But it left them both with the sense of
frustrated hope, and over and above that Jack had felt, sharper than ever
before, the old shoot of weariness for "papa" as the touchstone for such
vexed questions.
XIII
Mrs. Upton expressed no displeasure, although she could not control
surprise, when she was informed of Imogen's change of decision, and Jack,
watching her as usual, felt bound, after the little scene of her quiet
acquiescence, to return with Imogen, for a moment, to the subject of their
dispute. Imogen had asked him to help her to see and however hopeless he
might feel of any fundamental seeing on her part, he mustn't abandon hope
while there was a stone unturned.
"That's what it really was," he said to her. "You _do_ see, don't you?--to
respond to whatever she felt you wanted."
Imogen stared a little. "Of what are you talking, Jack?"
"Of your mother Antigone--the black edge. It wasn't the black edge."
She had understood in a moment and was all there, as fully equipped with
forbearing opposition as ever.
"It wasn't _even_ the black edge, you mean? Even that homage to his memory
was unreal?"
"Of course not. I mean that she wanted to do what you wanted."
"And does she think, do you think, it's _that_ I want,--a suave adaptation
to ideals she doesn't even understand? No doubt she attributes my change
to girlish vanity, the wish to shine among the others. If that was what I
wanted, that would be what she would want, too.
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