, faintly. But before she knew it the strange mandid indeed kiss her, and then George kissed her, and Mamma kissedher again, and all three shouted with laughter as they went over andover the story. Mary, in all the surprise and confusion, still foundtime to marvel at the sight of George's radiant face."Carter--of all people!" said George, with a slap on the groom'sshoulder. "I loved his dea' wife like a sister!" Mamma threw inparenthetically, displaying to Mary's eyes her little curled-up fistwith a diamond on it quite the width of the finger it adorned."Strangely enough," said Mr. Carter, in a deep, dignified boom,"your husband and I had never met until to-day, Mrs.--ah, Mary--when-" his proud eye travelled to the corn-colored figure, "whenthis young lady of mine introduced us!""Though we've exchanged letters, eh?" George grinned, cutting thewires of a champagne bottle. For they were about the dining-roomtable now, and the bride's health was to be drunk.Mary, managing with some effort to appear calm, outwardlycongratulatory, interested, and sympathetic; and already feelingsomewhere far down in her consciousness an exhilarated sense ofamusement and relief at this latest performance of Mamma's,--wasnevertheless chiefly conscious of a deep and swelling indignationagainst George.George! Oh, he could laugh now; he could kiss, compliment, rejoicewith Mamma now, he could welcome and flatter Richard Carter now,although he had repudiated and insulted the one but a few hours ago,and had for years found nothing good to say of the other! He coulddelightedly involve Mary in his congratulations and happy propheciesnow, when but today he had half broken her heart!"Lovely!" she said, smiling automatically and rising with the otherswhen the bridegroom laughingly proposed a toast to the firm thatmight some day be "Venable and Carter," and George insisted upondrinking it standing, and, "Oh, of course, I understand how suddenit all was, darling!" "Oh, Mamma, won't that be heavenly!" sheresponded with apparent rapture to the excited outpourings of thebride. But at her heart was a cold, dull weight, and her sober eyeswent again and again to her husband's face."Oh, no!" she would say to herself, watching him, "you can't dothat, George! You can't change about like a weathercock, and expectme to change, too, and forget everything that went before! You'vechosen to dig the gulf between us--I'm not like Mamma, I'm not achild--my dignity and my rights can't be ignored in this fashion!"No, the matter involved more than Mamma now. George should bepunished; he should have his scare. Things must be all cleared up,explained, made right between them. A few weeks of absence, a littlerealization of what he had done would start their marriage off againon a new footing.She kissed her mother affectionately at the door, gave the newrelative a cordial clasp with both hands."We'll let you know in a week or two where we are," said Mamma, allgirlish confusion and happiness. "You have my suit-case, Rich'?That's right, dea'. Good-by, you nice things!""Good-by, darling!" Mary said. She walked back into the emptylibrary, seated herself in a great chair, and waited for George.The front door slammed. George reappeared, chuckling, and rubbinghis hands together. He walked over to a window, held back the heavycurtain, and watched the departing carriage out of sight."There they go!" he said. "Carter and your mother--married, by Jove!Well, Mary, this is about the best day's work for me that's comealong for some time. Carter was speaking in the carriage only anhour ago about the possibility of our handling the New Nassau Bridgecontract together. I don't know why not." George mused a moment,smilingly."I thought you had an utter contempt for him as a business man,"Mary said stingingly--involuntarily, too, for she had not meant tobe diverted from her original plan of a mere dignified farewell."Never for him," George said promptly. "I don't like some of hispeople. Burns, his chief construction engineer, for instance. ButI've the greatest respect for him! And your mother!" said George,laughing again. "And how pretty she looked, too! Well, sir, theywalked in on me this afternoon. I never was so surprised in my life!You know, Mary," said George, taking his own big leather chair,stretching his legs out luxuriously, and eying the tip of a cigarcritically, "you know that your mother is an extremely fascinatingwoman! You'll see now how she'll blossom out, with a home of her ownagain--he's got a big house over on the Avenue somewhere, beside theBar Kock place--and he runs three or four cars. Just what yourmother loves!"Mary continued to regard her husband steadily, silently. One look atthe fixed expression of contempt on her face would have enlightenedhim, but George was lighting his cigar now, and did not glance ather."I'll tell you another thing, Mary," said George, after a match-scratching-and-puffing interlude, "I'll tell you another thing, mydear. You're an angel, and you don't notice these things as I do,but, by Jove, your mother was reaching the point where she prettynearly made trouble between us! Fact!" he pursued, with a seriousnod. "I get tired, you know, and nervous, and unreasonable--you musthave had it pretty hard sometimes this month between your mother andme! I get hot--you know I don't mean anything! If you hadn't thedisposition of a saint, things would have come to a head long ago.Now this very morning I talked to you like a regular kid. Mary, theminute I got back to the office I was ashamed of myself. Why,ninety-nine women out of a hundred would have raised the very deucewith me for that! But, by Jove--" his voice dropped to a pause."By Jove," George went on, "you are an angel! Now tell me the honesttruth, old girl, didn't you resent what I said to-day, just for aminute?""I certainly did," Mary responded promptly and quietly, but with anuncomfortable sense of lessened wrath. "What you said was absolutelyunwarrantable and insulting!""I'll bet you did!" said George, giving her a glance that was alittle troubled, and a little wistful, too. "It was insulting, itwas unwarrantable. But, my Lord, Mary, you know how I love yourmother!" he continued eagerly. "She and I are the best of friends.We rasp each other now and then, but we both love you too much everto come to real trouble. I'm no angel, Mary," said George, lookingdown his cigar thoughtfully, "but as men go, I'm a pretty decentman. You know how much time I've spent at the club since we weremarried. You know the fellows can't rope me into poker games orbooze parties. I love my wife and my kids and my home. But when Ithink of you, and realize how unworthy I am of you, by Heaven--!" Hechoked, shook his head, finding further speech for a momentdifficult. "There's no man alive who's worthy of you!" he finished."The Lord's been very good to me."Mary's eyes had filled, too. She sat for a minute, trying to steadyher suddenly quivering lips. She looked at George sitting there inthe twilight, and said to herself it was all true. He was good, hewas steady, he was indeed devoted to her and to the children. But--but he had insulted her, he had broken her heart, she couldn't lethim off without some rebuke."You should have thought of these things before you--" she began,with a very fair imitation of scorn in her voice. But Georgeinterrupted her. His hands were clasped loosely between his knees,his head hanging dejectedly."I know," he said despondently, "I know!"Mary paused. What she had still to say seemed suddenly flat. And inthe pause her mother's one piece of advice came to her mind. Afterall it only mattered that he was unhappy, and he was hers, and shecould make him happy again.She left her chair, went with a few quick steps to her husband'sside, and knelt, and put her cheek against his shoulder. He gave agreat boyish laugh of relief and pleasure and put his arms abouther."How old are you, George?" she said."How old am I? What on earth--why, I'm forty," he said."I was just thinking that the best of you men is only a little boy,and should be treated as such!" said Mary, kissing him."You can treat me as you like," he assured her, joyously. "And I'mstarving. And unless you think there is any likelihood of Mammadropping in and spoiling our plan, I would like to take you out todinner.""Well, she might," Mary agreed with a happy laugh, "so I'll simplyrun for my hat. You never can be sure, with Mamma!"

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