“Very true; and bad as true,” said Mizzlemist, “but still,” he added with a sigh, “no evidence.”
“Why, what is wanted?” cried Monica, out of all patience with the stupidity of law.—“Are we to wait until we are all killed—now, mamma, I must speak—are we to wait till we are all made dreadful victims, until the law will protect us?”
“Very good, indeed; very well said,” observed Mizzlemist, pleased with the spirit of the maiden; whilst Candituft a little gravely gazed upon the flushed cheeks and flashing eyes of his betrothed. “Perhaps, my dear young lady, you can assist us, after all?” said Mizzlemist. “Your mamma will, I know, permit you to depose to whatever you know. Now; have you witnessed any symptoms of insanity on the part of Mr. Jericho?”
“Thousands,” exclaimed the impassioned and imaginative Monica.
“Name one; one to begin with,” said the Doctor, “that will prove to a jury your worthy father-in-law to be wholly incapable of controlling his own affairs. One instance.”
“And there stood Jericho!”
“Well, then,” said Monica, entering with rapture on the task, and for one instance ready to run over twenty, touching them like keys of music—“well, then, he’s discharged all the servants—he’s locked up all the plate—he’s asked for our jewels back again—he’s going to sell the house, and turn us into apartments—he’s threatened the three of us with gowns of sackcloth—and—and—and—he called me on Monday last—and at the very time I was singing too—he called me a screeching wild puss of the woods!”
“Did he, indeed?” said Mizzlemist.
“It was worse than puss,” cried Monica, hysterical.