"I have no objection to acknowledge this young lady as my granddaughter," he said coolly.
"Do you think she would acknowledge you, did she know the story of your life?" answered Lavendale. "Happily for her she has been spared that knowledge. She knows not how her mother was abandoned by you, how her mother's mother was murdered in this house, where you can endure to live beneath the shadow of your crime."
"Your lordship forgets that I wear a sword!" exclaimed Topsparkle, clutching at the jewelled hilt of his thin Court rapier.
"Keep your sword for opponents who know less of your character than I do, sir," said Lavendale contemptuously.
"You deliberately insult me, and then refuse me satisfaction!"
"I will give you the satisfaction of a public investigation of this dark history, if you choose. Your victim's grandfather, Vincenti, is in England, ready to make his statement before a magistrate."
"That is a lie—a preposterous and impudent lie!" cried Topsparkle. "Were the grandfather living, he would be over a hundred and ten years of age."
"He is living, and in full possession of his faculties, whatever may be his age. He gave me a written record of Margharita's story, with all the circumstances of her flight with you, and of her untimely death under this roof."
"I don't believe it. The fellow must have been dead and rotten these twenty years."
"Come to Lavendale Court to-morrow, and you may convince yourself that he still lives—lives and harbours a most bitter hatred of you, Mr. Topsparkle. Old as he is, I doubt if you would be safe in his company, were you two left alone together."