"Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper--anything you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?"
"It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for you judiciously. When women are sensible, and, above all, intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, and extremely wire-drawn notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to give her an edible or a wearable--be the same a roc's egg or the breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or the leathern girdle about his loins--I can, at least, understand the demand; but when they pine for they know not what--sympathy, sentiment, some of these indefinite abstractions--I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven't got it.--Madam, accept my arm."
Mrs. Pryor signified that she should stay with her daughter that evening. Helstone, accordingly, left them together. He soon returned, bringing a plate in his own consecrated hand.

"Uncle, if you please, send me a little bit of supper - anything you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?"
"It is spoken like a sage, Cary. When women are sensible and intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the superfine sensations and extreme notions that put me out. If a woman asks me for something edible or wearable, I can understand the demand; but when they pine for sympathy, sentiment, and whatnot - I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven't got it."
Mr. Helstone then departed, but soon returned, bringing a plate.
