"Son and father?" he cried. "Father and son? What d-d unnatural
comedy is all this? How do you come in my garden? What do you
want? And who, in God's name, are you?"
Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got upon his feet
again, and stood in silence.
Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and he laughed
aloud
"I see," cried he. "It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr.
Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how you stand. You
have entered my private residence by force, or perhaps by fraud,
but certainly with no encouragement from me; and you come at a
moment of some annoyance, a guest having fainted at my table, to
besiege me with your protestations. You are no son of mine. You
are my brother's bastard by a fishwife, if you want to know. I
regard you with an indifference closely bordering on aversion; and
from what I now see of your conduct, I judge your mind to be
exactly suitable to your exterior. I recommend you these
mortifying reflections for your leisure; and, in the meantime, let
me beseech you to rid us of your presence. If I were not
occupied," added the Dictator, with a terrifying oath, "I should
give you the unholiest drubbing ere you went!"
Francis listened in profound humiliation. He would have fled had
it been possible; but as he had no means of leaving the residence
into which he had so unfortunately penetrated, he could do no more
than stand foolishly where he was.
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