Carteret did not forget what General Belmont had said in regard to Tom. The major himself had been young, not so very long ago, and was inclined toward indulgence for the foibles of youth. A young gentleman should have a certain knowledge of life,—but there were limits. Clara's future happiness must not be imperiled.  
The opportunity to carry out this purpose was not long delayed. Old Mr. Delamere wished to sell some timber which had been cut at Belleview, and sent Tom down to the Chronicle office to leave an advertisement. The major saw him at the desk, invited him into his sanctum, and delivered him a mild lecture. The major was kind, and talked in a fatherly way about the danger of extremes, the beauty of moderation, and the value of discretion³ as a rule of conduct. He mentioned collaterally⁴ the unblemished honor of a fine old family, its contemplated⁵ alliance with his own, and dwelt upon the sweet simplicity⁶ of Clara's character. The major was a man of feeling and of tact⁷, and could not have put the subject in a way less calculated to wound the amour propre of a very young man.
 
Delamere had turned red with anger while the major was speaking. He was impulsive⁸, and an effort was required to keep back the retort that sprang once or twice to his lips; but his conscience was not clear, and he could not afford hard words with Clara's guardian⁹ and his grandfather's friend. Clara was rich, and the most beautiful girl in town; they were engaged; he loved her as well as he could love anything of which he seemed sure; and he did not mean that any one else should have her. The major's mild censure¹⁰ disturbed slightly his sense of security; and while the major's manner did not indicate that he knew anything definite against him, it would be best to let well enough alone.
 
"Thank you, major," he said, with well-simulated frankness. "I realize that I may have been a little careless, more from thoughtlessness than anything else; but my heart is all right, sir, and I am glad that my conduct has been brought to your attention, for what you have said enables me to see it in a different light. I will be more careful of my company hereafter; for I love Clara, and mean to try to be worthy¹¹ of her. Do you know whether she will be at home this evening?"
 
"I have heard nothing to the contrary," replied the major warmly. "Call her up by telephone and ask—or come up and see. You're always welcome, my boy."
 
Upon leaving the office, which was on the second floor, Tom met Ellis coming up the stairs. It had several times of late occurred to Tom that Ellis had a sneaking¹³ fondness for Clara. Panoplied¹⁴ in his own engagement, Tom had heretofore rather enjoyed the idea of a hopeless rival. Ellis was such a solemn prig, and took life so seriously, that it was a pleasure to see him sit around sighing for the unattainable. That he should be giving pain to Ellis added a certain zest¹⁵ to his own enjoyment¹⁶. But this interview with the major had so disquieted¹⁷ him that upon meeting Ellis upon the stairs he was struck by a sudden suspicion. He knew that Major Carteret seldom went to the Clarendon Club, and that he must have got his information from some one else. Ellis was a member of the club, and a frequent visitor. Who more likely than he to try to poison Clara's mind, or the minds of her friends, against her accepted lover? Tom did not think that the world was using him well of late; bad luck had pursued him, in cards and other things, and despite his assumption of humility¹⁸, Carteret's lecture had left him in an ugly mood. He nodded curtly¹⁹ to Ellis without relaxing the scowl²⁰ that disfigured his handsome features.
 
"That's the damned sneak¹² who's been giving me away," he muttered. "I'll get even with him yet for this."
 
Delamere's suspicions with regard to Ellis's feelings were not, as we have seen, entirely²¹ without foundation. Indeed, he had underestimated the strength of this rivalry²² and its chances of success. Ellis had been watching Delamere for a year. There had been nothing surreptitious about it, but his interest in Clara had led him to note things about his favored rival which might have escaped the attention of others less concerned.
 
Ellis was an excellent judge of character, and had formed a very decided²³ opinion of Tom Delamere. To Ellis, unbiased by ancestral traditions, biased²⁴ perhaps by jealousy²⁵, Tom Delamere was a type of the degenerate²⁶ aristocrat²⁷. If, as he had often heard, it took three or four generations to make a gentleman, and as many more to complete the curve and return to the base from which it started, Tom Delamere belonged somewhere on the downward slant²⁸, with large possibilities of further decline. Old Mr. Delamere, who might be taken as the apex²⁹ of an ideal aristocratic development, had been distinguished³⁰, during his active life, as Ellis had learned, for courage and strength of will, courtliness of bearing, deference³¹ to his superiors, of whom there had been few, courtesy to his equals, kindness and consideration for those less highly favored, and above all, a scrupulous³² sense of honor; his grandson Tom was merely the shadow without the substance, the empty husk without the grain. Of grace he had plenty. In manners he could be perfect, when he so chose. Courage and strength he had none. Ellis had seen this fellow, who boasted of his descent from a line of cavaliers, turn pale with fright and spring from a buggy to which was harnessed a fractious horse, which a negro stable-boy drove fearlessly. A valiant³³ carpet-knight, skilled in all parlor³⁴ exercises, great at whist or euchre, a dream of a dancer, unexcelled in Cakewalk or "coon" impersonations, for which he was in large social demand, Ellis had seen him kick an inoffensive negro out of his path and treat a poor-white man with scant³⁵ courtesy. He suspected Delamere of cheating at cards, and knew that others entertained the same suspicion. For while regular in his own habits,—his poverty would not have permitted him any considerable extravagance,—Ellis's position as a newspaper man kept him in touch with what was going on about town. He was a member, proposed by Carteret, of the Clarendon Club, where cards were indulged in within reasonable limits, and a certain set were known to bet dollars in terms of dimes³⁶.
 
Delamere was careless, too, about money matters. He had a habit of borrowing, right and left, small sums which might be conveniently forgotten by the borrower, and for which the lender would dislike to ask. Ellis had a strain of thrift³⁷, derived³⁸ from a Scotch³⁹ ancestry⁴⁰, and a tenacious⁴¹ memory for financial details. Indeed, he had never had so much money that he could lose track of it. He never saw Delamere without being distinctly conscious that Delamere owed him four dollars, which he had lent at a time when he could ill afford to spare it. It was a prerogative⁴² of aristocracy, Ellis reflected, to live upon others, and the last privilege which aristocracy in decay would willingly relinquish⁴³. Neither did the aristocratic memory seem able to retain the sordid⁴⁴ details of a small pecuniary⁴⁵ transaction.
 
No doubt the knowledge that Delamere was the favored lover of Miss Pemberton lent a touch of bitterness to Ellis's reflections upon his rival. Ellis had no grievance⁴⁶ against the "aristocracy" of Wellington. The "best people" had received him cordially, though his father had not been of their caste; but Ellis hated a hypocrite, and despised a coward, and he felt sure that Delamere was both. Otherwise he would have struggled against his love for Clara Pemberton. His passion for her had grown with his appreciation⁴⁷ of Delamere's unworthiness. As a friend of the family, he knew the nature and terms of the engagement, and that if the marriage took place at all, it would not be for at least a year. This was ............