Mother didn’t quite agree with that general proposition. There were some things, for instance, Religion and Politics to name only two, although there were others she could have mentioned, in which it was only right for a well-born and expensively nurtured Englishman to defer to the more matured wisdom of his ancestors.
Mr. Philip was awfully sorry, but he rather believed in Progress.
Mother was a little inclined to snort at Progress. What, pray, did one who had got as far as he had want with Progress! As far as Mother could see, the current idea of Progress was to take money out of the pockets of those who were better off than yourself, and put it into your own.
“And there is no reason for you to resort to that, Phil-ipp,” said Mother, with a sudden effusion of Inspired Commonsense; “because you have more than the majority.”
Daughter-in-law, still looking through the window, and wholly absorbed in contemplation of the vernal prospect, was suddenly overwhelmed by a dreadful fear lest the histrionic temperament, which was her own private and particular cross, should make an exhibition of itself.
Mother was fearfully good at argument, and always had been. Phil-ipp, of course, was the merest child at it, even though he had been selected by the Party of Progress to fight their great cause. Mother in her inmost heart thought it was the clearest proof of the contemptible level of Rag intellect, that any body of registered voters should have brought themselves to confide in any such candidate. And Mother nearly boiled over when Mr. Philip made an even more abject confession of his impotence.
“Come and argue with the Mater a bit,” said he to fair Nature’s admirer, still at gaze upon the vernal prospect. “She’s much too clever for me.”
Should Mother take off the gloves? No, decidedly more Politic not to remove them. Mother’s third chin advanced a little, though, in spite of herself. This daughter of the people was likely to know more about the peeling of potatoes than of the conduct of high politics.
At the summons of her lord, however, the young minx controlled her mobile features as well as in her lay; and in that designing mind was the question, Should she toy a little with this Victorian Mamma? Or should she exercise her arts and blandishments?
“It is so wrong of Phil-ipp,” said Mother, “and I think you ought to exercise the influence that every wife—that is, if she is good and worthy—has with her husband, and dissuade him from this course. You do see, do you not, that it is most injudicious for a man in his position?”