Purling could find
no fault with her son. She might resent the staid sober-mindedness of
his conduct; but she was perforce compelled to confess that he was a
dear good son, affectionate, devoted, considerate; and there was much
solid comfort in the thought that the good name of the Purlings, as
well as their substantial wealth, could be safely intrusted to his
hands. This she readily allowed; and, had he continued obedient and
tractable until he was grey-haired, Mrs. Purling might have gone down
into her grave without a shadow of excuse for quarreling with her
son.
It was when he was past five-and-twenty that there arose between them
misunderstanding, at first only a small cloud no bigger than a man's
hand. Harold suddenly declared that he was sick of gallivanting about
the fashionable world; sick of idleness--sick of the silly purposeless
existence he led; and thereupon announced his intention of studying
medicine seriously and as a profession. Mrs. Purling was at first
aghast, then argumentative, finally indignant. But Harold remained
inflexible, and she grew more and more wrathful. It led at length to
something like a rupture between them. She received the news of his
success in the schools with grim contempt, condescending only to ask
once whether he wished her to buy him a practice, or whether he meant
to put up a red lamp at the family-mansion in Berkeley Square.
Pages:
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422