“With confidence, Madam,” returned the Hon. Member, gallantly. “Would that I had half so much in the other women of the Party. Is it not curious,” he went on, “that a politician’s wife rarely appreciates the extent of her influence in shaping her husband’s career? The parson’s lady identifies herself with his interests; the doctor’s wife realises that she can attract or repel patients; and only the other day, the wife of a small-town banker confided to me that she never misses an opportunity for doing a stroke of business on her husband’s behalf. As a matter of fact, I understand that she was largely responsible for the rival institution closing its doors, and leaving the field. Yet, a politician’s wife as a rule, seems to take pride in holding herself aloof from politics.”
“Dirty business for a woman,” commented Pratt, stroking Maude’s hand underneath the table.
“Not a whit dirtier than Society, my dear fellow, and there she likes to wallow. Am I not right, Mrs. Pratt? As a woman of the world, I feel sure you will agree with me.”
Mrs. Pratt, who desired above all else to be a woman of the world, agreed with him, darkly. In this coalition, they seemed to form a vague but tacit compact from which the recently-elected Member for Ottawa was excluded.
“What, in your opinion, is the vurry best way for a woman to help her husband, politically?” she enquired, as they rose from the table.
Sullivan managed to assume an arch expression as he pressed her arm, and answered,
“How can you ask such a question of a mere man?”
“I can ask anything of anybody when there’s something I want to find out,” was the blunt retort. “Gus—Augustus—has got to make good.”
“He will! We have the utmost faith in him . . . and may I add, in you. You’ll be a tower of strength to Gus, Mrs. Pratt, with your keen sense for politics. Only the other evening, I was making this statement to my little friend, Mrs. Dilling.”
“Mrs. Dilling?”