"A remedy, Kate! What remedy is there?"

Mrs. Martinet looked at me curiously.

"If not a remedy, there is, I am sure, a palliative," I returned,
feeling doubtful of the effect of what I had it in my mind to
express.

"What is the remedy or palliative of which you speak. Name it, for
goodness' sake! Like a drowning man, I will clutch it, if it be but
a straw."

"The remedy is _patience_." My voice slightly faltered as I spoke.

Instantly the colour deepened on the face of Mrs. Martinet. But our
close intimacy, and her knowledge of the fact that I was really a
friend, prevented her from being offended.

"Patience!" she said, after she had a little recovered herself.
"Patience is no remedy. To endure is not to cure."

"In that, perhaps, you are mistaken," I returned. "The effect of
patience is to cure domestic evils. A calm exterior and a gentle,
yet firm voice, will in nine cases in ten, effect more than the most
passionate outbreak of indignant feelings. I have seen it tried over
and over again, and I am sure of the effect."

"I should like to have seen the effect of a gentle voice upon my
Harry, just now."