He undertook it in a fit of desperation, when it seemed as if
only a strong and well grounded opposition would save his reason. But
this was just what he could not get. Purdy, whom he tried first, held
the crude notion that a sick person should never be gainsaid; and
soothingly sympathised and agreed, till Mahony could have cried aloud at
such blundering stupidity. Polly did better; she contradicted him. But
not in the right way. She certainly pooh-poohed his idea of the nearness
of Yuille's Swamp making the house unhealthy; but she did not argue the
matter, step by step, and CONVINCE him that he was wrong. She just
laughed at him as at a foolish child, and kissed him, and tucked him in
anew. And when it came to the typhoid's fatal issue, she had not the
knowledge needed to combat him with any chance of success. She heard him
anxiously out, and allowed herself to be made quite nervous over a
possible fault on his part, so jealous was she for his growing
reputation.
So that in the end it was he who had to comfort her.
"Don't take any notice of what I say to-day, wife. It's this blessed
fever. . . . I'm light-headed, I think."
But he could hear her uneasily consulting with Purdy in the passage.
It was not till his pulse beat normally again that he could smile at his
exaggerated fears. Now, too, reviving health brought back a wholesome
interest in everyday affairs. He listened with amusement to Polly's
account of the shifts Purdy was reduced to, to enter the house unseen by
Miss Tilly.
Pages:
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356