'It is very kind in you, Clara,' said Louis, fervently.
They talked of Mary, and a little of James, from whom Clara had once heard; but it had been a stiff letter, as if a barrier were between them, and then Mr. Dynevor came in, and seemed pleased to find Louis there; even asking him whether he could not join them on their tour, and help Clara to speak French.
'No, thank you, sir,' said Louis, 'I am afraid my company brought no good luck last time.'
'Never mind that—manage better now—ha, Clara.'
'It would be very nice; but he has a great deal too much to do at home,' said Clara.
Oliver would not be persuaded that Fitzjocelyn would not meet them abroad, and began magniloquently talking of his courier, and his route, and while he was looking for the map, the two cousins smiled, and Clara said,—'Lucky you to have work at home, and to stay with it.'
'Only I say, Clara, when you break down anywhere, send me a telegraph.'
'No such good luck,' sighed Clara.
'So he won't come,' said her uncle, when he was gone; 'but we shall have him following us yet—Ha! ha! Never mind, Clara.'
Clara laughed. She knew what her uncle meant, but the notion was to her too impossible and ridiculous even to need a blush. She did not think the world contained Louis's equal; but she had always known that his love was disposed of, and she no more thought of wishing for it than for any other impossible thing. His affection for Mary gave her no more pain than did that of James for Isabel; and she would have treated with scorn and anger anything that impeached his constancy. The pleasure with which he received Mary's letters was the single satisfaction that she carried away with her.