That night Clare Trojan, before going to bed, went into Garrett's room. He was working at his book, and, as usual, hinted that to take such advantage of his good-nature by her interruption was unfair. "I suppose to-morrow morning wouldn't do instead, Clare--it's a bit late." "No, it wouldn't--I want you to listen to me. It's important." "Well?" He seated himself in the most comfortable chair and sighed. "Don't be too long." She was excited and stood over him as though she would force him to be interested. "It's too much, Garrett. It's got to stop." "What?" "Harry. Some one must speak to him." Garrett smiled. "That, of course, will be you, Clare--you always do; but if it's my permission that you want you may have it and welcome. But we've discussed all this before. What's the new turn of affairs?" "No. I want more than your permission; we must take some measures together. It's no good unless we act at once. Miss Ponsonby told me this afternoon--it has become common talk--the things he does, I mean. She did not want to say anything, but I made her. He goes down continually to some low public-house in the Cove; he is with those Bethels all day, and will see nothing of any of the decent people in the place--he is becoming a common byword." "It is a pity," Garrett said, "that he cannot choose his friends better." "He must--something must be done. It is not for ourselves only, though of course that counts. But it is the House--our name. They laugh at him, and so at all of us. Besides, there is Robin." Garrett looked at his sister curiously--he had never seen her so excited before. But she found it no laughing matter. Miss Ponsonby would not have spoken unless matters had gone pretty far. The Cove! The Bethels! Robin's father! For, after all, it was for Robin that she cared. She felt that she was fighting his battles, and so subtly concealed from herself that she was, in reality, fighting her own. She was in a state of miserable uncertainty. She was not sure of her father, she was not sure of Robin, scarcely sure of Garrett--everything threatened disaster. "What will you do?" Garrett had no desire that the responsibility should be shifted in his direction; he feared responsibility as the rock on which the ship of his carefully preserved proprieties might come to wreck. "Do? Why, speak--it must be done. Think of him during the whole time that he has been here--not only to Pendragon, but to us. He has made no attempt whatever to fit in with our ways or thoughts; he has shown no desire to understand any of us; and now he must be pulled up, for his own sake as well as ours." But Garrett offered her little assistance. He had no proposals to offer, and was barren of all definite efforts; he hated definite lines of any kind, but he promised to fall in with her plans. "I will come down to breakfast," she said, "and will speak to him afterwards."