The Son of His Father; vol. 2/3Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The Son of His Father; vol. 2/3
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fathers and sons -- Fiction
‘I see no occasion for any judgment on the matter,’ said Elly, raising
her head with a certain pride. ‘If you think so, I can’t help it. But
I’ve always been allowed to have an opinion of my own: and since I
choose to be your friend as we have been all our lives, and to call you
Jack--and be Elly to you--let them, if they have any objections, make
them to me.’
‘How sweet you are and how you look! like a guardian angel,’ cried poor
John, ‘but they will not let that be, either. For they will say I have
no right to appeal to you at all, that I ought to know better; that I am
a man and have been about the world, and you are only a girl----’
‘If you think I am _only_ a girl,’ cried Elly, with great offence, ‘it
can’t be any matter to you whether I stand by you or not, a thing of so
little account!’
‘You know that is not what I mean,’ said the boy, with a long-drawn
breath that was almost a sob. He, who was so much older than his age,
felt now what a young, helpless, impotent being he was before all that
force of opposition and good sense and fact. ‘I wish,’ he cried, looking
at her with a certain fond impatience, ‘that you were only a girl as you
used to be, with your hair waving upon your shoulders--I wish you had
put off growing up for a few years, Elly! You are a woman now, and as
good as a queen. And it is right they should keep everything from you
that is not the best. I understand it quite well, and I agree with it,
though it is against myself.’
Elly flushed and grew pale again while he was making this speech: and
matters had grown very serious, for there was no telling what in his
excited condition he might say next. She looked at him for a moment
doubtfully, and then she put her hand on his arm in a way she had often
done when they were boy and girl together, not to lean upon him, you may
be sure, which was not at all Elly’s way, but to push him on before her
on the way which she had determined was that he ought to go.
‘I don’t know what is the good of talking like this,’ she said, ‘making
yourself unhappy and me too. Wait till somebody objects. What is the
good of going and meeting bother before it comes? It is time enough to
stand on the defensive when somebody attacks us. You were always fond of
making sure that something was going to happen: and generally nothing
happened. Do you remember the time when we upset the ink bottle over Mr.
Cattley’s sermon--when you expected for a whole week we should get into
disgrace, and he only laughed to Aunt Mary about it, and did nothing to
us at all?’
‘I remember about the sermon and the ink-bottle,’ said John, too young,
even in the excited state of his feelings, not to be moved in the first
place to self-defence, ‘but I thought it was----’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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