However, he came back in an hour with his eyes red, but his heart indomitable; determined to play a man's part for all their sakes. “You ladies,” said he, with something of his old genial way, that sounded so strange to one looking at his red eyes, and inspired a desire to hug him, “are full of talent, but empty of invention. The moment you are ruined or that sort of thing, it is, go for a governess, go for a companion, go here, go there, in search of what? Independence? No; dependence. Besides all this going is bosh. Families are strong if they stick together, and if they go to pieces they are weak. I learned one bit of sense out of that mass of folly they call antiquity; and that was the story of the old bloke with his twelve sons, and fagot to match. 'Break 'em apart,' he said, and each son broke his stick as easy as shelling peas. 'Now break the twelve all tied together:' devil a bit could the duffers break it then. Now we are not twelve, we are but three: easy to break one or two of us apart, but not the lot together. No; nothing but death shall break this fagot, for nothing less shall part us three.”
He stood like a colossus, and held out his hand to them; they clung round his neck in a moment, as if to illustrate his words; clung tight, and blessed him for standing so firm and forbidding them to part.
Mrs. Dodd sighed, after the first burst of enthusiastic affection, and said: “If he would only go a step further and tell us what to do in company.”
“Ay, there it is,” said Julia. “Begin with me. What can I do?”
“Why, paint.”
“What, to sell? Oh dear, my daubs are not good enough for that.”
“Stuff! Nothing is too bad to sell.”
“I really think you might,” said Mrs. Dodd, “and I will help you.”
“No, no, mamma, I want you for something better than the fine arts. You must go in one of the great grooves: Female vanity: you must be a dressmaker; you are a genius at it.”
“My mamma a dressmaker,” cried Julia; “oh Edward, how can you. How dare you. Poor, poor mamma!”