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Page 32
When she was gone, Clemency looked palely at James. "Oh," she said, "do
you think it could have been that man?"
"No," replied James firmly; "it must have been your gesture. That is a
very intelligent dog, and dogs have imagination. He imagined something
wrong."
"I hope it was that," said Clemency faintly. "It seems to me I should
die if I thought that terrible man were hanging about the house. It is
bad enough never to be able to go out of doors."
"Doctor Gordon says I may take you out driving some evening," said James
consolingly.
Clemency looked at him with a brightening face. "Did he?"
"Yes."
Then to James's utter surprise Clemency broke down, and began to cry.
"Oh," she wailed, "I don't know as I want to go. I am afraid all the
time. If we were out driving, and he came up to the horse's head, what
could we do?"
"He would get a cut across the face that he would remember," James
returned fiercely.
"But he would see me."
"It would be dark."
"He might have a lantern."
"You can wear a thick veil."
Clemency sobbed harder than ever. "Oh, no," she wailed, "I don't want to
go so, in the dark, with a thick veil over my face, thinking every
minute he may come. Oh, no, I don't want to go."
"You poor little soul," said James, and there was something in his voice
which he himself had never heard before. Clemency glanced up at him
quickly, and he saw as plainly as if he had been looking in a glass
himself in her blue eyes. Instantly emotions of which he had dreamed,
but never experienced, leaped up in his heart like flame. He knew that
he loved Clemency. What he had felt for her mother had been passionless
worship, giving all, and asking nothing. This was love which asked as
well as gave. "Clemency," he began, and his voice was hoarse with
emotion. She turned her head away, the tears were still on her cheeks,
but they were very red, and her cheeks were dimpling involuntarily.
"Well?" she whispered.
"Do you care anything about--me?"
Clemency nodded, still keeping her face averted.
"That means--"
Clemency said nothing.
"That means you love me," James whispered.
Clemency nodded again. Then she turned her head slowly, and gave him a
narrow blue glance, and smiled like a shy child.
"I was afraid--" she began.
"Afraid of what, dear?" James put his arm about the girl, and the
ashe-blonde head dropped on his shoulder.
"Afraid you--didn't."
"Afraid I didn't care?"
Clemency nodded against his breast.
"I think I must have cared all the time, only at first, when I saw your
mother--"
Clemency raised her head immediately and gave it an indignant toss.
"There," said she. "I knew it. Very well, if you would rather be my
stepfather, you can, only I think you would be a pretty one, no older,
to speak of, than I am, and I know my mother wouldn't have you anyway.
The idea of your thinking that my mother would get married again anyway,
and especially to you," Clemency said witheringly. She sat up straight
and looked at James. "I wish your father were a widower, then I would
marry him the minute he asked me," said she, "and see how you would
like it. I guess you would have a step-mother who would make you walk
chalk." Clemency tossed her head again. Then she gave a queer little
whimsical glance at James, and both of them burst out laughing, and she
was in his arms again, and he was kissing her. "There, that is enough,"
said she presently. "I once wore out a doll I had kissing her. She was
wax, and it was warm weather, and I actually did wear that doll out. The
color all came off her cheeks, and she got soft."
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