‘Sir,’ gasped Clarence, ‘I know Griff often comes home after I am in bed, but I do not know the exact time, nor anything more.’
‘Is this all you can tell me? Really all?’
‘All I know—that is—of my own knowledge,’ said Clarence, recovering a little, but still unable to answer without hesitation, which vexed my father.
‘What do you mean by that? Do you hear nothing?’
‘I am afraid,’ said Clarence, ‘that I do not see as much of him as I had hoped. He is not up till after I have to be at our place, and he does not often spend an evening at home. He is such a popular fellow, and has so many friends and engagements.’
‘Ay, and of what sort? Can’t you tell? or will you not? I sent him up to you, thinking you a steady fellow who might influence him for good.’
The colour rushed into Clarence’s face, as he answered, looking up and speaking low, ‘Have I not forfeited all such hopes?’
‘Nonsense! You’ve lived down that old story long ago. You would make your mark, if you only showed a little manliness and force of character. Griffith was always fond of you. Can’t you do anything to hinder him from ruining his own life and that sweet girl’s happiness?’
‘I would—I would give my life to do so!’ exclaimed Clarence, in warm, eager tones. ‘I have tried, but he says I know nothing about it, and it is very dull at our rooms for him. I have got used to it, but you can’t expect a fellow like Griff to stay at home, with no better company than me, and do nothing but read law.’
‘Then you do know,’ began my father; but Clarence, with full self-possession, said, ‘I think you had better ask me no more questions, papa. I really know nothing, or hardly anything, personally of his proceedings. I went to one supper with him, after going to the play, and did not fancy it; besides, it almost unfitted me for my morning’s work; nor does it answer for me to sit up for him—it only vexes him, as if I were watching him.’