The Ordeal of Richard Feverel — CompleteMeredith, George
General
The Ordeal of Richard Feverel — Complete
Meredith, George
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; 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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