“You scarcely do me justice,” said Lord Julius, quietly, “but that’s not worth mentioning at the moment. I must say you are taking it very well—much better than I expected.”
Edward squared his shoulders still more. “I wouldn’t say that we’re takin’ it at all,” he replied, with studied deliberation. “You offer it, d’ye see—but it doesn’t follow that we take it. You come and bring this young fellow—this young gentleman, and you tell me that he is Ambrose’s son. What good is that to me? Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Ambrose may have had twenty sons, for all I know. I should be sorry to be one of them—but they’re not to blame for that. I don’t mind being civil to them—if they come to me in the right spirit—” He stopped abruptly, and listened with a frown to more whispering from Augustine.
“You don’t seem to understand, Eddy—” began Lord Julius.
“Oh, perfectly!” broke in the young man. “I had an uncle who had to leave England before I was born. His name couldn’t even be mentioned in the family—but I know all about him. God knows I’ve had him flung in my face often enough.”
“Don’t let us go into that,” urged Lord Julius, softly, and with a sidelong nod toward the window. “It’s needless cruelty to other people—and surely we can discuss this like gentlemen. You are really behaving splendidly, Eddy.”
“God! he thought we were cads!” cried Edward, in husky indignation.
“No—no—no—no,” murmured the older man, soothingly. “I only want you to grasp the thing as it is. You know me. You do not regard me as a foolish person who goes off half-cock. Well, I tell you that Christian here is the son of my nephew Ambrose, born in lawful wedlock, and that there is not a shadow of doubt about it. The proofs are all open to your inspection; there is not a flaw in them. And so I say to you, in all kindness—take it calmly and sensibly and like a gentleman. It is to your own interest to do so, as well. If you think, you will see that.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” said Augustine, strenuously, from behind his brother’s shoulder.
A faint smile fluttered about the old man’s eyelids. “It was the advice of a born statesman,” he said, dryly. “You are the political hope of the family.”
The stiffening had melted from Edward’s neck and shoulders. He turned irresolutely now, and looked at the floor. “Of course I admit nothing; I reserve all my rights, till my lawyers have satisfied themselves,” he said in a worn, depressed mutter.