"Vernon, what do you mean?"
"I will tell you. Now you stay quite quiet and listen. Are you aware of the fact—perhaps you are not—that that dear Lady Helen, that precious stepmother of yours, has a brother who was in the army?"
"Has she?" I asked. "I didn't know."
"Well, I happen to be aware of the fact. He was a good-for-nothing, if anyone was in all the world. His name was Gideon Dalrymple. Surely your father has sometimes spoken to you about Colonel Dalrymple?"
"Never," I said.
"Well, it doesn't greatly matter; you're not likely to hear a great deal about him in the future—he is the sort of person whose history people shut up; but before that time comes I—have some work to do in connection with that same excellent officer in His Majesty's army."
"Stop!" I said suddenly. I bent forward and looked into his eyes; my own were blazing with excitement, and my cheeks must have been full of colour.
"Vernon, I recall a time, it comes back to me. I went unexpectedly into a room where my father and stepmother were seated. I saw my darling father in a rage, one of the few rages I have seen him in since his marriage. I heard him say to her: 'Your brother will not enter this house!' Can he be the same man?"
"Beyond doubt he is. Well, now, I will tell you that when I first knew you I also knew, as did most people who were acquainted with your father, something of his story. I knew that he had gone through a time of terrible punishment; that he had been cashiered; that he was supposed to have committed a very heinous crime—in short, that he was the sort of person whom no upright soldier would speak to."
"Yes," I said, trembling very much; "that is what one would think, that is what I said in my letter. Only you understand, Vernon, that I am on his side—he and I bear the same shame."