Sister
Cecilia had seen to that.
"But when shall we know? When will he come back?" inquired he. And
Seymour Michael, the subtle, began to see his way more clearly.
"Certainly not for six months, probably not for nine."
One may take it that no man is sent into the world a ready-made
scoundrel. It all depends upon the circumstances of life. No one is safe
right up to the end, and events may combine to make the very best of us
into that thing which the world calls a villain.
Arthur Agar, all inexperienced, weak, hereditarily handicapped, suddenly
found himself on the balance. And the scales were held, not by the hand
of Justice, blind and clement, but by Seymour Michael, very open-eyed,
with a keen watchfulness for his own purpose; biassed; unscrupulous. It
must be admitted that circumstances were against Arthur Agar.
"There is nothing to be done," added Seymour Michael, with a smile which
his companion could not be expected to fathom, "but to keep very quiet,
and to make the best of your opportunities while you occupy the position
of heir.
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