Yet she knows in her secret heart that if Floyd gave up, they would go to ruin, and Wilmarth would be possessor of all. She does not fly out in a temper now, but makes the interview unpleasant to her son, though she is really afraid to confess her true view of the matter, little imagining how soon he could have resolved her doubts. She hints at other steps which might have been taken, and he supposes it refers to his marriage with Madame Lepelletier. Tired at length of skirmishing about with no decisive result, Floyd boldly makes a proposal. It is best perhaps that he should be master in his own house, since of course he must provide for all expenses. The furniture he would like to keep as it is, if his mother chooses to sell it to him, and the money would be better for her. He would like her to remain and take charge, since Violet is so young, and he wants her to feel that her home is always here, that he considers her and his sisters a part of the heritage bequeathed by his father, and that independent of the business he shall have enough for all. "Do not forget," he cries, "that I am your son!" He is her son, but she would like to be entirely independent. The most bitter thing, she tells herself, is to ask favors of children. And yet she cannot say that Floyd has taken the family substance; he has cost his father nothing since early boyhood. They have had his beautiful house, and since his return he has spent his own money freely. She wishes, or thinks she does, that she could pay back every penny of it, and yet she is not willing to give of that which costs her nothing,--tenderness, appreciation. She takes because she must, and nurses her defiant pride which has been aroused by no fault of his. "I shall expect the girls to make their home with me until they are married," he continues. "I think that old English custom of having one home centre is right, and as I am the elder it is my place to provide it. I do not know as I shall be able to keep up the lavish scale of my father's day," and he sighs. Mrs. Grandon remembers well that there was a great complaint of bills in her husband's time, and that Eugene has been frightfully extravagant since. He is off pleasuring, and the other is here planning and toiling. There is a small sense of injustice, but she salves her conscience with the idea that it is an executor's bounden duty, and that Floyd has had nothing but pleasure and idleness in his time.