“Well, my love,” replied Mr. Effingham, “exercise as vigorous a superintendence as you will; keep the machinery in as perfect order as you like.”
“It is no question of liking with me,” cried Clemence, laughing a little, but not merrily; “for bills and books—tradesmen’s books, I mean—I have a horror; and, like Macbeth, I have to screw up my courage to the sticking-point before I venture on a colloquy with Mrs. Ventner. I never had a taste for governing, and the power intrusted to me is almost too heavy a weight for these poor little hands to grasp. I really need the support of my liege lord’s stronger arm! I am like a minister of state who has to manage a troublesome House of Commons, and,” she added, with a little hesitation, “rather a refractory House of Lords, and who cannot command a majority in either!” Clemence spoke gaily and lightly, but painful truth lay beneath the jest.
“Refractory House of Lords! I see—I see!” said Mr. Effingham, with a smile; “Louisa is a giddy child, and Arabella has a temper of her own. But all will come right—all will come right, with a little patience and firmness. I have the utmost confidence in your sense and judgment, my love.”
“I wish that others had,” replied Clemence, speaking at first playfully, but her voice becoming earnest and almost agitated as she proceeded. “It is doubtless my own fault, Vincent, or perhaps the fault of my youth, but it seems to me that my wishes and opinions are of very little weight in this house. I want to consult you on so many points, that I may know whether I am right or wrong. Do you think it well that Louisa should be so constantly out, especially in the society of those from whom it seems to me, as far as I can judge, that she can only learn worldliness and levity? Her studies are perpetually interrupted at an age when steady application is most valuable; and exposure to the night air really injures her health,—she could hardly sleep last night on account of her cough.”
“Forbid her, then, to go out again till she has lost it.”
“O Vincent, I shall be a dreadfully unpopular premier!” exclaimed Clemence. Then she added, drawing her husband’s hand within her own, “If you, dearest—you, whose will should be law, to whose judgment all must defer—would only say a few words yourself, both on this subject and—”
“No, no!” interrupted Mr. Effingham quickly; “these trifles do not lie within my province. I make it a rule never to interfere with these petty domestic concerns. You will consult with Lady Selina, and then decide as seems best to yourself.”
“Lady Selina!” murmured Clemence, in a tone of disappointment; “oh, she never assists me at all I should be rather inclined”—the young wife looked up playfully but timidly as she spoke—“to call her the leader of the Opposition!”
A slight frown passed across the brow of Mr. Effingham. He was by no means disposed to weaken, in any way, the connection of his family with a lady of rank and fashion, whose title gave a certain éclat to the establishment over which she so long had presided. The first time that the watchful eye of Clemence had ever perceived the slightest shade of displeasure towards her on the face of her husband was as he replied to her last observation,—
“I think, Clemence, that you do her injustice. Lady Selina is a woman of sense, and a great deal of experience in the world—one not in the least likely to be influenced by petty jealousies. I consider myself to be greatly indebted to her; and it is my wish that every member of my family should regard her in the same light that I do myself. As for little differences,” he continued, rising from his seat and standing with his back to the fire, “the thousand trifles which make up the sum of domestic life, I desire to hear nothing, know nothing, of them. My mind is occupied with affairs more important, and in my own home, at least, I look for peace and repose.”