"Nay, Clara."
"How can I help it? What am I to do, or where am I to go? Of what use is life to such a one as me? And for him,—who would dare to wish him back again? When people have fallen and gone down in the world it is bad for them to go on living. Everything is a trouble, and there is nothing but vexation."
"Think what I have suffered, dear."
"But you have had somebody to care for you,—somebody whom you could trust."
"And have not you?"
"No; no one."
"What do you mean, Clara?"
"I mean what I say. I have no one. It is no use asking questions,—not now, at such a time as this. And I did not mean to complain. Complaining is weak and foolish. I have often told myself that I could bear anything, and so I will. When I can bring myself to think of what I have lost in my father I shall be better, even though I shall be more sorrowful. As it is, I hate myself for being so selfish."
"You will let me come and stay with you to-day, will you not?"
"No, dear; not to-day."