'I met the bandmaster the other day, at a luncheon-bar, and he told me all about him,' continued Hew, laughing immoderately.
'I know that in Scottish regiments, especially, every man's family is usually known, his antecedents, and so forth.'
'And who do you think this Falconer proves to be?' asked Hew, with malignancy flashing brightly in his parti-coloured eyes. 'A pauper with a long pedigree, you will say. No, by Jove! he has not even that!'
'What do you mean, Hew?' asked Sir Piers, looking up from his chair, with knitted brow.
'I mean,' replied Hew, 'he may, like the street balladers, sing
'"I never had a father,
I never had a mother,
I never had a sister,
I never had a brother,
For indeed I'm nobody's child!"'
And adopting the tone and manners of a street-singer, Hew gave this verse with extreme zest and almost fierce exultation, acting the part with such broad vulgarity that his hearer winced; but well did Hew know that he was bringing the strongest argument to bear upon the weakest point in the character of Sir Piers—an inordinate pride of birth and family.
'Good God! you don't say so, Hew?' exclaimed Sir Piers, more sorrow than anger predominating in his mind for a time—but a time only.
'Fact, though,' replied Hew, carefully selecting a cigar from his silver case, 'if a certain chain of deductions may be trusted, and I know that the thought of his obscure birth is gall and wormwood to him—have seen him blush for it more than once, at Eaglescraig.'
'His father——' began Sir Piers.