Now, quite unintentionally, Dr. Bannerman had done a very ill turn to a most harmless and kindly fellow-mortal. Clarence Massey, the humble companion whom he displaced at Ella’s side, having been attracted to Ella by the devotion with which she had worked for his friend George Lauriston, had raised up an altar to her in his most affectionate and warm heart, on which, figuratively speaking, he burned incense all day long. Whenever and wherever she would let him, he followed like a dog, bearing her snappish fits with beautiful meekness, accepting any remarks she liked to throw to him, as precious pearls to be treasured in his memory; gentle, loyal, and devoted always. Ella, who had begun by laughing at him, had been thawed by his distracted anxiety and misery over George Lauriston’s misfortunes, until from tolerating she had begun to like him. And now, just as she was getting so amiable to him that he had begun to entertain hopes which he had the sense and modesty to think extravagant, this light suggestion on the part of a stranger chilled her into anger at the thought that any one should think her capable of a serious thought for so unintellectual a person as Clarence Massey.
She had promised, on Doctor Bannerman’s approach, to rejoin Clarence on the Hoe; but it was with the step of an offended empress that the plain little girl met this well-provided young fellow, on whom a dozen mammas of marriageable daughters now fixed longing eyes.
“Well, what does he say?” asked Clarence, afraid from the expression of her face that the report was bad.
She told him briefly and coldly the substance of the doctor’s opinion, but without any hint of his last suggestion except the vague information that the pair had better go abroad. Then she walked briskly on in the direction of the Fort, and to Clarence’s meek request for permission to accompany her, she gave the most brusque, most chilling answer that he could “do as he pleased.” Of course he pleased to go, and when they got on to the narrow footpath which is only wide enough for one, he followed with tears in his eyes at the change in her, wondering what in the world had happened to make her so unkind to him. Meanwhile, however, an idea had come into her busy little head which helped the effect of the spring air in restoring her to good humour; so that when she stopped to look reflectively out to sea and caught sight of his disconsolate face, she smiled at him with mingled mercy and majesty and asked him why he looked so miserable.
“I’m not miserable now,” said he, brightening up at once. “It was only that I was afraid you didn’t want me.”
Ella grew prim again.
“It is very kind of you to come,” said she.
“Ella, don’t say that. How can you say that, when you know very well how happy it makes me to be with you!”
“Happy! How absurd! I wish, Clarence, you wouldn’t say such ridiculous things.”
“But, Ella, why is it ridiculous? It’s true, you know it’s true. You know very well I would follow you to the end of the world if you’d let me, that I’d do anything you wanted me to, that I’m never so happy as when I’m with you. Well, why is it ridiculous to say what is true and what you know?”