"Follies of youth only," cried old Anthony. "He will outlive them."
"Youth's follies sometimes end in manhood's crimes," was the reply. "I am thankful that my son is free from them."
"Your son!" returned Anthony Dare, coughing down his slighting tone. "Your son is one apart. He has not the health to be knocking about. If young men are worth anything, they are sure to be a bit wild."
A frown passed over the master's brow. "You are mistaken, Mr. Dare. Young men who are worth anything keep themselves from such folly. Opinions have taken a turn. Society is becoming more sensible of the world's increased enlightenment; and ill conduct, although its pursuer may be a fashionable young man, is beginning to be called by its right name. Would you believe that Cyril has, more than once, come here—I hesitate to say the word, it is so ugly a one—drunk? Drunk, Mr. Dare!"
"No!"
"He has."
"Then he must have been a fool for his pains," was the angry retort of old Anthony.
"He is untruthful; he is idle; he is deceitful—but I do not, I say, care to go into this. Were you cognizant of the application Cyril made to me yesterday, respecting my daughter?"
"I don't know of any application."
"He did me the honour to make her an offer of marriage."