Chap­ter VI – Der­rick Vaughan–Novelist begins with a surge of pride and dis­com­fort as Der­rick reads an arti­cle laud­ing his broth­er Lawrence’s gal­lantry in bat­tle. The report describes Lawrence’s res­cue of a fel­low offi­cer with vivid praise, cap­tur­ing the atten­tion of the nation and ele­vat­ing him to sud­den fame. Syd­ney shares the arti­cle enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly, while Der­rick lis­tens qui­et­ly, caught between admi­ra­tion and a sub­tle pang of inad­e­qua­cy. Though proud, he feels increas­ing­ly over­shad­owed. Their father, Major Vaugh­an, quick­ly seizes the oppor­tu­ni­ty to con­trast Lawrence’s mil­i­tary val­or with Derrick’s qui­eter lit­er­ary life. These com­par­isons, often laced with sar­casm, begin to wear on Derrick’s spir­it, cre­at­ing deep­er ten­sion at home. Praise for Lawrence becomes a point­ed cri­tique of Der­rick, as if courage could only be mea­sured in medals and not in the pur­suit of truth through art.

Derrick’s emo­tion­al state begins to unrav­el under the strain. He grap­ples with a per­sis­tent sense of failure—not only in com­par­i­son to Lawrence but in his own artis­tic pur­suits. The recent indif­fer­ence toward his man­u­script weighs heav­i­ly, and his feel­ings for Fre­da remain unre­solved, cre­at­ing a con­stant under­cur­rent of long­ing and frus­tra­tion. Mean­while, Major Vaughan’s dis­mis­sive atti­tude rein­forces a painful mes­sage: that his efforts as a nov­el­ist are insignif­i­cant com­pared to his brother’s hero­ic deeds. This tox­ic atmos­phere starts to iso­late Der­rick. Even Syd­ney, his trust­ed friend, notices the change. His once-live­ly pres­ence becomes sub­dued, more with­drawn. Yet, despite the inter­nal weight, Der­rick does not lash out. He con­tin­ues writ­ing, qui­et­ly hop­ing that his work will one day prove its worth.

Rec­og­niz­ing the toll, Syd­ney and the fam­i­ly physi­cian sug­gest a tem­po­rary change. A trip to Lon­don is arranged under the pre­text of sup­port­ing the Major’s health, though in truth, it is meant to lift Der­rick­’s spir­its. The city, bustling and charged with intel­lec­tu­al ener­gy, offers him a breath of fresh air. Lit­er­ary salons, the­atres, and book­shops fill his days with dis­trac­tion and qui­et stim­u­la­tion. For the first time in weeks, Der­rick feels some­thing stir—an inter­est in the world beyond his own melan­choly. He walks through famil­iar streets with a sense of curios­i­ty rather than dread. Yet even here, his inse­cu­ri­ties linger. The thought of Lawrence’s return and Freda’s social world remind him how far he feels from every­thing he desires.

When Lawrence arrives, the reunion is out­ward­ly cor­dial but emo­tion­al­ly com­plex. Their father, pre­dictably, heaps praise on Lawrence, fur­ther deep­en­ing Derrick’s qui­et resent­ment. A grand evening at Lord Probyn’s is orga­nized, draw­ing togeth­er many from the lit­er­ary and social elite. Der­rick finds him­self in a world of pol­ished man­ners and hid­den judg­ments, uncer­tain how to nav­i­gate the space between being known and being over­looked. He speaks with authors, crit­ics, and nobles, but nev­er feels entire­ly wel­come. Every com­pli­ment feels patron­iz­ing, every glance reminds him of how small he feels in such grand com­pa­ny. Yet he endures, more out of polite­ness than plea­sure.

Freda’s pres­ence at the gath­er­ing inten­si­fies his dis­com­fort. She looks radi­ant, ful­ly at ease in the social world that seems so for­eign to Der­rick. Their con­ver­sa­tion, while polite, lacks warmth. Her words unin­ten­tion­al­ly reopen old wounds—mentioning Lawrence’s accom­plish­ments, ques­tion­ing Derrick’s silence, speak­ing of books she’s nev­er read. She doesn’t mean to be cru­el, but her igno­rance of his inner world is plain. Der­rick, wound­ed, hides his feel­ings behind a smile. He real­izes in that moment how wide the chasm between them has become—not just in expe­ri­ence, but in under­stand­ing. She remains the per­son he loves, but no longer the one who sees him.

The chap­ter clos­es on a qui­et­ly reflec­tive note. Der­rick, hav­ing faced the mir­ror of pub­lic life, returns to his writ­ing with a new per­spec­tive. He no longer seeks praise, only peace. The recog­ni­tion Lawrence receives no longer stings as deeply—it belongs to anoth­er world. Der­rick begins to accept that his own path, though qui­eter, holds mean­ing in its own way. The bur­dens of com­par­i­son remain, but they no longer define him. He returns to his man­u­script not in defeat, but with a clear­er sense of why he writes. It is not for applause or val­i­da­tion, but for truth—however qui­et that truth may be.