“Basil!” said Mrs. Jericho in deep, reproving thunder.
“You’re too good for this earth, you are, indeed, girls. Take it in the lump, and see what a lot of it’s beneath your notice. What a little of it’s really respectable. If it wasn’t unmanly, I could weep to think that my superfine sisters lived in the same wicked vulgar world that makes black-puddings and sells cat’s-meat.”
“My dear Basil,” said Mrs. Jericho in a tone of tender remonstrance, “do not be so extravagant. And you hurt your sisters; you do, indeed. A man”—and Mrs. Jericho took breath for a great utterance—“a man never so beautifully shows his own strength, as when he respects our softness.”
“No, indeed;” said the young ladies, speaking and shaking their heads in sympathy. “No!”
“I’ve a whole bank of respect in me, ma’am”—and Basil spread his fingers over his breast—“but I don’t pay a penn’orth of it to forged drafts. Now, softness is one thing; and—my dear parent I am quite prepared to prove what I say—and gammon is another.”
“If you allude to me, sir,”—said Monica, who had evidently made up her mind for an apothegm—“permit me once and for all to observe, that I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s exactly my feelings on the subject, Monica dear,” cried Agatha.
“Now, children, I cannot endure this. It distresses me. These little quarrels lacerate me. You know, as I have often said, girls, I gave up everything for my children. Had I consulted my own feelings, I should have glided a solitary thing to—to your father. Therefore,”—here Mrs. Jericho drew forth her pocket-handkerchief; and both the girls, with a precision quite military, imitated the movement—“therefore, kiss one another and be friends.”
“With all my heart, and all my mouth,” said Basil. “Come along, girls”—and he folded his arms—“come along; I won’t bite.”
“What a creature you are!” cried Monica, wiping her eyes, as her mother moved her towards Basil.