"Who says that?"
"Dr. Jerce says it. You don't attend to your work, he says. You are always at music-halls; you take more drink than is good for you; you gamble above what you can afford, and I dare say that you make love to all manner of women."
"Oh, I say, you shouldn't say that last."
"Because I'm a girl--an unmarried woman," flashed out Clarice. "What rubbish! I'll say what I think to you, who are my only brother and my twin. Do you think that I am going to see you ruin yourself with wine and women and cards, simply because there are things a girl is not supposed to know? I am twenty-three. I have had endless responsibility since Uncle Henry took ill, so I am quite able to speak out and to save you if possible."
Ferdinand rose and flung his cigarette into the fire. "I won't have you talk like that to me," he declared, his voice thick with anger. "I am a man, and you are a woman."
"The reverse, I think," retorted Clarice, bitterly.
"You have got far too high an opinion of yourself," foamed Ferdy, kicking the logs angrily, "and when Uncle Henry dies, I'll show you who is to be master here."
Clarice ignored the latter part of this speech. "Why do you suggest that Uncle Henry may die?"
"He's ill--he can't last long," stammered Ferdy, evasively.
"How do you know? How does Dr. Jerce know? He told me himself that he could not understand this strange illness, and could not say whether Uncle Henry would live or die. Do you call yourself more clever than Dr. Jerce?"