On the death of his parents, Faraday Little was taken to Raby Hall.
In accepting his guardianship, Mr. Raby struggled stoutly against two
prejudices: Faraday was plain-looking and skeptical.
“Handsome is as handsome does, sweetheart,” pleaded Jael, interceding
for the orphan with arms that were still beautiful. “Dear knows, it is
not his fault if he does not look like—his father,” she added with
a great gulp. Jael was a woman, and vindicated her womanhood by never
entirely forgiving a former rival.
“It’s not that alone, madam,” screamed Raby, “but, d—m it, the little
rascal’s a scientist,—an atheist, a radical, a scoffer! Disbelieves
in the Bible, ma’am; is full of this Darwinian stuff about natural
selection and descent. Descent, forsooth! In my day, madam, gentlemen
were content to trace their ancestors back to gentlemen, and not
to—monkeys!”
“Dear heart, the boy is clever,” urged Jael.
“Clever!” roared Raby; “what does a gentleman want with cleverness?”