“So somebody does,” Ripton received his impetus. “And they’re found in town together,” he made a fresh jerk. “She—a—that is, the old lady—found them in company.”
“She finds him with her wig on in company!” said Algernon. “Capital! Here’s matter for the lawyers!”
“And you advise her not to proceed, under such circumstances of aggravation?” Hippias observed, humorously twinkling with his stomachic contentment.
“It’s the daughter,” Ripton sighed, and surrendering to pressure, hurried on recklessly, “A runaway match—beautiful girl!—the only son of a baronet—married by special licence. A—the point is,” he now brightened and spoke from his own element, “the point is whether the marriage can be annulled, as she’s of the Catholic persuasion and he’s a Protestant, and they’re both married under age. That’s the point.”
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.