Mrs. Thompson Part 18

Mrs. Thompson was pacing to and fro rapidly and excitedly; her bosom heaved, and the words were beginning to pour out with explosive force.

"He is everything then--the sun, moon, and stars to you; and I am a cipher. The mother who bore you counts for less than any Tom, d.i.c.k, or Harry who puts his arms round your waist and pulls your silly face towards him."

"Mother!"

"Yes, mother! That's my name still--and you use it from habit. Only the fact--the plain meaning of the word is gone."

"Mother, they'll hear you in the other room."

"But I'm not a woman to be ignored and slighted--and pushed aside.

There's nothing of the patient Griselda in my nature. I am what I _am_--all alive still--not done for, and on the shelf. I have subordinated my life to yours--let you rule it how you chose. But you must rule it by kindness--not by cold looks and cutting words. I don't submit to that--I _won't_ submit to it."

"Mother dear, I have told you how grateful I am."

"And grat.i.tude--as you understand it--is no use to me. I've a _right_--yes, a right to your affection--the natural affection that I've striven to retain, that I've done nothing to forfeit."

"No, no. Mother dear, you have my affection."

"Then what's it worth? Not much--no, not very much, if the first time I appeal to your sense of duty too, it isn't to be found. I tell you not to be a fool--and you swear I am wrecking your life. I'm the villain of your trumpery little drama--plotting and scheming to frustrate your love and spoil your life. That's too rich--that's too good, altogether too good."

The expression of Enid's face had changed from obstinacy to alarm. She watched her mother apprehensively, and stammered some calming phrases.

"Mother dear, I'm sorry. Don't, don't get excited--or I'm sure they'll hear us in the other room."

"Your life, yes. And what about _my_ life?" The words were pouring out in an unchecked torrent. "Look back at my life and see what it has been.

You're twenty-two, aren't you? And I was that age more than twenty-two years ago--and all the twenty-two years I've given you. Something for something--not something for nothing. We traders like fair exchange--but you've put yourself above all that.... No, leave me alone. Don't touch me, since you have ceased to care for me."

Enid had come from the piano, and was endeavouring to subdue the emotional explosion by a soothing caress.

"Leave me to myself--leave me alone. I'm nothing to you--and you know it."

Enid's caress was roughly repulsed; and Mrs. Thompson sat upon the sofa, hid her flushed face upon her arms, and burst into a fit of almost hysterical sobbing.

"Mother, mother--don't, please don't;" and Enid sat beside her, patted her shoulder, and begged her quickly to compose herself lest the gentlemen should come and see her in her distress.

"It's so cruel," sobbed Mrs. Thompson. "And now--now of all times, I can't bear it.... But I mustn't let myself go like this. I daren't give way like this."

Then very soon her broad back ceased to shake; the convulsing gasping sobs were suppressed, and she sat up and dried her eyes.

"Enid, have I made a horrible fright of myself?" And she rose from the sofa, and went to look in the gla.s.s over the fireplace. The tears had left little trace; the reflection in the gla.s.s rea.s.sured her.

She was comparatively calm when she returned to the sofa and sat down again.

"Enid, my dear, I'm ashamed to have been betrayed into such weakness,"

and she smiled piteously. "But you have tested me too severely of late--since this unlucky affair began. I have thought myself strong enough; but the strongest things have their snapping point--even iron and steel;--and I am only flesh and blood.... You don't understand, but I warn you that I _need_ the sympathy and the kindness which you withhold from me.... Be nice to me--be kind to me."

But Enid was crying now. Tears trickled down her narrow face. The strange sight of her mother's violent and explosive distress had quite overcome her.

"I do try to do what's right," she whimpered.

"Yes, my darling girl," said Mrs. Thompson tenderly. "And so do I. It's all summed up in that. We must do what's right and wise--not just what seems easy and delightful. There. There.... Use my handkerchief;" and in her turn she reminded Enid that the gentlemen would be with them at any minute.

"Mother, when you ask me to give him up, it's more than I _can_ do."

"But would I ask you if I wasn't certain--as certain as I can be of anything in the world--that you could never be happy with him? You'd be risking a lifetime's regret."

"I am ready to take the risk. Don't come between us."

"Enid, my dearest--my own Enid, trust me--trust the mother who has never, never thwarted you till now. You know I'm not selfish--not greedy of money. Truly I have only worked for you.... And think--though I hate to say it--of the many--the many, many things I have given up for your sake. It wasn't difficult perhaps--because you were everything on earth to me. But any middle-aged woman who knew my life would tell you that I have made great sacrifices--and all for you."

"I know you have, mother. It's dreadful to think of how you have worked, year after year."

"Then can't you make this one sacrifice for me?"

"If it was anything else;" and Enid sniffed, and another tear or two began to trickle. "If it was anything else, I'd obey you implicitly--and know it was my duty."

"Why isn't it your duty now?"

"Because this is so different."

"Enid, stop. Don't say any more."

"But, mother dear, do understand what I mean."

"Yes, I understand too well."

"I'm not ungrateful. If you called on me to pay back some of my debt, I'd work for you till I dropped. I'd try to make every sort of sacrifice that you have made for me. But when it comes to a woman's love, she _can't_ sacrifice herself."

"Then, by G.o.d, I'll take you at your word."

Mrs. Thompson had sprung up from the sofa; and once more she paced to and fro, a prey to an increasing excitement.

"Mother? You'll consent?"

"Yes--I consent. A woman can't sacrifice her love! Very good. So be it.

That's your law. Then obey it--and, as there's a G.o.d in Heaven, I'll obey it, too."

The gentlemen, leaving their dinner table, heard the raised voice, and paused in surprise outside the drawing-room door. When they entered the room, Mrs. Thompson, with blazing cheeks and flashing eyes, turned towards them and gazed eagerly through the open doorway.

"Mr. Marsden, where are you? Come here."

Marsden went to her quickly; and she drew him away to the curtained windows, and spoke in an eager whisper.

"Did you mean what you told me by the river?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean it still?"