“Aunt!” cried Laura, wildly.
“Yes, my dear. That is the only cure for such a complaint as his. A private asylum, Laury dear.”
“Oh, aunt, impossible! How can you say anything so horrible?”
“My dearest child, nothing can be horrible that is to do a person good. It is quite evident to me that he can no longer control his actions.”
“No, he said so,” sobbed Laura.
“Hah! I knew I was right. Well, then, my dear, we must think it over seriously. You see, the weakness must have come on suddenly. How, he and somebody else best know,” said the lady, with asperity. “You see, attacks like that are only temporary, and his would, I am sure, yield to proper treatment. Now let me see what ought to be the first steps? This is a valuable practice, if he has not completely wrecked it by his wicked dissipation, and I think it ought to be our first duty, my dear, to get a permanent locum tenens—a man of some eminence, who might be induced to come if some hope were held out to him of a future partnership. Then we could consult him about what to do, for I believe certificates have to be obtained before a patient is sent to an asylum.”
“Aunt! Are you going mad too?” cried Laura, angrily.
“Laura! my child!”
“Well, then, you should not say such horrid things about Fred. Consult a perfect stranger about putting him into a lunatic asylum! Oh, shame!”
“Shame to you, Laura, for daring to speak to me as you do. Do you want him to have one of those what-do-you-call-thems?—Para-para-para-dox—no, no, paroxysms; and then do as mad people always do, turn against those they love best? Do you want him to come some night and murder us both in our beds?”