he began at last, since Mrs
Transome did not speak. »If he gets into parliament, I have no doubt he will
distinguish himself. He has a quick eye for business of all kinds.«
    »That is no comfort to me,« said Mrs Transome. To-day she was more conscious
than usual of that bitterness which was always in her mind in Jermyn's presence,
but which was carefully suppressed: - suppressed because she could not endure
that the degradation she inwardly felt should ever become visible or audible in
acts or words of her own - should ever be reflected in any word or look of his.
For years there had been a deep silence about the past between them: on her
side, because she remembered; on his, because he more and more forgot.
    »I trust he is not unkind to you in any way. I know his opinions pain you;
but I trust you find him in everything else disposed to be a good son.«
    »O, to be sure - good as men are disposed to be to women, giving them
cushions and carriages, and recommending them to enjoy themselves, and then
expecting them to be contented under contempt and neglect. I have no power over
him - remember that - none.«
    Jermyn turned to look in Mrs Transome's face: it was long since he had heard
her speak to him as if she were losing her self-command.
    »Has he shown any unpleasant feeling about your management of the affairs?«
    »My management of the affairs?« Mrs Transome said, with concentrated rage,
flashing a fierce look at Jermyn. She checked herself: she felt as if she were
lighting a torch to flare on her own past folly and misery. It was a resolve
which had become a habit, that she would never quarrel with this man - never
tell him what she saw him to be. She had kept her woman's pride and sensibility
intact: through all her life there had vibrated the maiden need to have her hand
kissed and be the object of chivalry. And so she sank into silence again,
trembling.
    Jermyn felt annoyed - nothing more. There was nothing in his mind
corresponding to the intricate meshes of sensitiveness in Mrs Transome's. He was
anything but stupid; yet he always blundered when he wanted to be delicate or
magnanimous; he constantly sought to soothe others by praising himself. Moral
vulgarity cleaved to him like an hereditary odour. He blundered now.
    »My dear Mrs Transome,« he said in a tone of bland kindness, »you are