"My dear boy, I am stating the sober truth. You are an idle young man; and you are far too fond of pleasure. All the Seymours are."
"You are vastly complimentary to the family"—relapsing into sulkiness. "Why don't you turn us out? You are not bound to put up with us. Come now, Averil, answer that if you can?"
"I could answer it easily," looking at him with an expression of sadness. "But silence is golden, Rodney. But do not try me too much. There are times, I do not deny it, when I long to run away from you all."
"Well, you are awfully good to us"—in a penitent tone. "I often tell the girls what a little brick you are. I know we are a troublesome lot. It is our up-bringing, as Aunt Dinah calls it. The mater has spared the rod and spoiled the child, don't you know? Awful nuisance that."
Averil smiled. In her heart Rodney was her favorite—weak, self-indulgent, and easily led. He was not without good impulses, and he was not so hopelessly selfish as the others.
"Now tell me what you want and I will write the check," she observed, resuming her business-like manner; "or, better still, let me have your bills."
"Oh, of course, if you do not trust me!" and Rodney looked hurt and mortified.
"Very well, I will. Now then!" and as Rodney whispered the amount in her ear she merely elevated her eyebrows, but made no remarks as she wrote the check and passed it to him. She checked his profuse thanks.
"Never mind about that. I never care much for words. If you want to please me, if you have the faintest wish to preserve my respect, you will look out seriously for a berth. You will ask Mr. Harland to help you. Do, Rodney; do, my dear boy; and I shall still live to be proud of you."
Rodney tried to laugh at her earnestness, but it was easy to see that his light facile nature was touched.