“Not an inch; any more than your carrying the Reform Bill or repealing the Corn Laws had a tendency to put down the throne. It’s the same sort of argument. Your two parties were at daggers drawn about the Reform Bill; but that did not cause you to split on all other matters.”
“But the throne wasn’t in question,” said the parson.
“Nor is the war in question; not in that way. The most popular Democrat in the States at this moment is M‘Clellan.”
“And they say no one is so anxious to see the war ended.”
“Whoever says so slanders him. If you don’t trust his deeds, look at his words.”
“I believe in neither,” said the parson.
“Then put him aside as a nobody. But you can’t do that, for he is the man whom the largest party in the Northern States trusts most implicitly. The fact is, Sir,” and Frederic F. Frew gave the proper twang to the last letter of the last word, “you, none of you here, understand our politics. You can’t realise the blessing of a——”
“Molly, give me some tea,” said the rector in a loud voice. When matters went as far as this he did not care by what means he stopped the voice of his future relative.
“All I say is this,” continued Frew, “you will find out your mistake if you trust to the Democratic elections to put an end to the war, and bring cotton back to Liverpool.”
“And what is to put an end to the war?” asked Nora.