Alone in the spacious bedroom allotted to her, Prudence spent the rest
time allowed her before dinner in the indulgence of her favourite
occupation, leaning from the window, lost in a maze of thought. It
struck her very forcibly with not the slightest intimation of doubt that
six women in a household were less assertively too many than two women--
two women with conflicting interests and equal authority. She
determined that she would not consent to live with a mother-in-law. It
was very plain to her that in the event of Mrs Morgan sharing their
home, the combined wills of mother and son would force her inevitably to
regulate her life on the lines which habit and tradition inclined them
naturally to follow. She did not aspire to excel as a housewife; nor
did she wish to avoid late hours and unwholesome excitement, and develop
a horror of draughts and a cautious regard for her digestion. Mr
Morgan was obliged to live simply. His diet consisted mainly, it seemed
to Prudence, of boiled mutton and milk puddings. Mrs Morgan had
impressed these important details on her in the drawing-room while she
drank her tea. Any departure from this rigorous self-denial was
followed by tribulation. And invariably he drank a glass of hot water
the last thing before retiring.
Old Mrs Morgan partook of hot water also. She proposed that Prudence
should adopt this excellent custom.
"It is so good for every one," she had explained to Prudence's immense
embarrassment. "It flushes the kidneys."
Recalling this amazing statement in the solitude of her room, Prudence
was moved to quiet mirth.
"A kidney bath," she reflected with a flash of malicious humour at Mrs
Morgan's expense, "before bedtime. Excellent practice! I must
certainly introduce Bobby to the beverage. We'll call it K.B. I
suppose I'm expected to dine off boiled mutton every night, and wash it
down with K.B. What a prospect! I wonder whether his mother suspects
that when he is away from home Edward strengthens his nightly tonic with
whisky."
Prudence lingered at the open window until the first gong, booming
through the house, roused her from her meditations to the disquieting
realisation that she must dress and go down and face a resumption of
these surprisingly intimate confidences. Mrs Morgan had given her to
understand that she was to be fully informed in everything relating to
Edward's well-being and comfort. The first duty of a wife, indeed the
duty which embraced all others, consisted in having always in mind a
regard for her husband's wishes and care for his health and happiness.
"I fail to see where I come in," Prudence thought. "Presumably my
wishes don't count."
Mr Morgan was waiting for her alone in the drawing-room when she
descended. He came forward quickly at sight of her and took her in his
arms and kissed her gently.
"I want to thank you," he said, "while I have the opportunity, for your
sweetness and patience. My mother has coddled me so long; she loves
doing it; and I let her because--well, because she is my mother. But
don't be alarmed into believing I am the faddist she would make me
appear. You will find, when we are married, it is I who will do the
thinking for both. Don't worry your pretty head with trying to absorb
these ideas. They amuse her; we need not distress ourselves about
them."
Prudence looked up at him with a smile in her wide blue eyes.
"Have I really to see to the airing of your flannels before you change?"
she asked.
He laughed with her.
"There is an airing cupboard. I don't think you need bother. But I
believe she does."
"You really are a reassuring person," she said, and held up her face to
him to be kissed.
"You are crumpling your shirt, Edward," Mrs Morgan said, entering the
room at the moment, a commanding figure in black silk and fine old lace,
with a critical eye on their grouping and an absence of sympathy in her
look.
Prudence moved away quickly with the feeling that she had been rebuked.
The Henry Morgans arrived exactly five minutes in advance of dinner, and
were received with restrained cordiality, and duly presented to
Prudence. Mrs Henry, a bright little woman in the middle thirties,
with a gay audacity of manner and a ready infectious laugh, took
Prudence by the shoulders and kissed her effusively. Then she held her
off at arm's length and scrutinised her closely.
"It is absurd," she remarked, her amused eyes on the girl's blushing
face; "you'll take precedence of me. You're the senior partner, you
know. We really ought to change husbands."
"Prudence is better suited to a serious-minded husband than you are,
Rose, in everything but years," old Mrs Morgan retorted.
Mrs Henry did not appear to resent this remark. She and her
mother-in-law never met without an interchange of polite hostilities.
"Now you know where to place me," she said to Prudence. "I'm the little
lump of leaven amid the dough of Morgan responsibility. You and I have
got to be friends. I've been blessing Edward ever since he broke the
amazing news for introducing something youthful into the firm. We
didn't expect it of him."
The gong broke in on these indiscretions with its booming summons to the
dining-room. Prudence went in with her fiance, and faced Henry Morgan
and his wife at table. Henry was a younger edition of his brother, and
not much more animated. It occurred to Prudence that Mrs Henry struck
a bright note of contrast amid the semitones of the Morgan household.
Mrs Henry could on occasions make herself peculiarly offensive to her
mother-in-law; but it suited her to cultivate Prudence's acquaintance,
and so she exercised for that evening a certain tact in fencing with
Mrs Morgan that gave no substantial ground for disagreement. She
contrived none the less to reveal Edward's mother to his fiancee in an
altogether unfavourable light.
"Mother is such an autocrat," she remarked once laughingly. "I suppose
that is due to the fact that she has never had a daughter."
"If I had had a daughter," Mrs Morgan replied, "I would have brought
her up to respect authority."
"You'll be able to practise on Prudence," Mrs Henry suggested
pleasantly, giving the old lady, who was more shrewd than she suspected,
an insight into her game. She was trying to prejudice Prudence against
her.
Mrs Morgan said nothing; but she determined to counterstroke that move.
With the laudable desire of getting on to easier ground, Edward Morgan
spoke of the coming dance and Prudence's anticipatory pleasure. Mrs
Henry discussed it happily.
"I love dancing," she confessed to Prudence. "And of course I knew you
would. It's one way of giving you a glimpse of the aborigines. They
are a dull lot on the whole. And I'm afraid we'll be short of dancing
men. I shall have to import a few. I'm glad you approve of the idea;
mother, of course, doesn't."
"You could scarcely expect dancing to appeal to me at my time of life,"
Mrs Morgan observed, her short-sighted eyes scrutinising her
daughter-in-law's face with unflattering attentiveness. "I confess to
surprise that it should still attract you so strongly. But for Prudence
it is a different matter. At her age dancing is quite suitable. Since
Edward is willing to accompany her, I am sure she will enjoy it." She
smiled agreeably at Prudence. "I shall enjoy hearing all about it
afterwards."
Mrs Henry had not calculated on this neat turning of her weapon of
offence, and was temporarily at a disadvantage. But she recovered from
her surprise with astonishing quickness.
"She will be able to tell you of her many conquests," she said. "It
will amuse you to hear of her triumphs."
"I pay Prudence the compliment of believing her to be neither silly nor
vain," Mrs Morgan returned. "If she made conquests she would not boast
of them."
"I'm unfortunate," Mrs Henry remarked plaintively. "I am always saying
the wrong thing." She glanced at Prudence with a swift upward lift of
her eyelid, and added: "I shall have to borrow a leaf from your book of
deportment. You don't look as good as they would have me believe; but,"
and she turned her eyes to where Edward Morgan sat beside his fiancee,
and let them rest contemplatively on his solid figure, "I suppose you
really are seriously inclined."