The Ordeal of Richard Feverel — Volume 5Meredith, George
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The Ordeal of Richard Feverel — Volume 5
Meredith, George
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Fathers and sons -- Fiction
"Why wouldn't he write? Why didn't he answer one of my letters? But
here you are, so I don't mind now. He wants to see us, does he? We'll
go up to-night. I've a match on at eleven; my little yacht--I've called
her the 'Blandish'--against Fred Cuirie's 'Begum.' I shall beat, but
whether I do or not, we'll go up to-night. What's the news? What are
they all doing?"
"My dear boy!" Adrian returned, sitting comfortably down, "let me put
myself a little more on an equal footing with you before I undertake to
reply. Half that number of eggs will be sufficient for an unmarried man,
and then we'll talk. They're all very well, as well as I can recollect
after the shaking my total vacuity has had this morning. I came over by
the first boat, and the sea, the sea has made me love mother earth, and
desire of her fruits."
Richard fretted restlessly opposite his cool relative.
"Adrian! what did he say when he heard of it? I want to know exactly
what words he said."
"Well says the sage, my son! 'Speech is the small change of Silence.'
He said less than I do."
"That's how he took it!" cried Richard, and plunged in meditation.
Soon the table was cleared, and laid out afresh, and Lucy preceded the
maid bearing eggs on the tray, and sat down unbonneted, and like a
thorough-bred housewife, to pour out the tea for him.
"Now we'll commence," said Adrian, tapping his egg with meditative
cheerfulness; but his expression soon changed to one of pain, all the
more alarming for his benevolent efforts to conceal it. Could it be
possible the egg was bad? oh, horror! Lucy watched him, and waited in
trepidation.
"This egg has boiled three minutes and three-quarters," he observed,
ceasing to contemplate it.
"Dear, dear!" said Lucy, "I boiled them myself exactly that time.
Richard likes them so. And you like them hard, Mr. Harley?"
"On the contrary, I like them soft. Two minutes and a half, or three-
quarters at the outside. An egg should never rashly verge upon hardness-
-never. Three minutes is the excess of temerity."
"If Richard had told me! If I had only known!" the lovely little hostess
interjected ruefully, biting her lip.
"We mustn't expect him to pay attention to such matters," said Adrian,
trying to smile.
"Hang it! there are more eggs in the house," cried Richard, and pulled
savagely at the bell.
Lucy jumped up, saying, "Oh, yes! I will go and boil some exactly the
time you like. Pray let me go, Mr. Harley."
Adrian restrained her departure with a motion of his hand. "No," he
said, "I will be ruled by Richard's tastes, and heaven grant me his
digestion!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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