“Governor,” said young Mainwaring, quietly, before Mr. Whitney could respond to this tirade, “in whose name will these proceedings be instituted, yours or mine?”

“Well,” replied his father, with a sneer, “I don’t know that it makes any particular difference to you in whose name it is done, so long as it is for your benefit.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, I believe it does make considerable difference.  And I will say right here that I will have no proceedings entered, either in my name or for my benefit, for two reasons:  first, Harold Scott Mainwaring is no impostor; we had abundant proof to-day that, under the terms of that will, he is the sole claimant to the property; and second, you know, sir, as well as I, that years ago, your own servant, John Wilson, told you that such a will had existed, and there is every ground for believing that this document is genuine.  I just begin to understand your little game, governor, and, by Jove!  I will not be a party to it.”

Up to this point, astonishment at his son’s audacity seemed to have bereft Ralph Mainwaring of the power of speech, but now he demanded in thunderous tones, while his face grew purple with rage, “What do you mean, sir, by daring to address such language to me?  You impudent upstart! let me tell you that you had best attend to your own business!”

“This is the second time you have told me that today,” said the young man, calmly, though the hot blood was fast rising; “allow me to inform you, governor, with all due respect, that henceforth I will attend to my own business, and will not trouble you to attend to it for me.  If you had any just or tenable grounds for the proceedings you are about to institute, I would have nothing to say; but, begging your pardon, you have none whatever; it is simply a piece of dirty work with which I will have nothing to do.”

“You ungrateful dog!  This is your return for my care and forethought for you, is it?  Do you retract every word which you have said, or I’ll cut you off without a penny,” and with a fearful oath he swung himself around in his chair with such violence as to overturn the small onyx table upon which the cigars were standing, shattering it to fragments.

The young man paused directly in front of his father.  “I retract nothing,” he said, quietly but firmly.  “You are at liberty to follow the example of old Ralph Maxwell Mainwaring if you wish, but you may regret it later, as he did.”

“And do you think Edith Thornton will marry a penniless beggar, a pauper?  Or do you propose to live upon her fortune?”

“No; I will not touch a penny of her fortune,” he replied, his cheek flushing; “and I am not quite a pauper, for I have the money left me by Uncle Tom years ago; and if Edith is the girl to be turned from me under the circumstances, why, the sooner I find it out the better.”

“A paltry twenty thousand pounds! a fine fortune!” sneered his father, ignoring his last remark.