Take him, then, for all in all, I am not inclined to be so severe upon
him as my father was. Judge him according to any very lofty standard,
and he is nowhere. Judge him according to a fair average standard, and
there is not much fault to be found with him. I have said what I have
said in the foregoing chapter once for all, and shall not break my thread
to repeat it. It should go without saying in modification of the verdict
which the reader may be inclined to pass too hastily, not only upon Mr
George Pontifex, but also upon Theobald and Christina. And now I will
continue my story.
CHAPTER XX
The birth of his son opened Theobald's eyes to a good deal which he had
but faintly realised hitherto. He had had no idea how great a nuisance a
baby was. Babies come into the world so suddenly at the end, and upset
everything so terribly when they do come: why cannot they steal in upon
us with less of a shock to the domestic system? His wife, too, did not
recover rapidly from her confinement; she remained an invalid for months;
here was another nuisance and an expensive one, which interfered with the
amount which Theobald liked to put by out of his income against, as he
said, a rainy day, or to make provision for his family if he should have
one.
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