“Impossible! He cannot mean it,” cried Mrs. Jericho. “It is a mere folly of youth that he will outlive—that he must outlive. The fact is, my dear Jericho, we must send him abroad.”
“We needn’t trouble ourselves. In a few months he will be directly under my foot.” Mrs. Jericho stared. “At the antipodes, my dear; at the antipodes,” and Jericho rubbed his hands at the prospect.
“And that Carraways—oh, it’s a pretty plan, I see, to provide for the daughter—that Carraways came here to tell you this?”
“With his compliments, or something like ’em, that I should open the matter to you.”
“Solomon, my dear Solomon”—and Mrs. Jericho dropt in a chair beneath her maternal feelings—“this is a great blow to our house.” Jericho looked confidently; putting his thin hands into his pockets, as though he would imply a conviction that the house was strong enough to bear the shock. “’Twill break my heart, Solomon.” Still the husband looked calm and self-possessed. “It will bring me to a premature grave.” And still, and still the hopeful spouse blenched not. “A foolish, enthusiastic child—when there was such a path open to him!”
“All the road clean as a whistle to the Court of Queen’s Bench,” said Jericho.
“No—no. The Duke of St. George’s eldest daughter; that beautiful girl, the Lady Malypense—he has only to ask and have; I am certain of it, Solomon. If I know what the human heart is made of”—
“And what is it made of?” inquired Jericho; for in the material of hearts he had a strange interest. “What’s the stuff? People differ on the point devilishly.” Mrs. Jericho stared. “What do you think I heard? Why, that the heart of Lady Malypense—’twas that bitter fellow Thrush who said it—that her heart was like a jewel cushion; merely a thing to stick finery upon.” Mrs. Jericho looked wounded incredulity. “Oh, I don’t believe it. I only tell you how folks gabble about hearts. Ha! ha! every man talks of his neighbour’s heart, as though it was his own watch.—A thing to be seen in all its works; and abused for irregular going. I always laugh when I hear a man talk of another man’s heart. And if anybody has a right to laugh, I think it’s myself. Ha! ha!” and Jericho grinned disdainfully; and by such scorn withered, as he believed, the wicked rumour that now and then would gabble against him.
“I am resolved, my love,” said Mrs. Jericho, “that this boy shall not sacrifice himself. I have fixed my heart upon a coronet for him, and he shall have it. We deserve nothing less.”
“Humph! Do you think, my dear, that coronets hang on pegs that”—