Lord Derrington should have been born Emperor of Ancient Rome or of Modern Russia. He would have made an admirable despot, as he was fairly good-humored when all about him were on their knees serving him. Even then his temper was none of the best. Those who held their own he hated, while the many who gave in to his domineering will received unmerited contempt as their reward. Even at seventy-five the old man's temper had not cooled, and the majority of people avoided him as they would the plague.
Originally he had started life with a sufficiently imperious will, and, thanks to his position as a titled and wealthy orphan, he had been enabled to exercise it at a very early age. The habit of seeing every one terrified of his mere glance grew upon him, and he became unbearable, not only to live with, but even to meet. His wife, after presenting him with two sons, had died gladly, seeing no other way of escaping her tyrant, and the report went that he had browbeaten her out of existence. Derrington would have married again for the sake of his boys, but like Henry VIII., whom he greatly resembled, he could find no one willing to endure his yoke. Consequently he became something of a woman-hater, and entered the political world. In this he met with a certain amount of opposition, which did him good, and might have been trained into a moderately decent member of society but that his reformation was cut short by his being appointed ambassador to a prominent European power. Here his temper had full swing, and he bullied everybody for three years. At the end of that time he nearly caused a war and was recalled. There was some talk of his being appointed Viceroy for India, but those in power had sufficient pity on the country not to send him. Derrington, in India, would have been on "his native heath" for tyrannizing.
Failing, from his reputation, to get another appointment, Derrington took to quarreling with his sons. Percy, the elder, had a spice of the paternal temper and refused to submit. Consequently he was forbidden the house, and crowned his iniquities in the old man's eyes by marrying Rosina Lockwood. This was a severe blow to Derrington, who had the pride as well as the temper of Lucifer. He refused to hold any communication with Percy, and thus the son remained abroad, living on an income inherited from his mother until he was murdered at San Remo. As his income ceased on his death (for it reverted to his mother's relatives), George, the boy, was left dependent on the charity of his two grandfathers. Derrington denied the marriage and refused to acknowledge the infant. Lockwood took the child to his home and brought him up. Then the lad disappeared when Lockwood died, and reappeared under the name of Brendon. Derrington had discovered his grandson's identity in the way described by Bawdsey. The younger Vane was a fool, meek as Moses, and completely cowed by his terrible father. He married an equally meek lady, and the two were crushed by the old tyrant. Finally, both died, as gladly as the late Lady Derrington had done, and left Walter Vane to carry on the title. The old lord detested Walter as a milksop, but he refused to acknowledge George, preferring the fool to the clever man, from sheer hatred of Brendon's father.
Derrington House, in St. Giles Square, was an immense palatial mansion which cost no end of money to keep up, and as its lord was not over-rich he would have done better to remove to a more modest residence. But Derrington's pride would not permit him to scrimp his living, and he dwelt alone in the big house. When Walter's parents were alive they had occupied a corner, so that Derrington could bully them at his leisure, and now Walter himself remained as a whipping-boy. But he was cunning enough to keep out of his grandfather's way, and contrived to be more independent than his parents had been. Perhaps Derrington was too old to carry on an active war, but he certainly gave Walter more license than he had ever accorded to any human being. A good deal of contempt for the weak little dandy had to do with this permitting him to act as he pleased. There is no excitement in whipping a sheep.
The meeting with George at Mrs. Ward's had touched the old man nearly. He had never set eyes on Percy's son before, and had no idea that the young fellow was so handsome and clever. Derrington felt that he could take some pride in George, as a man who would not permit himself to be bullied. He had as strong a will as his grandfather, and the older man respected him. Moreover, George's refusal to accept an income when he took a feigned name, and his determined fight for his birthright, pleased the despot. But for his pride and hatred of the father, Derrington might have acknowledged the marriage. He knew in his own mind that such a marriage had taken place, and that George was legitimate, but he did not know where the ceremony had been celebrated. The sole evidence he possessed was a letter, written by Percy from Paris, stating that he had married Rosina Lockwood. Derrington at the time accepted the fact, and had never thought of inquiring about details from his son, and of course when Percy died it was too late. Mrs. Jersey knew, and Mrs. Jersey had made use of her knowledge, but she never told Derrington anything. Had she done so, her hold over him might have waxed feeble, although, owing to her knowledge, and to the old man's determination not to acknowledge George, it could not be done away with altogether.
The library in Derrington House was a vast and splendid apartment with a magnificent collection of books. Its owner, driven back on himself by his misanthropic detestation of his species, and the dislike his fellow-men had for him, read a great deal. Sometimes he wrote articles for the quarterlies, principally on political questions. He went out into society in spite of his age, out of sheer contrariety and not because he enjoyed himself. Like Vespasian, he was determined to die standing, and showed himself at several great houses, at race-meetings, at Hurlingham, and sometimes in the House. His movements were carefully chronicled in the Morning Post, and he took care to let his friends know that he was still alive. For the rest, he sat in his library reading, or writing his memoirs. These he had arranged to have published after his death, and there were many families who would have given much money to have seen them behind the fire. Derrington had known every one worth knowing for the last half-century, and had as bitter a pen as he had a tongue. Also, he knew many secrets of diplomacy. So it may be guessed that many great families did not look forward to the publication of these memoirs with particular pleasure. Derrington knew this, and chuckled grimly, much as Heine did in the like case.
