“She won't send you away; she shan't. If you only knew how the poor little thing cried, so that this morning literally she could not see out of her eyes, you would then know how she feels. She told me that if she lost all hope of being your wife she would lie down and die. She felt better this morning when father left, as he told her he would arrange everything with you so that the wedding should not be postponed. Then she was comforted and went to sleep. But—” And Victoriano stopped.
“But what? Better tell me all, dear Tano,” said Clarence.
“Well, I was going to say that she is again unhappy because Lotte and Rosy told her what your father said. She had not heard that part of the trouble before.”
Clarence stood silent with one foot upon the first step. He was calculating the chances against him. He turned to Victoriano, and, with a sickly smile that was truly painful to see, said:
“My heart misgives me, dear Tano; I cannot blame her if she considers my father's words unpardonable.”
“But they were not your words,” Everett interposed. “You are not to blame if your father forgets himself and makes a brute of himself. I almost hate him. Courage, dear Clary.”
“Yes, remember, ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’” Victoriano added, and the quotation brought such sweet recollections to poor Clarence's troubled mind, that he staggered as he went up the steps. But, with a renewed effort over himself, he managed to stand firmly, and to say to Everett:
“I suppose we must part now, dear brother.”
Everett threw his arms around him, and for a few moments both brothers held each other in close, silent embrace.
“Cheer up, boys. Don't think you are to part,” said Victoriano, with assumed cheerfulness. “You must come to breakfast with us to-morrow Retty. When father comes he and Clary will concoct some plan so as not to postpone the wedding. Come, I'll take you home. I'll let Mercedes know first that Clarence is here.” So saying he walked into the house. Returning in a few moments, he said: