George was rather puzzled to reconcile the apparent contradiction in Derrington's speech. The old gentleman saw his bewilderment, and before the young man could speak he anticipated his question.

"You are perplexed," he said quietly. "I thought you would be. To explain myself clearly it will be better to tell you the whole story from the beginning."

"What story?"

"The story of your mother's marriage and of my quarrel with your father. Do not be afraid, I shall say nothing to hurt your pride."

George nodded. "I am sure of that. We are friends now."

Derrington was much gratified by this speech. But he merely acknowledged it with a grunt and began his family history at once.

"Your father and I never got on well," he said frankly, "and I fear it was my fault. I wanted Percy to obey me implicitly, and as he was of an age to judge for himself he objected. You would have done the like in his case."

"I certainly should, sir. Every man should judge for himself."

"H he has brains to do so. But I fear Percy was not overburdened with brains. He was gay and thoughtless and thriftless. Your talents, George, come from your mother. She must have been a remarkable woman."

"So Mr. Ireland says."

"Pooh! he was in love with her, and a man in love is incapable of giving an opinion. However, I saw your mother several times when she sang, although I never met her to speak to. She was very beautiful and had an intellectual face. Yes, George, it is from her that you inherit your brain. From my side of the family you inherit a strong will and a propensity to fight. There is Irish blood in our veins," said Derrington, grimly.

"Was my father a fighter?"

"In a way, yes. But he had not a strong will, save in resisting me."

George smiled and said nothing, but he privately thought that if Mr. Percy Vane could hold his own against Derrington he must have had a stronger will than the old gentleman gave him credit for.

"However, to continue," pursued Derrington, pushing away his empty cup. "Percy saw Miss Lockwood, he fell in love with her, and finally he eloped. I wrote him a letter saying he was to return or I would never see him again. He declined to return, and remained on the Continent with his wife. I never did see him again," added Derrington, quietly, "for three years later he was murdered at San Remo."

"In his letter to you did my father say he was married?"

"He did; but at the time, as he did not say where the marriage was celebrated, I thought he mentioned it out of obstinacy."

George colored. "I don't see why you should have so misjudged my mother," he said hotly. "Admitting that she was not born in the purple, she was in a good position and had no reason to run away with my father."

"She was in love with him, I believe."

"Even then she would not have eloped, unless it was to be married."

Derrington nodded. "You are perfectly right," he said; "I tried to disbelieve in the marriage, but in my own heart I knew there was one. I have behaved very badly, George."

"You have, sir. But as we are now reconciled the less said about the thing the better. You are quite sure you do not know where the marriage was celebrated?"

"No, George, I do not. After the death of your father I tried to find out, but it was impossible. Had I really seen the register of the marriage I should have acknowledged you as my heir. As a matter of fact," added Derrington, with a burst of candor, "I did not trouble much to search, as I feared lest the marriage should be verified."

George wriggled in his seat. "Let us say no more," he said.

"Very good. I have confessed my sins and I have received absolution from you. At the present moment we will leave the murder of your father at San Remo alone, and come to the appearance of Mrs. Jersey in my life. You were with your grandfather Lockwood in Amelia Square. I had constituted my second son my heir, and I had relegated to obscurity the escapade of my son Percy. All was nicely settled, in my humble opinion, when Mrs. Jersey appeared to make trouble. That was eight years after your father's death."

"Where was she in the mean time?"

"I cannot say. She told me nothing of her history, but from a word or two which she let slip I believe she must have been in the United States. Why she went there from San Remo, or for what reason, I cannot say. She came here to see me--we had an interview in this very room--to demand money."

"What threat did she make?"

"That she would tell where the marriage took place,"

"And you bribed her to keep silence?"

Derrington winced at the scorn in his grandson's voice and took a turn up and down the room. "I am no saint, I admit," he said, "and at the time, George, I did not know that you would turn out such a fine fellow. I dreaded a scandal, and there was your uncle to be considered. I had made him my heir."

"And what about me, sir? Were the sins of my father to be placed on my shoulders?"

