"The bare idea of a madhouse
distracts me with terror. Oh, fie, fie! I won't listen to you--I won't
look at you--I positively refuse to be frightened out of my wits.
Matilda! wheel me away to the furthest end of the room. My vivid
imagination, Father Benwell, is my rock ahead in life. I declare I can
_smell_ the odious madhouse. Go straight to the window, Matilda; I want
to bury my nose among the flowers."
Sir John, upon this, spoke for the first time. His language consisted
entirely of beginnings of sentences, mutely completed by a smile. "Upon
my word, you know. Eh, Doctor Wybrow? A man of your experience. Horrors
in madhouses. A lady in delicate health. No, really. Upon my honor, now,
I cannot. Something funny, oh yes. But such a subject, oh no."
He rose to leave us. Dr. Wybrow gently stopped him. "I had a motive,
Sir John," he said, "but I won't trouble you with needless explanations.
There is a person, unknown to me, whom I want to discover. You are a
great deal in society when you are in London. May I ask if you have ever
met with a gentleman named Winterfield?"
I have always considered the power of self-control as one of the
strongest points in my character.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313