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 Laetitia?"
"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 ****** 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 Laetitia?" 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.
"Laetitia!" 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. You have really no bad news of our Laetitia? She left us hurriedly this morning, without any leave-taking, except a word to one of the maids, that your condition required her immediate presence."
"My condition! And now her door is locked to me! We have spoken through the door, and that is all. I stand sick and stupefied between two locked doors, neither of which will open, it appears, to give me the enlightenment I need more than medicine."
