Elisabeth Cromwell came to her husband's side and glanced up at him, then down at the fire.
"You are troubled to-night," she said, in a low voice.
"No," he answered, "no."
"About Richard's marriage settlements," she returned. "It is over a year since that affair was first opened."
"I know," he replied, "I know. But what can I do? I cannot settle on Dorothy Mayor moneys which I have not got for my own. There is Henry to think of, and the two little ones—and thou knowest, Bess, I am not rich."
She knew well enough from many economies of her own. He had strained his estates at the commencement of the first war, when he had raised and equipped, at his own expense, his troop in Cambridgeshire; his pay was in arrears and had lately been reduced; he had waited many ancient debts due to him from the Government; and he had returned the larger portion of the income arising from the grant of Lord Worchester's lands to the Parliament to be used in settling that unhappy country, Ireland. Therefore he was now more hampered and with less money to dispose of than when in private life, and all his frugal living and all his wife's good management would not permit him to afford Mr. Mayor what he demanded for his daughter; therefore Richard's match had hung a year, and seemed likely to hang longer.
"I would rather," said Richard's father abruptly, "that the lad was more like his brother Henry, and less eager to take a wife and live easily."
"All cannot be as thee," answered Elisabeth Cromwell half sadly, "wrapped in great affairs."
He turned.
"Why, Bess," he said, taking her hand, "that did sound as a reproach."