"Do you happen to know my uncle?"
"I do--or rather I did, humbly and at a distance, for Sir Jervas is,
and always will be, magnificently aloof from all and sundry--but you
know this, of course?"
"On the contrary, though I have seen him frequently, I know him not in
the least."
"My dear Vereker--who does?"
"My name is Peregrine!" said I, whereupon came that impulsive hand to
rest lightly upon my shoulder again for a moment.
"My dear Peregrine, your uncle is unique; there never was any one
quite like him unless it were Sir Maurice Vibart, the famous Buck,
though your uncle, perhaps, is not quite so coldly devilish; still,
he's sufficiently remarkable."
"How so?"
"Well, he has fought three duels to my knowledge, won a point-to-point
steeplechase not so long ago and a fortune with it--came down at the
first jump and rode with a broken arm though nobody knew until he
fainted. Youthful despite years, quick of eye, hand and tongue,
correct in himself and all that pertains to him, one who must be
sought--even by Royalty, it seems--who might have married among the
fairest and lives solitary except for his man John. Sir Jervas Vereker
is--Sir Jervas."
"You seem to know my uncle rather well."
"I did--for my name besides Anthony is Vere-Manville!" Here he paused
as expecting some comment but finding me silent, continued: "My father
was killed with Sir John Moore, at Corunna, and I was brought up by a
curmudgeonly uncle, the most preposterous unavuncular uncle that ever
bullied a defenceless nephew to the dogs.
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