'Do, if possible,' said she, with genuine surprise.
'Pardon the admission, Miss Collingwood, but all night long Sir Carnaby sang the praises of a certain Major Desmond.'
Clare coloured deeply; her eyes darkened, and sparkled, yet softly, under the sweep of their long black lashes.
'It was horrible taste in papa—to you especially! How could he act so strangely?'
'So cruelly, Clare,' said Trevor Chute, with a burst of honest emotion, born of the sudden line this conversation had taken.
'Fear not for Desmond,' said she, in a bitter, yet low tone, as she shook her graceful head.
'He was to—to propose for your hand.'
'He did so this morning,' was the calm reply.
'And you, Miss Collingwood, you——'
'Refused him.'