"You are not polite, Ferdy," said his sister, restraining a strong impulse to box his ears. "Now, you listen to me. But that you are my brother and my twin, I should let you go your own way to ruin and destruction." "That's rather strong." "But not too strong for your weakness," she persisted. "I know you thoroughly, Ferdy. You are a charming, weak, impulsive boy, with many attractions of person and manner, likely to lead you into undesirable company. People like you, and, as liking with the majority means selfishness, they will make use of you--perhaps in bad ways." "What do you mean by bad ways?" asked Ferdy, crossly. "Ways of pleasure--ways of folly--ways which do not lead to hard work and an honoured name. You are the kind of person, neither good nor bad, who goes dancing along the primrose path, out of sheer weakness, because others dance beside you. If you were a wicked man, Ferdy, you would be clever, as wickedness needs cleverness to aid its full accomplishment. But you are merely weak, and that is dangerous to you and to me." "I don't know what you are talking about," said Ferdy, restlessly. "But I do," cried Clarice, passionately. "I know you better than you do yourself. I know that with your weakness you will bring disgrace on yourself and on me. Were I selfish, as you are, I would decline this guardianship, and let you have your money, to go your own silly, weak way, which will lead to ruin. But I love you, and--" "And so you bully me." "I am not bullying you; I am talking sense, if you only have the brain power to enter into my feelings. Because you are my brother and my twin, I accept the responsibility laid upon me. If you were not I should marry Anthony next week, and forget much of the past." "What past are you referring to?" "That which has just closed with the death of Uncle Henry. For years you and I have gone with him down a long and pleasant lane. Now with his death has come the turning, and another lane opens before us. Whether it will be as pleasant remains with you." "With me?" "Yes. I could marry Anthony, as I say, and let you go alone. But I love you too well to see you ruin yourself. I shall take a house in London, and we will live there together. Then I shall be able to look after you." Ferdy rose, pale with anger. "And I am to be tied to your apron-strings all my life." "God forbid, as I have my own life to look after. Even for love, one should not sacrifice one's whole life--that is, the kind of love, the sisterly affection which I have for you. My love for Anthony is different. I have no right to sacrifice him to you. But when you are married to Prudence, my task will be ended. She will look after you--she will take care of you, and I can then marry and be happy, knowing that you are safe." "And suppose I object to this scheme you have, of taking a London house?" asked Ferdy, savagely. "In that case I'll stop your allowance." "You can't--you daren't."