“Why, Clarissa, anyone would think you had said no yourself and repented.”
“I? I never said no—nor yes either.”
“You can’t suppose I am going to marry a man I don’t love?”
“No; but there are different ways of putting things, and if there is no one else—”
“Is it likely?” interrupted Flossy. “Clarissa, how can I go and marry a man when I don’t care as much for him as for hundreds of things—as I care for you and Mary, and the girls—”
“Or Arthur Spencer?” whispered Clarissa, with a sudden mischievous twinkle.
Flossy stood still; a great throb passed through her, and she quivered to her fingertips.
“Oh, Flossy, Flossy, forgive me,” cried Clarissa, clinging to her. “Indeed, I didn’t know—I didn’t mean to—”
“No!” said Flossy, putting her little, slight sister back, and standing up, tall and straight; her blue eyes lightening as they had never lightened before. “No! I don’t care half so much for him as I do for Arthur Spencer—as I did for my dear Mysie. I care exceedingly for Arthur, and Mr Blandford is only an acquaintance. You said no harm, Clarissa.” She stood grandly to her colours; but the sharp-eyed Clarissa saw it all. She ceased her arguments—they had their answer.
“You’ve got your life-story, anyhow,” she said, “and you will do as you please. I haven’t got any experience to give you the benefit of.”