"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."
"If 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?"