"I see that you think I have come to disclose my identity, to displace you.

You are mistaken.

To do so after I, of my own free will, have effaced myself all these years, and allowed you to step into my place, would be unjust, would be impossible for--well, one of us, Sutcombe." "And--and there's Percy, my son," went on the Marquess, as if he ignored, or had not heard, the other man's assurance.

"It's hard on me, but it's harder on him; for I--well, I am well-nigh weary of everything, of life itself.

My wife died--you may have heard of it--there was nothing left but Percy, and--yes, perhaps you know it--he's a bad lot.
He has given me a great deal of trouble, will give me more.