“That is one way of putting it with a vengence,” said Mr. Osmond staring. “No; what my good friend means——”
“Is this; where the patient is possessor of an income of such a character as to enable his friends to show a sincere affection by anticipating the consequences of neglected morbid phenomena of the brain, there a lamentable want of humanity is exhibited by the persistent refusal to the patient, on the part of his relatives, of the incalculable advantage of the authoritative advice of a competent physician accompanied with the safeguards and preventives of——”
But ere the mellifluous pleonast had done oiling his paradox with fresh polysyllables, to make it slip into the banker's narrow understanding, he met with a curious interruption. Jane Hardie fluttered in to say a man was at the door accusing himself of being deranged.
“How often this sort of coincidence occurs,” said Osmond philosophically.
“Do not refuse him, dear papa; it is not for money: he only wants you to give him an order to go into a lunatic asylum.”
“Now, there is a sensible man,” said Dr. Wycherley.
“Well, but,” objected Mr. Hardie, “if he is a sensible man, why does he want to go to an asylum?”
“Oh, they are all sensible at times,” observed Mr. Osmond.
“Singularly so,” said Dr. Wycherley, warmly. And he showed a desire to examine this paragon, who had the sense to know he was out of his senses.
“It would be but kind of you, sir,” said Jane; “poor, poor man!” She added, he did not like to come in, and would they mind just going out to him?