'— What it is no one can say. We have lived with him all his life, and we know him ready to make any sacrifice; only, he does demand the whole heart in return. And if he doubts, he looks as we have seen him to- day.'
'— Shattered: as we have never seen him look before.'
'We will hope,' said Dr. Middleton, this time hastily. He tingled to say, 'what it was': he had it in him to solve perplexity in their inquiry. He did say, adopting familiar speech to suit the theme, 'You know, ladies, we English come of a rough stock. A dose of rough dealing in our youth does us no harm, braces us. Otherwise we are likely to feel chilly: we grow too fine where tenuity of stature is necessarily buffetted by gales, namely, in our self-esteem. We are barbarians, on a forcing soil of wealth, in a conservatory of comfortable security; but still barbarians. So, you see, we shine at our best when we are plucked out of that, to where hard blows are given, in a state of war. In a state of war we are at home, our men are high-minded fellows, Scipios and good legionaries. In the state of peace we do not live in peace: our native roughness breaks out in unexpected places, under extraordinary aspects — tyrannies, extravagances, domestic exactions: and if we have not had sharp early training… within and without… the old-fashioned island-instrument to drill into us the civilization of our masters, the ancients, we show it by running here and there to some excess. Ahem. Yet,' added the Rev. Doctor, abandoning his effort to deliver a weighty truth obscurely for the comprehension of dainty spinster ladies, the superabundance of whom in England was in his opinion largely the cause of our decay as a people, 'Yet I have not observed this ultra-sensitiveness in Willoughby. He has borne to hear more than I, certainly no example of the frailty, could have endured.'
'He concealed it,' said the ladies. 'It is intense.'
'Then is it a disease?'
'It bears no explanation; it is mystic.'
'It is a cultus, then, a form of self-worship.'
'Self!' they ejaculated. 'But is not Self indifferent to others? Is it Self that craves for sympathy, love, and devotion?'
'He is an admirable host, ladies.'
'He is admirable in all respects.'
'Admirable must he be who can impress discerning women, his life-long housemates, so favourably. He is, I repeat, a perfect host.'
'He will be a perfect husband.'
'In all probability.'
'It is a certainty. Let him be loved and obeyed, he will be guided. That is the secret for her whom he so fatally loves. That, if we had dared, we would have hinted to her. She will rule him through her love of him, and through him all about her. And it will not be a rule he submits to, but a love he accepts. If she could see it!'
'If she were a metaphysician!' sighed Dr. Middleton.
'— But a sensitiveness so keen as his might—'
'— Fretted by an unsympathizing mate—'
'— In the end become, for the best of us is mortal—'
'— Callous!'
'— He would feel perhaps as much—'
'— Or more!—'
'— He would still be tender—'
'— But he might grow outwardly hard!'
Both ladies looked up at Dr. Middleton, as they revealed the dreadful prospect.
'It is the story told of corns!' he said, sad as they.
The three stood drooping: the ladies with an attempt to digest his remark; the Rev. Doctor in dejection lest his gallantry should no longer continue to wrestle with his good sense.
He was rescued.
The door opened and a footman announced: —
'Mr. Dale.'
Miss Eleanor and Miss Isabel made a sign to one another of raising their hands.
They advanced to him, and welcomed him.
'Pray be seated, Mr. Dale. You have not brought us bad news of our L?titia?'
'So rare is the pleasure of welcoming you here, Mr. Dale, that we are in some alarm, when, as we trust, it should be matter for unmixed congratulation.'
'Has Doctor Corney been doing wonders?'
'I am indebted to him for the drive to your house, ladies,' said Mr. Dale, a spare, close-buttoned gentleman, with an Indian complexion deadened in the sick-chamber. 'It is unusual for me to stir from my precincts.'
'The Rev. Dr. Middleton.'
Mr. Dale bowed. He seemed surprised.
'You live in a splendid air, sir,' observed the Rev. Doctor.
'I can profit little by it, sir,' replied Mr. Dale. He asked the ladies: 'Will Sir Willoughby be disengaged?'
They consulted. 'He is with Vernon. We will send to him.'
The bell was rung.
'I have had the gratification of making the acquaintance of your daughter, Mr. Dale, a most estimable lady,' said Dr. Middleton.
Mr. Dale bowed. 'She is honoured by your praises, sir. To the best of my belief — I speak as a father — she merits them. Hitherto I have had no doubts.'
'Of L?titia?' exclaimed the ladies; and spoke of her as gentleness and goodness incarnate.
'Hitherto I have devoutly thought so,' said Mr. Dale.
'Surely she is the very sweetest nurse, the most devoted of daughters.'
'As far as concerns her duty to her father, I can say she is that, ladies.'
'In all her relations, Mr. Dale!'
'It is my prayer,' he said.
The footman appeared. He announced that Sir Willoughby was in the laboratory with Mr. Whitford, and the door locked.
'Domestic business,' the ladies remarked. 'You know Willoughby's diligent attention to affairs, Mr. Dale.'
'He is well?' Mr. Dale inquired.
'In excellent health.'
'Body and mind?'
'But, dear Mr. Dale, he is never ill.'
'Ah! for one to hear that who is never well! And Mr. Whitford is quite sound?'
'Sound? The question alarms me for myself,' said Dr. Middleton. 'Sound as our Constitution, the Credit of the country, the reputation of our Prince of poets. I pray you to have no fears for him.'
Mr. Dale gave the mild little sniff of a man thrown deeper into perplexity.
He said: 'Mr. Whitford works his head; he is a hard student; he may not be always, if I may so put it, at home on worldly affairs.'
'Dismiss that defamatory legend of the student, Mr. Dale; and take my word for it, that he who persistently works his head has the strongest for all affairs.'
'Ah! Your daughter, sir, is here?'
'My daughter is here, sir, and will be most happy to present her respects to the father of her friend, Miss Dale.'
'They are friends?'
'Very cordial friends.'
Mr. Dale administered another feebly pacifying sniff to himself.
'L?titia!' he sighed, in apostrophe, and swept his forehead with a hand seen to shake.
The ladies asked him anxiously whether he felt the heat of the room; and one offered him a smelling- bottle.
He thanked them. 'I can hold out until Sir Willoughby comes.'
'We fear to disturb him when his door is locked, Mr. Dale; but, if you wish it, we will venture on a message.
