‘It amounts to no more. Griff likes amusement, and everybody likes him—that’s all. Yes, I know my father read law ten hours a day, but his whole nature and circumstances were different. I don’t believe Griff could go on in that way.’ ‘Not with such a hope before him? You would, Clarence.’ His face and not his tongue answered me, but he added, ‘Griff is sure of _that_ without so much labour and trouble.’ ‘And do you see so little of him?’ ‘I can’t help it. I can’t keep his hours and do my work. Yes, I know we are drifting apart; I wish I could help it, but being coupled up together makes it rather worse than better. It aggravates him, and he will really get on better without Gooch to worry him, and thrust my droning old ways down his throat,—as if Prince Hal could bear to be twitted with “that sober boy, Lord John of Lancaster.” Not,’ he added, catching himself up, ‘that I meant to compare him to the madcap Prince. He is the finest of fellows, if they only would let him alone.’ And that was all I could get from Clarence. CHAPTER XXVIII. A SQUIRE OF DAMES. ‘Spited with a fool— Spited and angered both.’ _Cymbeline_. THIS long stay of Ellen’s in our family had made our fraternal relations with her nearer and closer. Familiarity had been far from lessening our strong feeling for her goodness and sweetness. Emily, who knew her best, used to confide to me little instances of the spirit of devotion and self-discipline that underlay all her sunny gaiety—how she never failed in her morning’s devout readings; how she learnt a verse or two of Scripture every day, and persuaded Emily to join with her in repeating it ere they went downstairs for their evening’s pleasure; how she had set herself a little task of plain work for the poor, which she did every day in her own room; and the like dutiful habits, which seemed, as it were, to help her to keep herself in hand, and not be carried away by what was a whirl of pleasure to her, though a fashionable young lady would have despised its mildness. Indeed Lady Peacock, with whom we exchanged calls, made no secret of her compassion when she found how many parties the ladies were _not_ going to; and Ellen’s own relations, the Lesters, would have taken her out almost every night if she had not staunchly held to her promise to her mother not to go out more than three evenings in the week, for Mrs. Fordyce knew her to be delicate, and feared late hours for her. The vexation her cousins manifested made her feel the more bound to give them what time she could, at hours when Griffith was not at liberty. She did not like them to be hurt, and jealous of us, or to feel forsaken, and she tried to put her affection for us on a different footing by averring that ‘it was not the same kind of thing—Emily was her sister.’