“Oh! we do pretty well,” said Mr. Penruddock.
“But how can a family live on ten or twelve shillings a week?” murmured Mrs. Neuchatel.
“There it is,” said Mr. Penruddock. “A family has more than that. With a family the income proportionately increases.”
Mrs. Neuchatel sighed. “I must say,” she said, “I cannot help feeling there is something wrong in our present arrangements. When I sit down to dinner every day, with all these dishes, and remember that there are millions who never taste meat, I cannot resist the conviction that it would be better if there were some equal division, and all should have, if not much, at least something.”
“Nonsense, Emily!” said Mr. Neuchatel, who had an organ like Fine-ear, and could catch, when necessary, his wife’s most mystical revelations. “My wife, Mr. Penruddock, is a regular Communist. I hope you are not,” he added, with a smile, turning to Myra.
“I think life would be very insipid,” replied Myra, “if all our lots were the same.”
When the ladies withdrew, Adriana and Myra walked out together hand-in-hand. Mr. Neuchatel rose and sate next to Mr. Penruddock, and began to talk politics. His reverend guest could not conceal his alarm about the position of the Church and spoke of Lord John Russell’s appropriation clause with well-bred horror.
“Well, I do not think there is much to be afraid of,” said Mr. Neuchatel. “This is a liberal age, and you cannot go against it. The people must be educated, and where are the funds to come from? We must all do something, and the Church must contribute its share. You know I am a Liberal, but I am not for any rash courses. I am not at all sorry that Sir Robert Peel gained so much at the last general election. I like parties to be balanced. I am quite content with affairs. My friends, the Liberals, are in office, and, being there, they can do very little. That is the state of things, is it not, Melchior?” he added, with a smile to his nephew, who was an M.P. “A balanced state of parties, and the house of Neuchatel with three votes—that will do. We poor City men get a little attention paid to us now, but before the dissolution three votes went for nothing. Now, shall we go and ask my daughter to give us a song?”
Mrs. Neuchatel accompanied her daughter on the piano, and after a time not merely on the instrument. The organ of both was fine and richly cultivated. It was choice chamber music. Mr. Neuchatel seated himself by Myra. His tone was more than kind, and his manner gentle. “It is a little awkward the first day,” he said, “among strangers, but that will wear off. You must bring your mind to feel that this is your home, and we shall all of us do everything in our power to convince you of it. Mr. Penruddock mentioned to me your wish, under present circumstances, to enter as little as possible into society, and this is a very social house. Your feeling is natural, and you will be in this matter entirely your own mistress. We shall always be glad to see you, but if you are not present we shall know and respect the cause. For my own part, I am one of those who would rather cherish affection than indulge grief, but every one must follow their mood. I hear you have a brother, to whom you are much attached; a twin, too, and they tell me strongly resembling you. He is in a public office, I believe? Now, understand this; your brother can come here whenever he likes, without any further invitation. Ask him whenever you please. We shall always be glad to see him. No sort of notice is necessary. This is not a very small house, and we can always manage to find a bed and a cutlet for a friend.”