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."