He held his peace awhile. Never before had I seen so much fire, and so little sunshine in Dr. John’s blue eye as just now.

“Lucy,” he recommenced, “look well at my mother, and say, without fear or favour, in what light she now appears to you.”

“As she always does⁠—an English, middle-class gentlewoman; well, though gravely dressed, habitually independent of pretence, constitutionally composed and cheerful.”

“So she seems to me⁠—bless her! The merry may laugh with mamma, but the weak only will laugh at her. She shall not be ridiculed, with my consent, at least; nor without my⁠—my scorn⁠—my antipathy⁠—my⁠—”