"In some ways--in some ways," muttered the vicar, discontentedly.
Clarice reflected for a few minutes. From hints dropped by Prudence, she had a shrewd idea of where the vicar's money went. "How is Frank, Mr. Clarke?" she asked, significantly.
"My son. He is still in London, trying to get work. Poor lad, he is very unfortunate. With his education and manners and brains, he ought to be one of the foremost men of the time; but the want of money is a bar to his advancement."
"What is Frank doing?"
"Nothing. He has tried the army, the medical profession, the legal profession, the lecture hall, and even the stage. But, as yet, he has not hit upon the field in which he can display his undoubted abilities to their utmost."
"You support him, I suppose?"
"I can't let the boy starve," said Mr. Clarke, defiantly.
"Well, then, it seems to me that Frank is more to blame than Prudence for your difficulties. He ought to support himself."
"He will some day, when he acquires the position to which his talents will lead him. Then he will bring glory to the Clarkes."
"He only brings misfortune and debts just now," said Clarice, dryly.