"I thought it was your own advice," she said.
"Well;—yes; that is, I don't quite know. You couldn't go for a week or so yet, I suppose."
"Perhaps in about a week."
"And what will you do till then?"
"What will I do!"
"Yes;—where do you mean to stay?"
"I thought, Will, that perhaps you would let me—remain here."
"Let you!—Oh, heavens! Look here, Clara."
"What is it, Will?"
"Before heaven I want to do for you what may be the best for you,—without thinking of myself;—without thinking of myself, if I could only help it."