Having come to the point he breathed extreme relief, and saw things more distinctly; not a little amazed at his leader’s horrified face.

The two elders were making various absurd inquiries, when Richard sent his chair to the floor, crying, “What a muddle you’re in, Rip!  You’re mixing half-a-dozen stories together.  The old lady I told you about was old Dame Bakewell, and the dispute was concerning a neighbour of hers who encroached on her garden, and I said I’d pay the money to see her righted!”

“Ah,” said Ripton, humbly, “I was thinking of the other.  Her garden!  Cabbages don’t interest me”—­

“Here, come along,” Richard beckoned to him savagely.  “I’ll be back in five minutes, uncle,” he nodded coolly to either.

The young men left the room.  In the hall-passage they met Berry, dressed to return to Raynham.  Richard dropped a helper to the intelligence into his hand, and warned him not to gossip much of London.  Berry bowed perfect discreetness.

“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.