He rose with a sudden movement; his tumbled hair, his disordered attire, his bloodshot eyes, his haggard look of sleeplessness and excitement in strange contrast with the easy perfection of Cecil's dress and the calm languor of his attitude.

The boy was very young, and was not seasoned to his life and acclimatized to his ruin, like his elder brother.

He looked at him with a certain petulant envy; the envy of every young fellow for a man of the world.

"I beg your pardon for keeping you up, Bertie," he said huskily.
"Good-night." Cecil gave a little yawn.
"Dear boy, it would have been better if you could have come in with the coffee.

Never be impulsive; don't do a bit of good, and is such bad form!" He spoke lightly, serenely; both because such was as much his nature as it was to breathe, and because his heart was heavy that he had to send away the young one without help, though he knew that the course he had made him adopt would serve him more permanently in the end.