


Produced by Pat Castevans and David Widger





LORD ORMONT AND HIS AMINTA, COMPLETE


By George Meredith




CONTENTS.

  BOOK 1.
  I.        LOVE AT A SCHOOL
  II.       LADY CHARLOTTE
  III.      THE TUTOR
  IV.       RECOGNITION
  V.        IN WHICH THE SHADES OF BROWNY AND MATEY ADVANCE AND RETIRE

  BOOK 2.
  VI.       IN A MOOD OF LANGUOR
  VII.      EXHIBITS EFFECTS OF A PRATTLER'S DOSES
  VIII.     MRS. LAWRENCE FINCHLEY
  IX.       A FLASH OF THE BRUISED WARRIOR
  X.        A SHORT PASSAGE IN THE GAME PLAYED BY TWO
  XI.       THE SECRETARY TAKEN AS AN ANTIDOTE

  BOOK 3.
  XII.      MORE OF CUPER'S BOYS
  XIII.     WAR AT OLMER
  XIV.      OLD LOVERS NEW FRIENDS
  XV.       SHOWING A SECRET FISHED WITHOUT ANGLING
  XVI.      ALONG TWO ROADS TO STEIGNTON

  BOOK 4.
  XVII.     LADY CHARLOTTE'S TRIUMPH
  XVIII.    A SCENE ON THE ROAD BACK
  XIX.      THE PURSUERS
  XX.       AT THE SIGN OF THE JOLLY CRICKETERS
  XXI.      UNDER-CURRENTS IN THE MINDS OF LADY CHARLOTTE AND LORD ORMONT
  XXII.     TREATS OF THE FIRST DAY OF THE CONTENTION OF BROTHER AND SISTER
  XXIII.    THE ORMONT JEWELS

  BOOK 5.
  XXIV.     LOVERS MATED
  XXXV.     PREPARATIONS FOR A RESOLVE
  XXVI.     VISITS OF FAREWELL
  XXVII.    A MARINE DUET
  XXVIII.   THE PLIGHTING
  XXIX.     AMINTA TO HER LORD
  XXX.      CONCLUSION




CHAPTER I. LOVE AT A SCHOOL

A procession of schoolboys having to meet a procession of schoolgirls on
the Sunday's dead march, called a walk, round the park, could hardly go
by without dropping to a hum in its chatter, and the shot of incurious
half-eyes the petticoated creatures--all so much of a swarm unless you
stare at them like lanterns. The boys cast glance because it relieved
their heaviness; things were lumpish and gloomy that day of the week.
The girls, who sped their peep of inquisition before the moment of
transit, let it be seen that they had minds occupied with thoughts of
their own.

Our gallant fellows forgot the intrusion of the foreign as soon as it
had passed. A sarcastic discharge was jerked by chance at the usher and
the governess--at the old game, it seemed; or why did they keep
steering columns to meet? There was no fun in meeting; it would never be
happening every other Sunday, and oftener, by sheer toss-penny accident.
They were moved like pieces for the pleasure of these two.

Sometimes the meeting occurred twice during the stupid march-out, when
it became so nearly vexatious to boys almost biliously oppressed by the
tedium of a day merely allowing them to shove the legs along, ironically
naming it animal excise, that some among them pronounced the sham
variation of monotony to be a bothering nuisance if it was going to
happen every Sunday, though Sunday required diversions. They hated
the absurdity in this meeting and meeting; for they were obliged to
anticipate it, as a part of their ignominious weekly performance; and
they could not avoid reflecting on it, as a thing done over again: it
had them in front and in rear; and it was a kind of broadside mirror,
flashing at them the exact opposite of themselves in an identically
similar situation, that forced a resemblance.

Touching the old game, Cuper's fold was a healthy school, owing to the
good lead of the head boy, Matey Weyburn, a lad with a heart for games
to bring renown, and no thought about girls. His emulation, the fellows
fancied, was for getting the school into a journal of the Sports. He
used to read one sent him by a sporting officer of his name, and talk
enviously of public schools, printed whatever they did--a privilege and
dignity of which, they had unrivalled enjoyment in the past, days, when
wealth was more jealously exclusive; and he was always prompting for
challenges and saving up to pay expenses; and the fellows were to laugh
at kicks and learn the art of self-defence--train to rejoice in whipcord
muscles. The son of a tradesman, if a boy fell under the imputation, was
worthy of honour with him, let the fellow but show grip and toughness.
He loathed a skulker, and his face was known for any boy who would
own to fatigue or confess himself beaten. "Go to bed," was one of his
terrible stings. Matey was good at lessons, too--liked them; liked Latin
and Greek; would help a poor stumbler.

Where he did such good work was in sharpening the fellows to excel.
He kept them to the grindstone, so that they had no time for rusty
brooding; and it was fit done by exhortations off a pedestal, like St.
Paul at the Athenians, it breathed out of him every day of the week. He
carried a light for followers. Whatever he demanded of them, he himself
did it easily. He would say to boys, "You're going to be men," meaning
something better than women. There was a notion that Matey despised
girls. Consequently, never much esteemed, they were in disfavour. The
old game was mentioned only because of a tradition of an usher and
governess leering sick eyes until they slunk away round a corner and
married, and set up a school for themselves--an emasculate ending.
Comment on it came of a design to show that the whole game had been
examined dismissed as uninteresting and profitless.

One of the boys alluded in Matey's presence to their general view upon
the part played by womankind on the stage, confident of a backing; and
he had it, in a way: their noble chief whisked the subject, as not worth
a discussion; but he turned to a younger chap, who said he detested
girls, and asked him how about a sister at home; and the youngster
, and Matey took him and spun him round, with a friendly tap on
the shoulder.

Odd remarks at intervals caused it to be suspected that he had ideas
concerning girls. They were high as his head above the school; and there
they were left, with Algebra and Homer, for they were not of a sort to
inflame; until the boys noticed how he gave up speaking, and fell to
hard looking, though she was dark enough to get herself named Browny.
In the absence of a fair girl of equal height to set beside her, Browny
shone.

She had a nice mouth, ready for a smile at the corners, or so it was
before Matey let her see that she was his mark. Now she kept her mouth
asleep and her eyes half down, up to the moment of her nearing to pass,
when the girl opened on him, as if lifting her eyelids from sleep to the
window, a full side--look, like a throb, and no disguise--no slyness
or boldness either, not a bit of languishing. You might think her heart
came quietly out.

The look was like the fall of light on the hills from the first
of morning. It lasted half a minute, and left a ruffle for a good