“What claims? I am the author of your being, as the old books say, and I’ve responded to that claim by giving you everything that a king’s son could have had. You have been just as well off as the Prince of Wales. What more do you want? I think my claims are better founded than yours. It is I who have a right to something in return, not you.”
Gervase’s countenance was a sight to see; it changed altogether from the calm certainty of superior right which had been in it. The first astonishment did not pass away, but other sentiments came in. Doubt--slow conviction that there was something in what his father said--a strong feeling, nevertheless, that it was impossible he could himself be altogether in the wrong. All these warring sentiments rose upon the clear and calm conviction of his earlier state, and blurred that spotless firmament. He drew a long breath.
“It is quite true,” he said--“quite true all you say. You have given me everything--and I--have had nothing to give in return. Still----” All nature was in that word--all the certainty of youth that it has a claim never to be ignored--that its mere existence is response enough; and all the traditions of family custom, which make the wellbeing of the child the first object of the father; and the unconscious assumption which every child instinctively makes, that, after all, its predecessors are passing away, and itself the permanent interest--an assumption which it is quite possible to hold along with the most anxious and affectionate care for these predecessors, and desire to retain them in life and enjoyment. All these things were in Gervase’s mind, and quite naturally so. The difficulty was, perhaps, that these old-world relations are scarcely compatible with the calm and highly reasonable level of equality on which the young man of the period conceives it possible to treat with his father, claiming a boundless right of independent judgment, and the serene satisfaction of taking a higher view, and being absolutely in the right whoever may be wrong. Gervase fell a little from that: his reason being appealed to, could not refuse to allow that there was a great deal in what Mr Burton said. Still, when all was done, was not the boy aware that he was his father’s pride--that it was he alone who could continue and renew his father’s house and reputation, and satisfy that desire of continuance which is in almost every mind? And this was an impression which it was impossible to resist, which was the very voice of nature. “Still----” Gervase looked up almost wistfully into his father’s face. Strong as that feeling was, it was one that required a grant, an admission, on the other side: it could not be put forth with calm assurance, as he made his other propositions, in full certainty of reason as between man and man.