The Wife of Sir Isaac HarmanWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
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The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
England -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction; Women's rights -- Fiction
On the day after her participation in that forbidden lunch Millicent,
her eldest daughter, was discovered with a temperature of a hundred and
one, and then Annette, the third, followed suit with a hundred. This
carried Lady Harman post haste to the nursery, where to an
unprecedented degree she took command. Latterly she had begun to
mistrust the physique of her children and to doubt whether the trained
efficiency of Mrs. Harblow the nurse wasn’t becoming a little blunted
at the edges by continual use. And the tremendous quarrel she had afoot
made her keenly resolved not to let anything go wrong in the nursery
and less disposed than she usually was to leave things to her husband’s
servants. She interviewed the doctor herself, arranged for the
isolation of the two flushed and cross little girls, saw to the toys
and amusements which she discovered had become a little flattened and
disused by the servants’ imperatives of tidying up and putting away,
and spent the greater part of the next two days between the night and
day nurseries.
She was a little surprised to find how readily she did this and how
easily the once entirely authoritative Mrs. Harblow submitted. It was
much the same surprise that growing young people feel when they reach
some shelf that has hitherto been inaccessible. The crisis soon passed.
At his first visit the doctor was a little doubtful whether the Harman
nursery wasn’t under the sway of measles, which were then raging in a
particularly virulent form in London; the next day he inclined to the
view that the trouble was merely a feverish cold, and before night this
second view was justified by the disappearance of the “temperatures”
and a complete return to normal conditions.
But as for that hushed reconciliation in the fevered presence of the
almost sacrificial offspring, it didn’t happen. Sir Isaac merely thrust
aside the stiff silences behind which he masked his rage to remark:
“This is what happens when wimmen go gadding about!”
That much and glaring eyes and compressed lips and emphasizing fingers
and then he had gone again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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