'Dear Captain Chute—Trevor we all called you once,' said Ida, taking his hand in both of hers, while Clare drew a little way back, 'you will call again and see us?'
'It is better that I should not,' replied Chute, in a voice that became agitated in spite of himself; 'you know all the circumstances, Ida, under which we parted,' he added, in a lower voice.
'You will surely come again and see me?' she urged.
'If the family were out of town,' Chute was beginning.
'Trevor,' said the widow, passionately, 'love me as if—as if I were your sister; for you were more than a friend—yes, a very brother—to my poor Beverley, and I must be as your sister.'
Clare's eyes met those of Chute for an instant, and then were dropped on the carpet; but she did not blush, as another might have done, at all this speech implied or suggested, for her face grew very pale, and then, feeling the dire necessity of saying something, she muttered, falteringly:
'You will surely call and see papa, after—after——'
'What, Miss Collingwood?'
'Your long absence from this country.'
'It has seemed somewhat of an eternity to me.'