is so lovely, and
so good."

Richard was too full of blame of himself to blame his father: too
British to expose his emotions. Ripton divined how deep and changed they
were by his manner. He had cast aside the hero, and however Ripton had
obeyed him and looked up to him in the heroic time, he loved him tenfold
now. He told his friend how much Lucy's mere womanly sweetness and
excellence had done for him, and Richard contrasted his own profitless
extravagance with the patient beauty of his dear home angel. He was not
one to take her on the easy terms that offered. There was that to do
which made his cheek burn as he thought of it, but he was going to do
it, even though it lost her to him. Just to see her and kneel to her was
joy sufficient to sustain him, and warm his blood in the prospect. They
marked the white cliffs growing over the water. Nearer, the sun made
them lustrous. Houses and people seemed to welcome the wild youth to
common sense, simplicity, and home.

They were in town by mid-day. Richard had a momentary idea of not
driving to his hotel for letters. After a short debate he determined
to go there. The porter said he had two letters for Mr. Richard
Feverel--one had been waiting some time. He went to the box and fetched
them. The first Richard opened was from Lucy, and as he read it, Ripton
observed the colour deepen on his face, while a quivering smile played
about his mouth. He opened the other indifferently. It began without
any form of address. Richard's forehead darkened at the signature. This
letter was in a sloping feminine hand, and flourished with light strokes
all over, like a field of the bearded barley. Thus it ran:

"I know you are in a rage with me because I would not consent to ruin
you, you foolish fellow. What do you call it? Going to that unpleasant
place together. Thank you, my milliner is not ready yet, and I want to
make a good appearance when I do go. I suppose I shall have to some day.
Your health, Sir Richard. Now let me speak to you seriously. Go home to
your wife at once. But I know the sort of fellow you are, and I must be
plain with you. Did I ever say I loved you? You may hate me as much as
you please, but I will save you from being a fool.

"Now listen to me. You know my relations with Mount. That beast Brayder
offered to pay all my debts and set me afloat, if I would keep you in
town. I declare on my honour I had no idea why, and I did not agree
to it. But you were such a