“And so is Mr. Jericho. Only he’s a philosopher; he won’t show the rapture that swells his heart.” No winter-tortoise ever slept sounder in its shell, than did the heart of Jericho in his bosom.
“You know, my dear,”—said Mrs. Jericho, in her sweetest, most convincing voice—“you know ’twould be impossible to go to court without diamonds. One isn’t drest without diamonds.”
“Court!” Jericho opened his eyes; and a wan smile broke on his thin, blank cheek. “Are you going to court?”
“Why, of course. Are we not, dear Mr. Candituft?” The Man-Tamer placed his hand upon his heart, and smiled assent. “What would be thought of us, if we did not pay our homage to”—
“To be sure; very right; I shall only be too happy,” said Jericho; “it’s expected of us, no doubt.”
“And ’twill not be my fault, my dear, if we do not go like ourselves. The dear girls are quite delighted with their pearls”—
“Pearls!” groaned Jericho.
“Pearls,” repeated Mrs. Jericho very vivaciously—“quite delighted and”—
The sentence was broken by the sudden appearance of Monica and Agatha, each bearing a jewel-case; and looking radiant with the possession.
“Thank you, dear papa,” said Monica, curtseying and smiling her best to Jericho.