“We can all see, my dear lady,” said Candituft, “that the wife wrestles with the parent. But after all, what would this world be without its trials? They do us good; they are meant to do us good.”
(Poor little Agatha! She sighed, and bit her lip; totally rejecting this side-wind consolation.)
“And therefore, my dear friends”—said Mrs. Jericho with new nerve—“counsel me; advise me. Upon your knowledge of the world I rely. It will be a hard struggle; but Mr. Jericho’s property must be protected; and therefore, I fear Mr. Jericho—as I say, it will cost me many a pang—Mr. Jericho must be restrained.”
“Make yourself comfortable, madam,” said the voice of consolation, speaking through Stubbs; “there is nothing more easy; nothing more easy.”
“It’s done every day,” cried Mizzlemist, as though he spoke of eating a meal or taking a pinch of snuff.
“The calamity is common,” said Candituft, with his mind made up at the very worst to endure it.
“And, in this country,” remarked Thrush, much comforted with the thought, “lunatics are so well considered.”
“Happy as kings. Humph?” cried Bones.
“Still I have hope,” said Mrs. Jericho. “I have consolation in the belief that the poor dear creature—ha, what a heart he has under all his strange manner!—only wanders for a time. And the truth is, my dear friends, it must be confessed he has been sorely tried.” The friends stared. “It is no wonder that the strongest brain should reel a little under so sudden a blow.” The friends stared anew. “To be singled out by fortune; to be selected from millions to suffer what he has done! To be called upon, at a moment I may say, to stand with such a mountain on his head! To be made, at a minute’s notice, if I may use the expression, another Atlas; why, it’s enough to make a giant stagger.”
“Why, what—what trial?” asked Doctor Stubbs with pompous concern.