"
"I'm afraid that's impossible, mother," he said.
"Well, if it's impossible there is no use in saying anything more about
it. But it vexed him very much. He is still vexed with you. I wish he
was not vexed. It is a sad thing when father and son fall out. But you
do wrap up, I hope, in the cold weather?"
Michael felt a sudden pang of anxiety and alarm. Each separate thing
that his mother said was sensible enough, but in the sum they were
nonsense.
"You have been in London since September," she went on. "That is a long
time to be in London. Tell me about your life there. Do you work hard?
Not too hard, I hope?"
"No! hard enough to keep me busy," he said.
"Tell me about it all. I am afraid I have not been a very good mother to
you; I have not entered into your life enough. I want to do so now.
But I don't think you ever wanted to confide in me. It is sad when sons
don't confide in their mothers. But I daresay it was my fault, and now I
know so little about you."
She paused a moment, stroking her dog's ears, which twitched under her
touch.
"I hope you are happy, Michael," she said. "I don't think I am so happy
as I used to be. But don't tell your father; I feel sure he does not
notice it, and it would vex him.
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