“Come here, my little girl,” he cried; and Kitty, who had been feeling a trifle neglected, forgot everything but the warmth and gladness of her father’s love and welcome. Edgar had found Annie a seat beside his own, and the Squire managed to get his place between his wife and his daughter. Then the “cup of tea” Mrs. Atheling had longed for became a protracted home festival. But they could not keep politics out of its atmosphere; they were, indeed, so blended with the life of that time that their separation from household matters was impossible, and the Squire was no more anxious to hear about his hunters and his harvest, than Mrs. Atheling was to know the fate of the Reform Bill.
“It has passed at last, I suppose, John,” she said, with an air of satisfied certainty.
“Thou supposest very far wrong, then. It has been rejected again.”
“Never! Never! Never! Oh, John, John! It is not possible!”
“The Lords did, as I told thee they would,–that is, the Lords and the bishops together.”
“The bishops ought to be unfrocked,” cried Edgar, with considerable temper. “Only one in all their number voted for Reform.”
“I’ll never go to church again,” said Mrs. Atheling, in her unreasonable anger.
“Tell us about it, Father,” urged Kate.
“Well, you see, Mr. Peel and Mr. Croker led our party against the Bill; and Croker is clever, there is no doubt of that.”
“Not to be compared to Lord Althorp, our leader,–so calm, so courageous, so upright,” said Edgar.