"I am aware of that," responded Jerce, calmly, "but I have always noted that you and Ferdy think alike, or did, until lately." "That is because Ferdy is removed from my influence," said Clarice, sadly. "He always followed my lead. But since he has gone to town to stop with you and become a student of medicine, he thinks very differently from what I do. Naturally, perhaps, since he is seeing more of the world than I, and is a man." "You should have been the man, Clarice, and Ferdy, the woman. I wish to do my best for your brother, because he is your brother, but----" Jerce made a gesture of annoyance, "Ferdy is so terribly weak." "Don't be hard on him, doctor," she pleaded. "Ferdy never got on well with uncle Henry." "He gets on with no one, my dear, save with those people who pander to his weaknesses." Clarice clasped her hands and looked anxious. "Doctor, there is nothing very wrong with Ferdy?" she asked, faltering. "No! no!" Jerce stopped in his walk to pat her shoulder. "I look after him as much as I can. Yet I must not disguise from you, Clarice, that Ferdy is--well, rather wild." "Rather wild," echoed the girl. "He frequents music-halls, and goes with people who make pleasure their aim in life. Also he has sometimes been the worse for alcohol. These things, Clarice, do not lead to peace, or to greatness." The girl sat down and covered her face. "When Ferdy came down yesterday, I noticed that he was not himself. He seems to have something on his mind." Jerce shrugged his shoulders. "I dare say he is ashamed of himself." "Can't something be done? If I spoke--" "No, my dear," said the doctor, very decidedly, "you will only make matters worse. Ferdy, for the last twelve months, has been out of leading strings, and if you try, however delicately, to lecture him, he will only become obstreperous. But you need not be alarmed. I'll do what I can. I would do much for you, Clarice." There was a note in his voice which made the girl look up. The usually pale face of the doctor was red, and his eyes had a look in them, which she was woman enough to understand. Rising with a nervous laugh, Clarice grappled with the situation at once. She did not wish to lose her amiable companion in a disappointed suitor. "Do what you can for Ferdy, doctor, and I'll ever be your--friend." "But suppose I--" "Friend, doctor," reiterated Clarice, steadily, and withdrew the hand he had clasped too warmly. "I wonder," stammered the medical man, nervously, "if you understand exactly what I mean." Clarice smiled. "I should not be a woman else. I understand, and so I say--friend." "There is someone else?" asked Jerce, chagrined. Clarice turned the leading question with an embarrassing laugh. "There is always someone else, and in this instance the someone else, is my brother Ferdinand. I rely on you to bring him to his senses." "Well," said Jerce, struggling back to calmness, "that may be difficult. You see, Miss Baird--" "Clarice."