Harrie--the boy must be crazy. For the past few weeks he has kept me
close to hell. I never imagined the time would come when I would
thank God my father was dead. It's come now."

"What is it, Selwyn? There is nothing you cannot tell me." I leaned
forward, my hands twisting in my lap. I knew more of Harrie than
Selwyn knew I knew, but because he was the one person I did know with
whom I had no measure of patience, I rarely mentioned his name.
Harrie is Selwyn's weakness, and to his faults and failings the
latter is, outwardly, at least, most inexplicably blind. He is as
handsome as he is unprincipled and irresponsible, and his power to
fascinate is seemingly limited only by his desire to exercise it.
"What is it?" I repeated. "What has he been doing?"

"Everything he shouldn't." Selwyn leaned forward and looked in the
fire. "I was wrong, I suppose, but something had to be done. For
some time he's been drinking and gambling, and I told him it had to
stop. I stood it as long as I could, but when I found he would
frequently come home too drunk to get in bed, and would have to be
put there by Wingfield, who would be listening for him, I had a talk
with him which it isn't pleasant to remember. I'd had a good many
before. God knows I've tried--"

Selwyn got up, went over to the window and stood for a moment at it
with his back to me. Presently he left it and began to walk up and
down the room, hands in his pockets.

"I've doubtless made a mess of looking after him, but I did the best
I knew how. Because of the eleven years' difference in our ages I've
shut my eyes to much I should have seen, and refused to hear what I