“But my time is so short now. Give me some definite hope before I go. Let me believe that when we meet in New York”—
“You will find me just the same as now! Yes, I think I can promise THAT. Let that suffice. You said the other day you liked me because I had not changed for five years. You can surely trust that I will not alter in as many months.”
“If I only knew”—
“Ah, if I only knew,—if WE ALL only knew. But we don't. Come, Mr. Grant, let it rest as it is. Unless you want to go still further back and have it as it WAS, at Sidon. There I think you fancied Euphemia most.”
“Clementina!”
“That is my name, and those people ahead of us know it already.”
“You are called CLEMENTINA,—but you are not merciful!”
“You are very wrong, for you might see that Mr. Shipley has twice checked his horse that he might hear what you are saying, and Phemie is always showing Mrs. Ashwood something in the landscape behind us.”
All this was the more hopeless and exasperating to Grant since in the young girl's speech and manner there was not the slightest trace of coquetry or playfulness. He could not help saying a little bitterly: “I don't think that any one would imagine from your manner that you were receiving a declaration.”
“But they might imagine from yours that you had the right to quarrel with me,—which would be worse.”