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When you know me better, could you learn to love me, do you think, if I try hard to teach you?" "Oh, but I do love you already," said Clo, as a matter of course. "Even that first night there was something about you I hated to cheat and rob you the way I did. And it was wonderful hearing your voice in the telephone, in Peterson's dreadful room.
As soon as Clo was allowed to talk she insisted upon telling Beverley about herself. There was, apparently, no romance or mystery in the story of her eighteen years of life. Her mother had died when she was less than three, but Clo could "remember her perfectly." Oh, such lovely colouring! Not dark red hair, like her own, but gold, and eyes more brown than gray.
"I haven't yet!" Clo snapped him up. "It isn't time. But I'm on to where the thing is, and how to get it. Only it may take till after ten o'clock. That's what I came to say." "Save your breath! Ten o'clock's the time. If she doesn't want me to go back on my bargain she'd better not go back on hers." He looked more than ever like a ferret, the girl thought. "Mrs.
Supper was ready as soon as they were, and as they sat down to it Mark said he wished "Aunt Clo" could see it, for he thought it would give her some new ideas of what Yankees had to eat. After supper each of the children wrote a letter home, and Mark and Captain May walked up to the post-office to mail them.
He was alone at last, and that was well; he was literally incapable of enduring any farther self-restraint. He rang the bell and gave strict orders to Dolf: "Let no one else in to-day; I have letters to write; I will not see another human being." Dolf bowed himself out, and took his way to the lower regions, to communicate to Clo and Victoria the commands his master had given.
Gwen dear, what an inveterate matchmaker you are!" "Nonsense, Clo! I never...." Here Gwen hung fire for a moment, confronted by an intractability of language. She took the position by storm, more suo: "I never mutchmoke in my life.... What? Well, you may laugh, Clo, but I never did!
Farebrother, whose hopes entered strongly into the same current with Lydgate's, and who knew nothing about him that could now raise a melancholy presentiment, left him with affectionate congratulation. Clown. . . . 'Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not? Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter. Clo.
"You don't want them any more?" she gasped. "Want them?" Beverley echoed. "Yes, more than ever, I want them. But it's too late. Don't ask me why. Only come!" Clo could not argue with Angel, or oppose her, in such a mood as this. She wished that she had taken her own way, and gone herself to "have it out" with Peterson.
"It's a light I'd like to squinch," cried Dolf, "and if he pokes himself into my moonshine I'll do it." Clo gave a shrill scream, and caught his arm, as if she feared that he was intending to rush forth in search of the elder, and put his menace into instant execution. "Don't kick up a muss wid him," she pleaded: "why should yer?"
Victoria, who was getting impatient with her confined position behind the laundry door, where she had done jealous duty as a listener, now dashed in upon the lovers, and broke up the conversation just as it reached a most interesting point. "I say, ole Clo, them perserves are a bilen over; you can smell 'em here."
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