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Updated: May 19, 2025
Clover's husband he had none whatever face, voice, trick of lips, and eyebrows made mistake an impossibility; but he must bring the man into a position where there would be no choice but to reveal himself, and, so far as Gammon knew, no one but Polly could help to that end. With Mrs. Clover he would communicate when the facts of the strange story were made plain; not yet a while.
Nothing at all." "Come to dinner," said Clover's pleasant voice. "Geoff, Miss Young will sit next to you. Put a cushion behind her back, Clarence." Dinner over, Imogen concluded that she had upheld the honor of England quite as long as was desirable, or in fact possible, and gladly accepted permission to go at once to bed. She was fairly tired out.
We are friends now, and we will both love Isabel; and I will love you if you will let me, and you shall love me." "How good you are!" exclaimed Imogen, as Clover bent over for a good-night kiss. She put her arms round Clover's neck and held her tight for a moment. "Yes, indeed," she sighed. "I don't deserve it after my bad behavior, but I shall be only too glad if I may be your friend.
Before long, however, she revived sufficiently to tap on the drawers and push through a note with the following words: "My heart is broken! Clover hastened in to comfort her. Rose was sitting on the floor, with a very clean pocket-handkerchief in her hand. She wept, and put her head against Clover's knee. "I suppose I'm the nastiest girl in the world," she said. "Mrs. Florence thinks so.
"And a spirit-lamp, too, just like Clover's, and a cunning, teeny-weeny kitchen and a stove to boil things on. Mamma, when shall I be old enough to have a house all of my own?" "Not till you are tired of playing with dolls, I am afraid." "Well, that will be never. If I thought I ever could be tired of Mabel, I should be so ashamed of myself that I should not know what to do.
"Missie like?" he asked this morning, indicating the wreath of wild cranberry vine round the dish of chicken. Then he set a mound of white raspberries in the middle of the table, starred with gold-hearted brown coreopsis, and asked again, "Missie like dat?" pleased at Clover's answering nod and smile.
Katy was standing with her back toward her, smoothing her hair, but her face was reflected in the glass. At Clover's words a sudden deep flush had mounted in Katy's cheeks. Deeper and deeper it burned as she became conscious of Clover's astonished gaze, till even the back of her neck was pink.
Watching him carefully, she saw that he always crept under the fence and stole into the field where the clover grew. And every time he came back again he looked plumper than before. "That clover's not intended for you," the Muley Cow told him at last. She thought that ought to be enough to stop him. But it made not the slightest difference.
Then she moved away, and began to talk to Geoff, whose grave courtesy at once warmed into cheer and sun. Clarence, thus left a prey to remorse, was wretched. He tried to catch Clover's eye, but she wouldn't look at him. He leaned against the balustrade moody and miserable. Phil, who had watched these various interludes with interest, indicated his condition to Clover with another telegraphic wink.
She was knitting a long silk stocking, a volume of Mudie's lay on her knee, and a skye terrier, blue, fuzzy, and sleepy, had curled himself luxuriously in the folds of her dress. This was Mrs. Templestowe, Geoff's mother and Clover's mother-in-law. She jumped up almost as lightly as a girl to welcome the visitors.
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