"Well, he is. He will have two thousand a year."
"Butterfly will want ten thousand. From all I have heard she has a wonderful capacity for spending."
"Is she--is she--," Clarice hesitated, "quite respectable?"
"Oh, quite," assented Ackworth, decisively, "she's too clever a young woman to play fast and loose with her reputation. She wants to marry well, you see, and therefore keeps straight. But I don't think you need be afraid of Ferdy, darling. He's only one of the many moths that have fluttered round that candle. Now that he's engaged he'll forget her. And, after all, it's mere talk. He may not be in love with Butterfly at all."
"Why should he visit her, so--"
"He may have gone to see the mother, or to have a drink," said Anthony, vaguely. "Ferdy's an ass, but he's all right."
"But Dr. Jerce says he drinks and gambles, and--"
"I'll have to talk to Ferdy, and see if I can lead him in the right way," said Ackworth, with some impatience. "Don't trouble yourself over your brother, dearest. Every young man of that age is more or less of an ass. But it's only like a young colt kicking his heels in a flowery meadow."
"Then I need not worry, Anthony?"
"No, I'll speak to Ferdy and take this especial worry off your shoulders, my dear. Anything else?"