‘Quarrelled? Have I ever quarrelled with you yet, Jonathan? No fear! I’ve been saying your prayers for you—right way up. Now you say “Amen”; kiss yourself your own way, and go to sleep!’
She heard him chuckle; then in a whinnying tone, as he stretched himself: ‘Oh, you are a comfortable person to talk to!’
‘You’ve said that before.’
‘It’s true. I’m glad you came, Davidina. You’ve given me a new idea.’
‘I generally do,’ she replied.
‘But this is my own,’ he insisted.
‘So is the stuffing of a goose, once it’s inside him,’ was her retort. And with that she was gone.
And Mr. Trimblerigg, with the feeling that something now remained to his credit, turned over and went blissfully to sleep. For having let Davidina know that she was ‘comfortable to talk to,’ he had turned the sharp points of her arrows, and so robbed them of venom that not a word she had said troubled him any more.
So he gave his beloved sleep; and into his dreams came hovering the crocean dawn or that new idea, so entirely his own, prompted by Davidina.