Yet, with the thought came the clear conviction of its futility.

The boy had brushed too close to dishonour not to recognise it.

And if this were not a lifelong lesson to him, no promises forced from him in his dire need and distress, no oaths, no pledges could bind him; no blame, no admonition, no scorn, no contempt, no reproach could help him to see more clearly the pit of destruction than he could see now.
"You need sleep, Gerald," he said quietly.

"Don't worry; I'll see that your check is not dishonoured; all you have to see to is yourself.
Good-night, my boy." But Gerald could not speak; and so Selwyn left him and walked slowly back to his own room, where he seated himself at his desk, grave, absent-eyed, his unfilled pipe between his teeth.
And he sat there until he had bitten clean through the amber mouthpiece, so that the brier bowl fell clattering to the floor.

By that time it was full daylight; but Gerald was still asleep.