“I don’t see what there is to think,” said Letitia. “What did you expect? Sense from a woman who is as mad as a March hare.” “It ill becomes you, Tisch,” said Mrs. Hill, who had been gasping for an opportunity, “it ill becomes you, who drove her to it, to speak of my Mary in that way.” Mrs. John Parke gave a stare in the direction of the vicar’s wife, and then, turning to the two gentlemen, shrugged her shoulders a little and elevated her eyebrows. “It is in the family,” she said. Mr. Blotting, like most other men, feared a passage of arms between the two ladies, so he hastened to put himself in the breach. “In ordinary circumstances,” he said, “a statement of this kind from a mother would be considered conclusive. If she said, ‘This child is not mine,’ there would not be another word to say.” “But, I beg--I beg,” said the vicar, wagging his white beard, and see-sawing with his large hand. “Nothing of the sort--nothing of the sort! Lady Frogmore entertains a hallucination. Such a thing has happened to many at a delicate time of life. Where is Dr. Brown? he will tell you. Why, the boy, sir, the boy--is undoubted--Why, my wife was there!” “I am ready,” said Mrs. Hill, “to be examined before any court in England. I was present from the moment things began. Her mother! Of course, I was with her--I never left her. Why, it was I who received the child--I saw him born. I----” “Spare us, please, the details. These gentlemen are not old women,” said Letitia. “We, who are most concerned, don’t question the fact. We may have our own opinion; we may think that of all the base, foul designs, to marry an old doting fool of a----” “Letitia!” said John, springing up (which was no small effort) from his low chair. “And if she went wrong in her head,” cried Mrs. Hill, with gleaming eyes, “Who drove her to it? Oh, how dare you speak, you bad woman! You tried it first at home at Grocombe to drive her off the marriage--and then the day, the very day before the child was born. Oh, perhaps, you don’t think I remember--but I remember everything, everything! The very day, Mrs. Parke--the afternoon, and little Mar was born in the middle of the night, the same day, so to speak. She came pretending to see how Mary was--and, oh, what she did or what she said I can’t tell, but my Mary never held up her head again. It is all her doing, all! I am ready to swear--before any court----” “Ladies, ladies!” said Mr. Blotting. “When you begin to quarrel there’s nothing can be done. Of course, you blame each other. It’s always so--but what good does it do. Lady Frogmore is quite well now, my dear madam, you must be thankful for it, except this hallucination.”