“The bench of bishops even,” said the Squire, “sometimes I think I could—at my time of life. But that is not the question, as you say.”
“No indeed—not to say that my best advice in every way is at your service, sir; but I thought very likely it would be an ease to your mind to see me, to give me any instructions or directions—in short, to feel that your nearest representative understood your wishes, whatever might happen.”
Now Randolph was evidently his father’s representative, John being out of the question; and that John was absolutely out of the question, not only from external circumstances, but from the strong prejudice and prepossession against him in his father’s mind, was certain. Yet the Squire resented this assumption as much as if John had been his dearly-beloved son and apparent heir.
“Thanks,” he said, “I feel your care for my comfort—but after all, you are not my direct representative.”
“Sir!” cried Randolph reddening, “need I remind you of the disabilities, the privation of all natural rights—— ”
“You need not remind me of anything,” said Mr. Musgrave, getting up hurriedly. “I don’t care to discuss that question—or anything else of the kind. Suppose we go and join Mary, who must be in the drawing-room, I suppose? It is she, after all, who is really my representative, knowing everything about my affairs.”
“She—is a woman,” said Randolph, with a tone of contempt.
“That is undeniable—but women are not considered exactly as they used to be in such matters.”
“I hope, sir,” said the clergyman, with dignity, “that neither my sister nor you add your influence to the foolish movement about women’s rights.”
“Do you mean that Mary does not want a vote?” said the Squire. “No, I don’t suppose it has occurred to her. We add our influence to very few public movements, Randolph, bad or good. The Musgraves are not what they once were in the county; the leading part we once took is taken by others who are richer than we are. Progress is not the thing for old families, for progress means money.”