The Ordeal of Richard Feverel: A History of a Father and SonMeredith, George
General
The Ordeal of Richard Feverel: A History of a Father and Son
Meredith, George
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction
"What on earth induced you to talk about Protestants and Catholics
marrying, Rip?" said Richard, as soon as they were in the street.
"Why," Ripton answered, "I was so hard pushed for it, 'pon my
honour, I didn't know what to say. I ain't an author, you know; I
can't make a story. I was trying to invent a point, and I couldn't
think of any other, and I thought that was just the point likely to
make a jolly good dispute. Capital dinners they give at those crack
hotels. Why did you throw it all upon me? I didn't begin on the old
lady."
The hero mused, "It's odd! It's impossible you could have known!
I'll tell you why, Rip! I wanted to try you. You fib well at long
range, but you don't do at close quarters and single combat. You're
good behind walls, but not worth a shot in the open. I just see what
you're fit for. You're staunch--that I am certain of. You always
were. Lead the way to one of the parks--down in that direction. You
know?--where she is!"
Ripton led the way. His dinner had prepared this young Englishman
to defy the whole artillery of established morals. With the muffled
roar of London around them, alone in a dark slope of green, the
hero, leaning on his henchman, and speaking in a harsh clear
undertone, delivered his explanations. Doubtless the true heroic
insignia and point of view will be discerned, albeit in common
private's uniform.
"They've been plotting against me for a year, Rip! When you see her,
you'll know what it was to have such a creature taken away from you.
It nearly killed me. Never mind what she is. She's the most perfect
and noble creature God ever made! It's not only her beauty--I don't
care so much about that!--but when you've once seen her, she seems
to draw music from all the nerves of your body; but she's such an
angel. I worship her. And her mind's like her face. She's pure gold.
There, you'll see her to-night.
"Well," he pursued, after inflating Ripton with this rapturous
prospect, "they got her away, and I recovered. It was Mister
Adrian's work. What's my father's objection to her? Because of her
birth? She's educated; her manners are beautiful--full of
refinement--quick and soft! Can they show me one of their ladies
like her?--she's the daughter of a naval lieutenant! Because she's a
Catholic? What has religion to do with"--he pronounced "Love!" a
little modestly--as it were a blush in his voice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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