Chap­ter IV – Der­rick Vaughan–Novelist begins with the nar­ra­tor reflect­ing on the idea that art should be pur­sued for the sake of human­i­ty, not self. Draw­ing from the ideals of Goethe and Schiller, he ques­tions his own motives and con­fess­es to an inner self­ish­ness that has shaped his view of the world. Der­rick, in con­trast, stands as a qui­et exam­ple of self­less ded­i­ca­tion. Though the nar­ra­tor has often dis­missed Der­rick­’s con­cerns as unim­por­tant, he now begins to see that they arise not from weak­ness, but from a strong inner com­pass. While his own days in Mon­tague Street are spent in weary legal stud­ies, Derrick’s life—though harder—is filled with greater pur­pose. An unex­pect­ed let­ter from Der­rick inter­rupts his rou­tine and stirs some­thing deep­er: a reminder of a neglect­ed friend­ship and a qui­et call for help.

The let­ter itself is brief and avoids com­plaint, but the tone sug­gests strug­gle beneath the sur­face. Der­rick asks for minor favors, but the nar­ra­tor sens­es more is being left unsaid. This sub­dued appeal awak­ens his guilt, and he sets out for Bath with the uneasy real­iza­tion that he has not been the friend he ought to be. The city, though mod­est and gray, has a cer­tain respectabil­i­ty that reflects Derrick’s own char­ac­ter. Upon arriv­ing, the nar­ra­tor meets Major Vaugh­an, a man whose cold­ness bare­ly con­ceals his dis­ap­point­ment in his son. The inter­ac­tion between father and son is marked by sharp com­ments and qui­et ten­sion. Der­rick remains com­posed, offer­ing care with­out protest, even as his pres­ence is tak­en for grant­ed. It’s in this uncom­fort­able atmos­phere that the nar­ra­tor begins to grasp the weight Der­rick car­ries dai­ly.

What strikes the nar­ra­tor most is how con­fined Derrick’s life has become. His days revolve around man­ag­ing his father’s volatile moods while carv­ing out qui­et hours for writ­ing. There is no room for leisure or ease, yet Der­rick does not com­plain. Instead, he pours him­self into his work and duties with the kind of dis­ci­pline the nar­ra­tor finds unfa­mil­iar. This self-sac­ri­fice is not root­ed in weak­ness, but in a belief that respon­si­bil­i­ty and art can coex­ist. The nar­ra­tor, who once viewed Der­rick as pas­sive or over­ly sen­si­tive, now sees him in a new light—someone who bears pain with inten­tion. Their con­ver­sa­tion that evening reveals the cost of such a life. Der­rick admits he often feels trapped, not just by cir­cum­stance but by a sense of duty that allows no escape. Yet he still believes his work mat­ters, even if no one else sees its worth yet.

The ten­sion between Der­rick and Major Vaugh­an builds slow­ly until it erupts in a con­fronta­tion. The Major mocks Derrick’s writ­ing, call­ing it use­less and unman­ly. For the first time, Der­rick speaks back with a calm but firm defense of his pur­pose. He argues that lit­er­a­ture, though dis­missed by some, holds the pow­er to shape hearts and minds. His voice is mea­sured, but his con­vic­tion is clear. This moment becomes a turn­ing point—not just for Der­rick, but for the nar­ra­tor, who wit­ness­es a strength in his friend he hadn’t rec­og­nized before. That night, the nar­ra­tor finds him­self ques­tion­ing his own ambi­tions. Com­pared to Der­rick, his pur­suits seem shal­low, dri­ven more by ego than con­vic­tion.

The next morn­ing, Der­rick is qui­et but com­posed. The argu­ment hasn’t bro­ken him; if any­thing, it has rein­forced his sense of pur­pose. The nar­ra­tor, moved by the expe­ri­ence, asks Der­rick why he con­tin­ues to endure such hard­ship with­out bit­ter­ness. Der­rick answers sim­ply: because he believes it is right. That belief, qui­et­ly held and steadi­ly fol­lowed, is what defines him. It is not the praise of crit­ics or the suc­cess of a book that mat­ters most—it is stay­ing true to what he feels called to do. The nar­ra­tor returns to Lon­don changed, his heart heav­ier with under­stand­ing. He car­ries with him not just the mem­o­ry of Derrick’s strug­gle, but the real­iza­tion that true strength often appears in the qui­etest lives.

In clos­ing, the chap­ter leaves read­ers with a pow­er­ful reflec­tion on the nature of sac­ri­fice and pur­pose. Derrick’s life, though dif­fi­cult and often thank­less, offers a qui­et rebuke to the hol­low pur­suit of recog­ni­tion. His resilience, root­ed in a deep sense of integri­ty, chal­lenges those around him to recon­sid­er what suc­cess real­ly means. It is not wealth, applause, or posi­tion that give a life mean­ing, but the steady, unshak­en pur­suit of truth—no mat­ter the cost.