"Well, then, when she died she asked me to look out for you, because she knew how I loved her and--and Helena. She knew you had it in you, and she didn't blame you--they never do, I suppose, mothers--but she asked me if I'd try to look out for you. She knew I wasn't perfect myself. That's--that's why she thought I wouldn't do for Helena. Helena was always so wonderful, so high above----" Again he stopped, and the boy's voice broke in: "Helena's made of snow and ice-water," he said moodily, "she's too good for this earth. She doesn't know----" "She knows what her brother should be, and she knows what her husband must be," Dillon interrupted sternly. "No sister could have been more of an angel to you, Bob. "Now I'll go on. It's going to be necessary just here for me to tell you that I love your sister. You don't know anything about that, of course. You don't for a second of your life realise what it is to love a woman as I've loved her for--for five years, we'll say. I put it five because, though I loved her long before, things happened in between, and I don't count it till five years ago. Heaven knows I'm not worth her shoe-laces. Once or twice--before the five years--I've realised that a little too much, and then--the things happened. But since then I've honestly tried to keep to the mark your mother set me. She said to me once, 'If you would only keep as good as you are at your best, Lawrence, you'd be good enough for Helena,' and--perhaps because that wasn't so very good, after all--I've really been keeping there, after a fashion." Bob stared at him in unaffected amazement. This clubman, this elegant, this social arbiter was standing before him with tears in his level grey eyes. It dawned upon his reckless young soul that the soul of another man was slowly and painfully stripping itself before him. "We'll let that part of it go," Dillon went on hurriedly, "you couldn't see. I--I think I could make her happy, Bob. I know her better than she thinks. She almost said she'd have me, and then you went on that spree. You nearly broke her heart--I needn't go over it. Only she made a vow, then--it was when she went into that convent-place in Holy Week, and she's never been the same since--and it was about you." "About me? What d'you mean?" "She told me she never could marry till she was certain whether you were just obstinate and wild, or--or like your father; and that in that case----" "What, in that case?" Bob muttered through his teeth. "She was going to devote her life to taking care of you." There was a silence. "There's no use in going over all the arguments now, Bob--you know what the doctor said. Three months without a drop, and then he'd warrant you. Every day that goes by makes it harder for you. And here's your Uncle Owen promising that the first month you go without a spree he'll send you for a three months' cruise on the yacht with Stebbins--you know what a chance that is." Bob looked fairly up for the first time.