"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."