“Oh! It’s a sensible and proper thing indeed, what Mrs. George has said!” exclaimed the old lady. “If women are only true to themselves!—But Betsy isn’t, and more’s the shame and pity.”
“Before I’d let a man order me about as Quilp orders her,” said Mrs. George; “before I’d consent to stand in awe of a man as she does of him, I’d—I’d kill myself, and write a letter first to say he did it!”
This remark being loudly commended and approved of, another lady (from the Minories) put in her word:
“Mr. Quilp may be a very nice man,” said this lady, “and I suppose there’s no doubt he is, because Mrs. Quilp says he is, and Mrs. Jiniwin says he is, and they ought to know, or nobody does. But still he is not quite a—what one calls a handsome man, nor quite a young man neither, which might be a little excuse for him if anything could be; whereas his wife is young, and is good-looking, and is a woman—which is the great thing after all.”
This last clause being delivered with extraordinary pathos elicited a corresponding murmur from the hearers, stimulated by which the lady went on to remark that if such a husband was cross and unreasonable with such a wife, then—
“If he is!” interposed the mother, putting down her teacup and brushing the crumbs out of her lap, preparatory to making a solemn declaration. “If he is! He is the greatest tyrant that ever lived, she daren’t call her soul her own, he makes her tremble with a word and even with a look, he frightens her to death, and she hasn’t the spirit to give him a word back, no, not a single word.”
Notwithstanding that the fact had been notorious beforehand to all the tea-drinkers, and had been discussed and expatiated on at every tea-drinking in the neighbourhood for the last twelve months, this official communication was no sooner made than they all began to talk at once and to vie with each other in vehemence and volubility. Mrs. George remarked that people would talk, that people had often said this to her before, that Mrs. Simmons then and there present had told her so twenty times, that she had always said, “No Henrietta Simmons, unless I see it with my own eyes and hear it with my own ears, I never will believe it.” Mrs. Simmons corroborated this testimony and added strong evidence of her own. The lady from the Minories recounted a successful course of treatment under which she had placed her own husband, who, from manifesting one month after marriage unequivocal symptoms of the tiger, had by this means become subdued into a perfect lamb. Another lady recounted her own personal struggle and final triumph, in the course whereof she had found it necessary to call in her mother and two aunts, and to weep incessantly night and day for six weeks. A third, who in the general confusion could secure no other listener, fastened herself upon a young woman still unmarried who happened to be amongst them, and conjured her as she valued her own peace of mind and happiness to profit by this solemn occasion, to take example from the weakness of Mrs. Quilp, and from that time forth to direct her whole thoughts to taming and subduing the rebellious spirit of man. The noise was at its height, and half the company had elevated their voices into a perfect shriek in order to drown the voices of the other half, when Mrs. Jiniwin was seen to change colour and shake her forefinger stealthily, as if exhorting them to silence. Then, and not until then, Daniel Quilp himself, the cause and occasion of all this clamour, was observed to be in the room, looking on and listening with profound attention.
“Go on ladies, go on,” said Daniel. “Mrs. Quilp, pray ask the ladies to stop to supper, and have a couple of lobsters and something light and palatable.”
“I—I—didn’t ask them to tea, Quilp,” stammered his wife. “It’s quite an accident.”
“So much the better, Mrs. Quilp; these accidental parties are always the pleasantest,” said the dwarf, rubbing his hands so hard that he seemed to be engaged in manufacturing, of the dirt with which they were encrusted, little charges for popguns. “What! Not going ladies, you are not going, surely!”
His fair enemies tossed their heads slightly as they sought their respective bonnets and shawls, but left all verbal contention to Mrs. Jiniwin, who finding herself in the position of champion, made a faint struggle to sustain the character.
“And why not stop to supper, Quilp,” said the old lady, “if my daughter had a mind?”
“To be sure,” rejoined Daniel. “Why not?”
“There’s nothing dishonest or wrong in a supper, I hope?” said Mrs. Jiniwin.
“Surely not” returned the dwarf. “Why should there be? Nor anything unwholesome either, unless there’s lobster-salad or prawns, which I’m told are not good for digestion.”
“And you wouldn’t like your wife to be attacked with that, or anything else that would make her uneasy, would you?” said Mrs. Jiniwin.
“Not for a score of worlds” replied the dwarf with a grin. “Not even to have a score of mothers-in-law at the same time—and what a blessing that would be!”
“My daughter’s your wife, Mr. Quilp, certainly” said the old lady with a giggle, meant for satirical and to imply that he needed to
