CHAPTER XVIII. THE OLD HOME
Before her marriage Mrs Edmund Yule was one of seven motherless
sisters who constituted the family of a dentist slenderly
provided in the matter of income. The pinching and paring which
was a chief employment of her energies in those early days had
disagreeable effects upon a character disposed rather to
generosity than the reverse; during her husband's lifetime she
had enjoyed rather too eagerly all the good things which he put
at her command, sometimes forgetting that a wife has duties as
well as claims, and in her widowhood she indulged a
pretentiousness and querulousness which were the natural, but not
amiable, results of suddenly restricted circumstances.
Like the majority of London people, she occupied a house of which
the rent absurdly exceeded the due proportion of her income, a
pleasant foible turned to such good account by London landlords. Whereas she might have lived with a good deal of modest comfort, her existence was a perpetual effort to conceal the squalid background of what was meant for the eyes of her friends and neighbours. She kept only two servants, who were so ill paid and so relentlessly overworked that it was seldom they remained with her for more than three months. In dealings with other people whom she perforce employed, she was often guilty of incredible meanness; as, for instance, when she obliged her half-starved dressmaker to purchase material for her, and then postponed payment alike for that and for the work itself to the last possible moment. This was not heartlessness in the strict sense of the word; the woman not only knew that her behaviour was shameful, she was in truth ashamed of it and sorry for her victims. But life was a battle. She must either crush or be crushed. With sufficient means, she would have defrauded no one, and would have behaved generously to many; with barely enough for her needs, she set her face and defied her feelings, inasmuch as she believed there was no choice.
She would shed tears over a pitiful story of want, and without
shadow of hypocrisy. It was hard, it was cruel; such things
oughtn't to be allowed in a world where there were so many rich
people. The next day she would argue with her charwoman about
halfpence, and end by paying the poor creature what she knew was
inadequate and unjust. For the simplest reason: she hadn't more
to give, without submitting to privations which she considered
intolerable.
But whilst she could be a positive hyena to strangers, to those
who were akin to her, and those of whom she was fond, her
affectionate kindness was remarkable. One observes this
peculiarity often enough; it reminds one how savage the social
conflict is, in which those little groups of people stand serried
against their common enemies; relentless to all others, among
themselves only the more tender and zealous because of the
ever-impending danger. No mother was ever more devoted. Her son, a gentleman of quite noteworthy selfishness, had board and lodging beneath her roof on nominal terms, and under no stress of pecuniary trouble had Mrs Yule called upon him to make the slightest sacrifice on her behalf. Her daughter she loved with profound tenderness, and had no will that was opposed to Amy's. And it was characteristic of her that her children were never allowed to understand of what baseness she often became guilty in the determination to support appearances. John Yule naturally suspected what went on behind the scenes; on one occasion—since Amy's marriage—he had involuntarily overheard a dialogue between his mother and a servant on the point of departing which made even him feel ashamed. But from Amy every paltriness and meanness had always been concealed with the utmost care; Mrs Yule did not scruple to lie heroically when in danger of being detected by her daughter.
Yet this energetic lady had no social ambitions that pointed
above her own stratum. She did not aim at intimacy with her
superiors; merely at superiority among her intimates. Her circle
was not large, but in that circle she must be regarded with the
respect due to a woman of refined tastes and personal
distinction. Her little dinners might be of rare occurrence, but
to be invited must be felt a privilege. 'Mrs Edmund Yule' must
sound well on people's lips; never be the occasion of those
peculiar smiles which she herself was rather fond of indulging at
the mention of other people's names.