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Updated: June 8, 2025
Now that's what I don't want you to do. Perhaps you'd think I'd better have spoken with Mr. Clerron; but it wouldn't signify the head of a pin. He'd either put on the Clerron look and scare you to death and not say a word, or else he'd hold it up in such a ridiculous way as to make you think it was ridiculous yourself.
Wonderfully different did this affair seem from the one she had planned the preceding evening. My dear Sir, Madam, have not we, too, sometimes found it an easier thing to fight the battle of life in our own chimney-corner, by the ruddy and genial firelight, than in broad day on the world's great battle-field? Mr. Clerron, seeing Ivy's confusion, kindly came to her aid.
It was natural, that, in ranging the fields of thought so lately opened to her, she should often revert to him whose hand had unbarred the gates; she was therefore not startled that the image of Felix Clerron was with her when she sat down and when she rose up, when she went out and when she came in. She ceased, indeed, to think of him. She thought him. She lived him. Her soul fed on his life.
Only for a moment, and then with a strong effort she remembered the impassable gulf. "A pretty welcome home you have given me!" said Mr. Clerron, lightly. He saw that something was weighing on her spirits, but did not wish to distress her by seeming to notice it.
Washington, the Apostle Paul, and Peter Parley were the only men of the past or present whom she considered at all worthy to be compared with him; and in fact, if these three men and Felix Clerron had all stood before her, and offered each a different opinion on any given subject, I have scarcely a doubt as to whose would have commended itself to her as combining the soundest practical wisdom and the highest Christian benevolence.
I, on the contrary, take life easily, write in the night, when everything is still and quiet, take my sleep when all the noise of the world's waking-up is going on, and after creation is fairly settled for the day, I rise leisurely, breakfast leisurely, take a smoke leisurely, and leisurely wait the coming of my little pupil." "Mr. Clerron!" "Well!"
Day after day, she attempted to go through her recitation as usual, and, day after day, she hesitated, stammered, and utterly failed. His gentle assistance only increased her embarrassment. This she was too proud to endure; and, one day, after an unsuccessful effort, she closed the book with a quick, impatient gesture, and exclaimed, "Mr. Clerron, I will not recite any more!"
Still I would do it, if Tell me, Ivy, does it give you pain or pleasure?" Ivy extricated her hands from his, deliberately drew a footstool, and knelt on it before him, then took his hands, as he had before held hers, gazed steadily into his eyes, and said, "Mr. Clerron, are you in earnest? Do you love me?" "I am, Ivy. I do love you." "How do you love me?"
Clerron thinks so too, and there's the trouble, You see, dear, he's a man, and men go on their ways and like women, and talk to them, and sort of bewitch them, not meaning to do them any hurt, and enjoy their company of an evening, and go about their own business in the morning, and never think of it again; but women stay at home, and brood over it, and think there's something in it, and build a fine air-castle, and when they find it's all smoke, they mope and pine and take on.
A single glance showed her that he was the person who had rung the bell for her, though the gay dressing-gown had been changed for a soberer suit. Mr. Clerron bowed. Ivy, hardly knowing what she did, faltered forth, "I am Ivy Geer."
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