"He is the same as your son, and spends money rather than earns it."
"My dear, you shouldn't say these things, unbecoming in a young girl's mouth. It is not modest in a woman."
Clarice stood up, very tall and dignified, and rather irritated. "What is the use of talking like that to me, Mr. Clarke. All that idea of the superiority of man is a thing of the past. I am only a woman, and a girl, as you say, but I have five times the sense of Ferdinand, and Uncle Henry trusts me rather than him. Prudence also is clever and sensible. I don't believe that she is extravagant, Mr. Clarke. Frank is the one who spends your money. If you would allow Frank to earn his own living, and let Prudence arrange your affairs, you would soon be out of difficulties."
"Prudence knows nothing of business, Clarice."
"And Frank knows less," retorted the girl, thoroughly angry. "Women have more intuition than men. But there is another way out of your difficulties, Mr. Clarke."
"What is that?" asked the little man, somewhat cowed by the determined demeanour of Miss Baird.
"Ferdy is in love with Prudence. Let them marry, and then I can arrange that your debts will be paid when Ferdy comes in for his money two years hence."
"But in the meantime?" moaned the vicar.
"We can arrange something--that is, if you will stop sending money to Frank. Let him sink or swim, Mr. Clarke. Self-reliance is the sole thing which will make a man of Frank."
"I'll see, I'll see," said Mr. Clarke, evasively, "but if I allow Prudence to marry Ferdinand--and I note that they love one another--do you think he will help me?"