Born in Exile

Name: Born in Exile
Author: Gissing, George

Gissing, George

England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century

'Surprising,' he went on, 'how very little such a mind as Moorhouse's
suggests itself in common conversation. He is really profound in
mathematics, a man of original powers, but I never heard him make a
remark of the slightest value on any other subject. Now his sister--she
has studied nothing in particular, yet she can't express an opinion
that doesn't bear the stamp of originality.'

Godwin was contented to muse, his eyes fixed on a brilliant star in the
western heaven.

'There's only one inconsistency in her that annoys and puzzles me,'
Buckland pursued, speaking with the cigar in his mouth. 'In religion,
she seems to be orthodox. True, we have never spoken on the subject,
but--well, she goes to church, and carries prayer-books. I don't know
how to explain it. Hypocrisy is the last thing one could suspect her
of. I'm sure she hates it in every form. And such a clear brain!--I
can't understand it.'

The listener was still star-gazing. He had allowed his cigar, after the
first few puffs, to smoulder untasted; his lips were drawn into an
expression very unlike the laxity appropriate to pleasurable smoking.
When the murmur of the pines had for a moment been audible, he said,
with a forced smile:

'I notice you take for granted that a clear brain and religious
orthodoxy are incompatible.'

The other gave him a keen look.

'Hardly,' was Buckland's reply, spoken with less ingenuousness of tone
than usual. 'I say that Miss Moorhouse has undeniably a strong mind,
and that it is impossible to suspect her of the slightest hypocrisy.'

'Whence the puzzle that keeps you occupied,' rejoined Peak, in a voice
that sounded like assumption of superiority, though the accent had an
agreeable softness.

Warricombe moved as if impatiently, struck a match to rekindle his
weed, blew tumultuous clouds, and finally put a blunt question:

'What do you think about it yourself?'

'From my point of view, there is no puzzle at all,' Godwin replied, in
a very clear voice, smiling as he met the other's look.

'How am I to understand that?' asked Buckland, good-naturedly, though
with a knitting of his brows.

'Not as a doubt of Miss Moorhouse's sincerity. I can't see that a
belief in the Christian religion is excluded by any degree of
intellectual clearness.'

'No--your views have changed, Peak?'

'On many subjects, this among them.'

'I see.'

The words fell as if involuntarily from Warricombe's lips. He gazed at
the floor awhile, then, suddenly looking up, exclaimed:

'It would be civil to accept this without surprise, but it is too much
for me. How has it come about?'

'That would take me a long time to explain.'

'Then,' pursued his companion, watching him closely, 'you were quite in
sympathy with that exposition you gave at lunch today?'

'Quite. I hope there was nothing in my way of speaking that made you
think otherwise?'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Born in ExileGissing, George

General

Born in Exile

Gissing, George

England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century

'Surprising,' he went on, 'how very little such a mind as Moorhouse's
suggests itself in common conversation. He is really profound in
mathematics, a man of original powers, but I never heard him make a
remark of the slightest value on any other subject. Now his sister--she
has studied nothing in particular, yet she can't express an opinion
that doesn't bear the stamp of originality.'

Godwin was contented to muse, his eyes fixed on a brilliant star in the
western heaven.

'There's only one inconsistency in her that annoys and puzzles me,'
Buckland pursued, speaking with the cigar in his mouth. 'In religion,
she seems to be orthodox. True, we have never spoken on the subject,
but--well, she goes to church, and carries prayer-books. I don't know
how to explain it. Hypocrisy is the last thing one could suspect her
of. I'm sure she hates it in every form. And such a clear brain!--I
can't understand it.'

The listener was still star-gazing. He had allowed his cigar, after the
first few puffs, to smoulder untasted; his lips were drawn into an
expression very unlike the laxity appropriate to pleasurable smoking.
When the murmur of the pines had for a moment been audible, he said,
with a forced smile:

'I notice you take for granted that a clear brain and religious
orthodoxy are incompatible.'

The other gave him a keen look.

'Hardly,' was Buckland's reply, spoken with less ingenuousness of tone
than usual. 'I say that Miss Moorhouse has undeniably a strong mind,
and that it is impossible to suspect her of the slightest hypocrisy.'

'Whence the puzzle that keeps you occupied,' rejoined Peak, in a voice
that sounded like assumption of superiority, though the accent had an
agreeable softness.

Warricombe moved as if impatiently, struck a match to rekindle his
weed, blew tumultuous clouds, and finally put a blunt question:

'What do you think about it yourself?'

'From my point of view, there is no puzzle at all,' Godwin replied, in
a very clear voice, smiling as he met the other's look.

'How am I to understand that?' asked Buckland, good-naturedly, though
with a knitting of his brows.

'Not as a doubt of Miss Moorhouse's sincerity. I can't see that a
belief in the Christian religion is excluded by any degree of
intellectual clearness.'

'No--your views have changed, Peak?'

'On many subjects, this among them.'

'I see.'

The words fell as if involuntarily from Warricombe's lips. He gazed at
the floor awhile, then, suddenly looking up, exclaimed:

'It would be civil to accept this without surprise, but it is too much
for me. How has it come about?'

'That would take me a long time to explain.'

'Then,' pursued his companion, watching him closely, 'you were quite in
sympathy with that exposition you gave at lunch today?'

'Quite. I hope there was nothing in my way of speaking that made you
think otherwise?'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Born in Exile

Born in Exile

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