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What was the matter with her? So intent had he been, for the past months,
on his own affairs that he had not thought of his mother at all. He looked
across the table at her--a little insignificant woman, colourless, with no
personality. And yet to-night something was happening to her. He felt all
the impatience of a man who is closely occupied with his own drama but is
forced, quite against his will, to consider some one else.
"There isn't anything to tell you, mother. Really there is not. I've just
been kicking my heels round this blasted town for the last few months and
I'm restless. I'll be going up to London very shortly."
"Why need you?" she asked him. The candle flame seemed to jump with the
sharpness of her voice.
"Why need I? But of course I must. I ask you, is this a place for _any
one_ to settle down in?"
"I don't know why it shouldn't be. I should have thought you could be very
happy here. There are so many things you could do."
"What, for instance?"
"You could be a solicitor, or go into business, or--or--why, you'd soon
find something.


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