One afternoon he was adding a chapter to the book, when a card was brought to him. Derrington nearly jumped from his seat when he read the name of George Brendon. At first he was inclined to tear up the card and send the pieces out to the insolent young man who thus dared to trespass on his privacy. But on second thoughts he decided to accord him an interview. He knew that by this time Mr. Bawdsey must have informed George that his grandfather knew him as Brendon, and the old autocrat wished to see if George would behave as pluckily at their second interview as he had done at the first. Moreover, he could not forget the good looks and clever conversation of the young man. It would be absurd to say that Derrington's heart yearned over this unacknowledged twig of the family tree, for according to common report he had no heart. But he certainly felt an unwonted emotion when Brendon, tall and handsome, composed and ready for battle, stepped into the room. Derrington knew that the young man was ready for battle, for he saw the light of war in his eyes.
When the door was closed and the two were alone, Derrington took his station on the hearth-rug with an impassive expression of countenance. He waited for George to open the war of words, and after a polite greeting he waited in silence. George was not at all embarrassed. He knew perfectly well that he had a difficult task before him, and did not choose to shirk it. With the family obstinacy he was determined on obtaining his birthright, and if he set all London alight with scandal he was bent upon gaining his end. The two men stared coolly at one another like two fencers, but at the outset the buttons were off the foils.
"I am sure you are not surprised to see me, Lord Derrington," said Brendon with his eyes fixed on the old man's grim face.
"Not half so surprised as you were at seeing Bawdsey," said Derrington, not to be outdone in coolness.
George smiled. "I was not at all surprised at seeing the man," he said calmly. "It was my happy lot to rescue him from an accident, and it was my intention to call on him."
"For what reason?" asked Derrington, who could not help betraying astonishment, in spite of his self-control.
"You must excuse my not answering that question."
"Oh, certainly," replied Lord Derrington, with ironical politeness; "but you are not so diplomatic as I thought."
"Because I decline a reply?"
"Because you allow me to see that you are on good terms with the man I employ. A clever diplomatist would have allowed me to think that Bawdsey was hostile and so have used the man against me."
"There is no need for me to stoop to such crooked ways," said Brendon, with some scorn, "and I always find the truth tells in the long run."
"Ah! You've never been an ambassador."
"When I am, I shall still tell the truth."
Derrington smiled grimly. "Oh, then, it is your intention to enter political life?"
"I think we discussed that fully the other evening."
Derrington sat down and leaned his elbows on the table. His temper was rising, as he was not accustomed to be treated in this off-hand way. "Come, sir, let us understand one another. State the situation so as to clear the ground for a proper argument."
"Certainly," said George, with frigid politeness. "You know who I am, I understand."
"No, I don't. So far as I know you are George Brendon. I met you at Mrs. Ward's, and----"
"And were good enough to hold a long conversation with me," finished George, smartly. "I see, sir, it is necessary for me to be explicit."
"It's the best course," rejoined Derrington, looking at him with hard eyes and secretly admiring his self-control.
"Then I have to state that my name is George Vane, and that I am the son of Percy Vane and Rosina Lockwood."
"Indeed! What proof have you of this?"
"The evidence of my nurse, Jane Fraser, who attended to me when my father, your eldest son, was alive. The testimony of my former guardian, Mr. Ireland, who took charge of me after the death of my mother's father. Finally, my certificate of birth, which I will show you whenever you choose."
Derrington was confounded by this calm answer. He would have blustered, but George's politeness gave him no chance of losing his temper, and without fuel it would not blaze up. "You seem to be well provided with proofs," said he, grimly. "Let us admit, for the sake of argument, that you are my grandson. But the marriage----"
"Ah, that is the difficult point! And it is unpleasant for me to talk of the subject. In justice to the memory of my mother I hold that there was a marriage."
"And in justice to my family I hold that there was none."
"In that case, Lord Derrington, we join issue."
"You are quite a lawyer, sir," sneered the old man.
"I thought of studying for the bar at one time."
"Indeed, and why did you not?"
"I had no money to pay my fees," said George, coldly.
The old lord winced. He could not but admire his pluck, and, aware that the young fellow was his own flesh and blood, regretted that he should lack any chance of embarking on what promised to be a brilliant career. "You could have had money had you chosen," said he, roughly.
"I know. For that reason I changed my name to Brendon."
"Well," said Derrington, irritably, "let us co............