repay you when I come into my property."
Train opened his eyes. "Are you coming into money?" he asked.
"That I can't say. It all depends! Do you know why I suggested this house to you, Leonard?" he asked suddenly.
"To help me in my literary work."
"That was one reason certainly, but I had another and more selfish one, connected--" George sat up to finish the sentence--"connected with Mrs. Jersey," he said quietly.
This remark was so unexpected that Leonard did not know what to say for the moment. "I thought you did not know her," he gasped out.
"Nor do I."
"Does she know you?"
"Not as George Brendon, or as I am now."
"What do you mean?" Train was more puzzled than ever.
"It's a long story. I don't know that I can tell you the whole."
Train looked annoyed. "Trust me----"
"All in all, or not at all," finished Brendon; "quite so." He paused and drew hard at his pipe. "Since I want money I must trust you."
"Is it only for that reason that you consider me worthy of your confidence?" asked Leonard, much mortified.
George leaned forward and patted him on the knee. "No, old man. I wish you to help me also."
"In what way?"
"With Dorothy Ward," replied George, looking closely at his pipe.
"Was she in your mind to-night when that old maid was telling the cards?" asked Train, sitting up with a look of interest.
Brendon nodded. "But I do not wish you to mention her name. That was why----"
"I know. I was foolish. Well, she's a pretty girl, and as good as she is pretty."
"Which is marvelous," said Brendon, "considering the fashionable mother she has."
Train smiled. "Mrs. Ward is certainly a leader of fashion."
"And as heartless as any woman I know," observed Brendon. He glanced affectionately at the yellow holly. "Dorothy gave me this to-night."
"Did you see her before you came here?"
"Yes. I went to afternoon tea. We--" Brendon examined his pipe again--"we understand one another," he said.
Leonard sprang to his feet. "My dear chap, I congratulate you."
"Thanks! but it's too early for congratulation as yet. Mrs. Ward wants her daughter to make a good marriage. George Brendon will not be the husband of her choice, but Lord Derrington!"
"Does she want her daughter to marry that old thing?"
"You don't understand, Leonard. I mean that if I become Lord Derrington when the old man dies Mrs. Ward will consent."
Train sat down helplessly and stared. "I don't understand," he said.
"I'll put the thing in a nutshell," explained Brendon. "Lord Derrington is my grandfather."
"Your--but he never lived here?"
"No. The grandfather who lived here, and with whom I stayed, was my mother's father. He was called Lockwood. Derrington is my father's father. Now do you understand?"
"Not quite! How can you become Lord Derrington when he has a grandson--that young rip Walter Vane!"
"Walter Vane is the son of my father's brother, and my father was the elder and the heir to the title."
"Then, if Lord Derrington dies you become----"
"Exactly. But the difficulty is that I have to establish my birth."
Leonard jumped up and clutched his hair. "Here's a mystery," he said, staring at his friend. "What does it all mean?"
"Sit down and I'll tell you!"
Leonard resumed his seat and glanced at the clock. "We have a quarter of an hour," he said, "but I think we'll defy Mrs. Jersey and sit up this night."
"No," said Brendon, hastily; "we may as well do what she wants. I wish to conciliate her. She is the only person who can help to prove my mother's marriage."
"Humph! I thought there was something queer about her. Who was she?"
"My mother's maid! But I had better tell you from the beginning."
Train sat down and produced a cigarette. "Go on," he said; "no, wait! I want to know before you begin why Mrs. Jersey was so struck with that yellow holly?"
This time it was Brendon who looked puzzled. "I can't say, Leonard."
"Do you think she connected it with some disaster?" asked Train.
"From her looks, when she set eyes on it, I should think so!"
"Does Miss Ward know Mrs. Jersey?"
"No. She knows nothing about her."
"And it was Miss Ward who gave you the yellow holly?"
"Yes. When I was at afternoon tea."
"Then I can't see why Mrs. Jersey should have made such a spectacle of herself," said Leonard, lighting his cigarette. "Tell your story."
"I'll do so as concisely as possible," said Brendon, staring into the fire. "My mother was the daughter of Anthony Lockwood, who was a teacher of singing, and lived here. She--I am talking of my mother--was very beautiful, and also became famous as a singer at concerts. The son of Lord Derrington, Percy Vane, saw her and loved her. He subsequently eloped with her. She died in Paris two years later, shortly after I was born."
"And you came to live here?"
"Not immediately. I was but an infant in arms, but my father would not part with me. He kept Mrs. Jersey--she was my mother's maid, remember--as my nurse, and we went to Monte Carlo. I am afraid my poor father was a bit of a scamp. He was at all events a gambler, and lost all his money at the tables. He became poor, and his father, Lord Derrington, refused to help him."
"He was angry at the marriage, I suppose?"
"That's the point. Was there a marriage? But to make things clear I had better go on as I started. My father went to San Remo, and from that place he sent me home to my grandfather Lockwood."
"With Mrs. Jersey?"
"No. By that time Mrs. Jersey had left; I had another nurse, and it was she who took me to this house. My grandfather was delighted to have me, as he always insisted that there was a marriage. I grew up here, and went to school, afterward to college. My grandfather died, but there was just enough money to finish my education. The house was sold, and by a curious coincidence Mrs. Jersey took it as a boarding establishment.