"I have admitted that I was in the wrong," said Derrington, impatiently, "spare me further sermons."

"I beg your pardon," said George, quietly. "But please touch as lightly as possible on these matters. We will admit that you acted according to your lights."

"False lights," said his grandfather, sadly. "However, we need speak no more on that particular point. Mrs. Jersey said that she knew where the marriage was celebrated, adding that if I did not give her an annuity she would go to Lockwood and help him to prove that you were my legitimate grandson and heir."

"Did she say if the marriage was celebrated in England or abroad?"

"No, sir; Mrs. Jersey was a remarkably clever woman, and if my son Percy had married her she would have made a man of him."

"Then she really was in love with my father?"

"Very deeply in love--as she told me herself. But she did not regard his memory with such veneration as to desire to aid his son. She was content that you should lose your rights, provided that I paid her an annuity. I tried in vain to learn from her where the marriage had been celebrated. She refused to open her mouth, so I allowed her an annuity of five hundred a year----"

"That was a large sum," interposed George.

Derrington shrugged his shoulders. "Much larger than I could afford, my good sir," he said, "but Mrs. Jersey dictated her own terms. I arranged that the money should be paid through my lawyers, and she vanished."

"Where to?"

"I can't say. She might have gone to rejoin Mr. Jersey if there ever was such a person. She sent a messenger regularly to the office of my lawyers for the money, but did not trouble me in any way. Her next appearance was shortly after the death of your grandfather."

"What did she want this time?"

"To set up a boarding-house in Amelia Square. She said that her life was lonely--a remark which made me think Mr. Jersey was a myth--and that she wanted company. I expect she learned in some way that I was buying old Lockwood's house."

"Why did you buy it?"

"I have a lot of property in that district, and I wanted to round it off with this house. Ireland, in his rage at me for my treatment of your mother, would not have sold it to me. I bought the house through an agent; Mrs. Jersey must have heard of the purchase, for it was then that she came to me and asked me to set her up in the house as a landlady."

"I wonder why she did that," said George, thoughtfully.

"She was lonely, I understand."

George looked at his shoes. "As Eliza Stokes she lived in that house along with my mother previous to the elopement. I expect she had a kind a affection for it."

"Well, whatever her reason was, I did what she asked. She agreed to pay me a rent, and her money was as good as any one else's. Besides, I felt that as my tenant I could keep her under my own eye. When she was away I never knew but what she might die and part with the secret to some one else, who might come on me for blackmail, also. I thought it best Mrs. Jersey should have the house so she went into it and used the old furniture. I don't deny but what she was a good business woman and made the house pay. At all events she was never behindhand with her rent."

"I wonder she paid you any at all."

"Oh, she had her annuity and was afraid of pressing me too hard. I refused to let her the house on a seven years' lease. She only had it from year to year, and in that way I kept a check on her. She knew if I once lost my temper that I would throw her over and acknowledge you as my heir."

"I wish you had done so," said Brendon, moodily; "it would have saved a lot of trouble."

"I do so now," replied Derrington, testily; "better late than never. Well, Mrs. Jersey lived and flourished for fifteen years. I tried to find you out, George, lest she should get at you----"

"Oh, was that why you offered to make me an allowance?"

"It was. I intended to give you a yearly income on condition that you went to Australia; then I could be sure that Mrs. Jersey would not seek you out. But you refused my offer and disappeared."

"I went to college under the name of Brendon," observed George.

"And that is why Mrs. Jersey never found you, and why I could not come across you until you put those advertisements about the marriage into the papers. It was that which----"

"Yes, so Bawdsey told me. You had me watched."

"I did," said Derrington, "and in that way I found out that you were going to stop in Mrs. Jersey's house."

"How did you learn that, sir?" asked George in surprise. "I never told any one."

"Oh, yes, you told Lola."

"So I did," said Brendon, quickly; "she bothered me to come and see her, and I said that I was going to stop in the neighborhood of Amelia Square with a friend and would call on her the next day. I expect she told this to Bawdsey.

"Exactly, and Bawdsey told me. I was afraid............