"You have got far too high an opinion of yourself," foamed Ferdy, kicking the logs angrily, "and when Uncle Henry dies, I'll show you who is to be master here." Clarice ignored the latter part of this speech. "Why do you suggest that Uncle Henry may die?" "He's ill--he can't last long," stammered Ferdy, evasively. "How do you know? How does Dr. Jerce know? He told me himself that he could not understand this strange illness, and could not say whether Uncle Henry would live or die. Do you call yourself more clever than Dr. Jerce?" "I have studied medicine, and--" "For twelve months, and what you call study, I call pursuit of pleasure. You are wasting your life, and there is no one to stand between you and ruin, but me. I dare not tell Uncle Henry what Dr. Jerce reported to me, as his health is too delicate to stand shocks." "You can tell him what you like," mumbled Ferdy, knowing very well that he was safe in giving the permission. "I shall tell him nothing, but," added Clarice, with emphasis, "I'll tell Prudence, if you don't mend." Ferdy clenched his hands and his eyes flashed. "Prudence won't believe one word of what you say," he declared, angrily. "She loves me, as I love her, and--" "Do you love her?" asked Clarice, sharply, and Ferdinand recoiled before the look in her eyes. "Dr. Jerce--" "What has he dared to say?" "Nothing more than what I have told you," said the girl, "but no man who is behaving as you are, can possibly love a woman truly." "Oh, bother, leave these sort of things alone. You are a girl, and you don't understand. As to Jerce, he has his own secrets." He turned on his heel to leave the room, but Clarice swiftly placed herself in his way. "Now, what do you mean by that?" she asked, wondering if Jerce had related the scene of the previous night in order to enlist Ferdy on his side to forward his suit. "Well," mumbled the young man, pausing and fishing out another cigarette from mere habit, "there's no reason why I shouldn't tell you about the row. Jerce never said I wasn't to." "What row--as you call it?" "I don't know what else you would call it," retorted Ferdy, who had regained his good humour, with the shallow capacity of his nature. "I don't know who that chap in grey can be, but Jerce knows. And what's more, I believe he hunted him out last night. I was going to town with Jerce and he said that I could stop down here for a couple of days. If he wasn't after that grey chap, why didn't he want my company?" Clarice listened to all this with a puzzled expression. "I don't understand a word you're talking about," she said, tartly; "what grey man--what row?"