“Prophetic of a snow storm in San Diego?”
“The snow was symbolic of bereavement, perhaps.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and seemed lost in thought, and he held the little hand, so soft and white and well shaped, and thought of her beauty and lovely qualities and his coming happiness. He was thinking that he would have been content to pass the day thus, when she raised her eyes to his, saying:
“I must not keep you if you must go. Remember how superstitious my dream has made me. I wish you could wait until to-morrow.”
“I would, but Hubert might come to-morrow.”
“I had forgotten that.” One more long kiss and they parted, her heart sinking under a load of undefined terrors.
From the seventh heaven Clarence had to come down again to prosaic earth; and after bidding adieu to Mercedes, he drove back home to speak to his father. The old man was sitting in his easy chair on the porch, smoking his pipe, alone, behind the curtain of honeysuckle, white jasmine and roses, so carefully trained over the porch by Mrs. Darrell and Alice. Seeing his son driving back towards the front steps, he walked down to meet him. Clarence was glad that he seemed in a better humor. He at once said:
“Father, I came back to ask a favor of you.”
“A favor? You alarm me. You never did that in all your life,” he said, smiling.
“You mean I never did anything else. I know it. But this is a very especial one, and a business favor.”