"Den!"
"It is not difficult to find a cause. You see, we have held aloof from Wirion's set, and have declined his invitations. Also, I have managed to hold back one or two young fellows from those miserable gaming-tables. No doubt he prefers to have me out of the way for a while. It may be only for a few weeks. But—"
Roy walked off to the window, and stood with his back to Denham. Silence lasted fully five minutes. Denham remained where he was, looking sadly enough towards the boy. He had much to do, but Roy was his first consideration; and he knew from his own sensations what the parting would be to the other.
"Come," he said at length. "It can't be helped. And—I don't know what you feel about it, but I have an objection to letting Wirion see that he can make us unhappy."
Roy came back slowly.
"That—brute!" he burst out, choking over the word.
"Yes—I know. There's no sort of excuse for him. Roy, I want a promise from you."
"What?"
"You know the sort of thing that is going on here. Promise me faithfully that, whatever happens, you will keep clear of the gaming-tables. You may be tempted, and I shall not be at hand to look after you."
Roy was silent—perhaps because of those last words. "Promise. I can depend upon your word."