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
"Some difference in the trees, though," Richard continued
abstractedly.
"Growing bald at the top," said Adrian.
"Will you believe that my aunt Helen compared the conduct of that
wretched slave Clare to Lucy's, who, she had the cruel insolence to
say, entangled me into marriage?" the hero broke out loudly and
rapidly. "You know--I told you, Adrian--how I had to threaten and
insist, and how she pleaded, and implored me to wait."
"Ah! hum!" mumbled Adrian.
"You remember my telling you?" Richard was earnest to hear her
exonerated.
"Pleaded and implored, my dear boy? Oh, no doubt she did. Where's
the lass that doesn't."
"Call my wife by another name, if you please."
"The generic title can't be cancelled because of your having married
one of the body, my son."
"She did all she could to persuade me to wait!" emphasized Richard.
Adrian shook his head with a deplorable smile.
"Come, come, my good Ricky; not all! not all!"
Richard bellowed: "What more could she have done?"
"She could have shaved her head, for instance."
This happy shaft did stick. With a furious exclamation Richard shot
in front, Adrian following him; and asking him (merely to have his
assumption verified), whether he did not think she might have shaved
her head? and, presuming her to have done so, whether, in candour,
he did not think he would have waited--at least till she looked less
of a rank lunatic?
After a minute or so, the wise youth was but a fly buzzing about
Richard's head. Three weeks of separation from Lucy, and an
excitement deceased, caused him to have soft yearnings for the dear
lovely home-face. He told Adrian it was his intention to go down
that night. Adrian immediately became serious. He was at a loss what
to invent to detain him, beyond the stale fiction that his father
was coming to-morrow. He rendered homage to the genius of woman in
these straits. "My aunt," he thought, "would have the lie ready; and
not only that, but she would take care it did its work."
At this juncture the voice of a cavalier in the Row hailed them,
proving to be the Honourable Peter Brayder, Lord Mountfalcon's
parasite. He greeted them very cordially; and Richard, remembering
some fun they had in the Island, asked him to dine with them;
postponing his return till the next day. Lucy was his. It was even
sweet to dally with the delight of seeing her.
The Hon. Peter was one who did honour to the body he belonged to.
Though not so tall as a West of London footman, he was as shapely;
and he had a power of making his voice insinuating, or arrogant, as
it suited the exigencies of his profession. He had not a rap of
money in the world; yet he rode a horse, lived high, expended
largely. The world said that the Hon. Peter was salaried by his
Lordship, and that, in common with that of Parasite, he exercised
the ancient companion profession. This the world said, and still
smiled at the Hon. Peter; for he was an engaging fellow, and where
he went not Lord Mountfalcon would not go.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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