Margaret Maliphant

								

ladies will only give us their kind support. I hope you won't be such
an old curmudgeon as to forbid that; and I hope," added he, turning
to Joyce with that sugary smile of his, "that the young ladies will
not withdraw their patronage if, after all, a less handsome man than
Captain Forrester should be our Radical candidate."
"Oh, thank you," said Joyce, blushing furiously, and looking up with
distressed blue eyes; "indeed, we scarcely know Captain Forrester at
all. We couldn't possibly be of any use to you."
"Of course not," cried I. "Whoever were the candidate we should not
canvass. We never canvass. We are not politicians."
I wonder that nobody smiled, but nobody did. Father was too busy with
his thoughts, and perhaps Mr. Hoad was too much astonished. But as
though to cover my priggishness, Joyce said, sweetly, when Mr. Hoad
rose to go: "You won't forget the concert, will you? And, please, will
you tell Miss Bessie that I shall be very glad to do what I can to help
her with her bazaar work?"
He promised to remember both messages, and shook hands with her in a
kind of lingering way, which I remember was a manner he always had
towards a pretty girl. I thought mother took leave of him a little
shortly. Father alone accompanied him out into the hall, and saw him
into the smart little gig that came round from the stable to pick him
up. I went to the pantry for the tray to clear the tea-things. When I
came back again into the parlor Joyce had gone up-stairs, and father
and mother were alone. I do not know why it was, but as soon as I came
in I felt sure that the discussion with Hoad, eager as it had been at
the time, was not occupying father's mind. I felt sure that mother
had alluded to that more important matter hotly spoken of after the
squire's visit. She was standing by the fire, and father held her hand
in his. He asked me to bring a lamp into his study, and went out. I
glanced at mother.
"What does father want to go to work for so late?" said I. "Why don't
he sit and smoke his pipe as usual?"
Mother did not answer; her back was turned towards me, but there was
something in its expression which made me feel sure that she was crying.
"But he seems much better to-night, mother," I added, coming up behind
her; "he was quite himself over that argument."
"Yes, dear, yes; he can always wake up over those things," answered
she, and sure enough there was a tremble in her voice, and every trace
of the dignity that she had used towards me since the scene at the
dinner-table had entirely disappeared.
"Dear mother, why do you fret?" said I, softly. "I'm sure there's no
need."
"No, no, of course there's no need," she repeated. "But, Margaret,"
added she, hurriedly, as though she were half ashamed of what she were
saying, "if he could be brought to see that plan of the squire's in
a better light, I'm sure it would be a good thing. I don't think his
heart has ever been in farm-work, and I can't a-bear to see him working