some asperity; "I
absolutely forbid it."

Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug.

"Poor Petsy!" she observed.

"I ask you to attend to me, Marion," he said.

"But I am attending to you very well, Robert," said she, "and I
understand you perfectly. You do not want Michael to be a musician in
September and wear long hair and perhaps play at concerts. I am sure
I quite agree with you, for such a thing would be as unheard of in my
family as in yours. But how do you propose to stop it?"

"I shall use my authority," he said, stepping a little higher.

"Yes, dear, I am sure you will. But what will happen if Michael doesn't
pay any attention to your authority? You will be worse off than ever.
Poor Michael is very obedient when he is told to do anything he intends
to do, but when he doesn't agree it is difficult to do anything with
him. And, you see, he is quite independent of you with my mother having
left him so much money. Poor mamma!"

Lord Ashbridge felt strongly about this.

"It was a most extraordinary disposition of her property for your mother
to make," he observed. "It has given Michael an independence which I
much deplore. And she did it in direct opposition to my wishes."

This touched on one of the questions about which Lady Ashbridge had her
convictions. She had a mild but unalterable opinion that when anybody
died, all that they had previously done became absolutely flawless and
laudable.

"Mamma did as she thought right with her property," she said, "and it
is not for us to question it. She was conscientiousness itself. You will
have to excuse my listening to any criticism you may feel inclined to
make about her, Robert."

"Certainly, my dear. I only want you to listen to me about Michael. You
agree with me on the impossibility of his adopting a musical career. I
cannot, at present, think so ill of Michael as to suppose that he will
defy our joint authority."

"Michael has a great will of his own," she remarked. "He gets that from
you, Robert, though he gets his money from his grandmother."

The futility of further discussion with his wife began to dawn on Lord
Ashbridge, as it dawned on everybody who had the privilege of conversing
with her. Her mind was a blind alley that led nowhere; it was clear that
she had no idea to contribute to the subject except slightly pessimistic
forebodings with which, unfortunately, he found himself secretly
disposed to agree. He had always felt th