"He never says very much on any subject, does he? If you are going over to the Hall, will you tell him about it?"
"No; tell him yourself," says her father, in a curious tone.
"There is the dressing bell," says Clarissa getting up lazily. "I don't feel a bit like eating my dinner, do you know?"
"Nonsense! The love-sick rôle won't suit you. And people who don't eat dinner get pale, and lose all their pretty looks. Run away, now, and don't be long. I feel it would be injudicious to put cook into a tantrum again to-night, after last night's explosion. So go and make yourself lovely."
"I'll do my best," says Clarissa, modestly.
CHAPTER XI.
"I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.
Oh! I could play the woman with mine eyes."—Macbeth.