“No, not that. I wish with all my heart I could go back to the dolls and the nursery songs. I wish I could live all in the hour before me, making little dramas of life, with some delightful part for myself in each, and only to be aroused from the illusion to join a real world. Just as enjoyable.”
“But surely, child, you have not reached the land of regrets already?” said he, fondly drawing her towards him with his arm.
She turned her head away, and drew her hand across her eyes.
“It is very early to begin with sorrow, my dear child,” said he, affectionately. “Let me hope that it's only an April cloud, with the silver lining already peeping through.”
A faint sob broke from her, but she did not speak.
“I 'd ask to be your confidant only in thinking I could serve you, dearest Clara. Old men like myself get to know a good deal of life without any study of it.”
She made a slight effort to disengage herself from his arm, but he held her fast; and, after a moment, she leaned her head upon his shoulder and burst out crying.
At this critical instant the door opened, and Mrs. Morris entered. Scarcely inside the room, she stood like one spell-bound, unable to move or speak; her features, flushed by exercise, became pale as death, her lips actually livid. “Am I indiscreet?” asked she, in a voice scarcely other than a hiss of passion. “Do I interrupt a confidence, Sir William?”
“I am not sure that you do,” said he, good-humoredly. “Though I was pressing Clara to accept me as a counsellor, I 'm not quite certain I was about to succeed.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Morris, sarcastically. “My theory about young ladies excludes secrets altogether. It assumes them to be candid and open-hearted. They who walk openly and on the high-road want little guidance beyond the dictates of a right purpose. Go to your room, Clara, and I 'll be with you presently.” These latter words were spoken in perfect calm, and obeyed at once. Mrs. Morris was now alone with Sir William.