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Page 54
"I don't think you know what you are saying, Clarence. I'm older than you
are. I thought you looked upon me as a sort of mother or older sister."
"Only fifteen months older," retorted Clarence. "I never heard of any
one's being a mother at that age. I'm a man now, I would have you
remember, though I am a little younger than you, and know my own mind as
well as if I were fifty. Dear Clovy," coaxingly, "couldn't you? You liked
the High Valley, didn't you? I'd do anything possible to make it nice and
pleasant for you."
"I do like the High Valley very much," said Clover, still with the feeling
that Clarence must be half in joke, or she half in dream. "But, my dear
boy, it isn't my home. I couldn't leave papa and the children, and stay
out here, even with you. It would seem so strange and far away."
"You could if you cared for me," replied Clarence, dejectedly; Clover's
kind, argumentative, elder-sisterly tone was precisely that which is most
discouraging to a lover.
"Oh, dear," cried poor Clover, not far from tears herself; "this is
dreadful!"
"What?" moodily. "Having an offer? You must have had lots of them before
now."
"Indeed I never did. People don't do such things in Burnet. Please don't
say any more, Clarence. I'm very fond of you, just as I am of the boys;
but--"
"But what? Go on."
"How can I?" Clover was fairly crying.
"You mean that you can't love me in the other way."
"Yes." The word came out half as a sob, but the sincerity of the accent
was unmistakable.
"Well," said poor Clarence, after a long bitter pause; "it isn't your
fault, I suppose. I'm not good enough for you. Still, I'd have done my
best, if you would have taken me, Clover."
"I am sure you would," eagerly. "You've always been my favorite cousin,
you know. People can't _make_ themselves care for each other; it has to
come in spite of them or not at all,--at least, that is what the novels
say. But you're not angry with me, are you, dear? We will be good friends
always, sha'n't we?" persuasively.
"I wonder if we can," said Clarence, in a hopeless tone. "It doesn't seem
likely; but I don't know any more about it than you do. It's my first
offer as well as yours." Then, after a silence and a struggle, he added in
a more manful tone, "We'll try for it, at least. I can't afford to give
you up. You're the sweetest girl in the world. I always said so, and I say
so still. It will be hard at first, but perhaps it may grow easier with
time."
"Oh, it will," cried Clover, hopefully. "It's only because you're so
lonely out here, and see so few people, that makes you suppose I am better
than the rest. One of these days you'll find a girl who is a great deal
nicer than I am, and then you'll be glad that I didn't say yes. There! the
rain is just stopping."
"It's easy enough to talk," remarked Clarence, gloomily, as he gathered up
the bridles of the horses; "but I shall do nothing of the kind. I declare
I won't!"
CHAPTER X.
NO. 13 PIUTE STREET.
Clover did not see Clarence again for several days after this
conversation, the remembrance of which was uncomfortable to her. She
feared he was feeling hurt or "huffy," and would show it in his manner;
and she disliked very much the idea that Phil might suspect the reason,
or, worse still, Mr. Templestowe.
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