“Walk in, Clary. Mercedes will be in the parlor in a minute. Now, Retty, I'll take you home.”
While both drove to the Darrells, Clarence went in the parlor to wait with beating heart Mercedes' coming. He walked about the room looking at every object in it without seeing anything. When he heard the rustle of her dress, he stood by the piano with his arms crossed over his breast as if trying to compress the wild throbbing of his heart. He was pale to the lips and his eyes had an expression of longing, of beseeching tenderness, that was far more sad and eloquent than tears would have been. Mercedes came in, followed by her faithful Milord, who, seeing that Clarence paid no attention to him, turned up his nose in mild resentment and went to lie down upon the rug in front of the fire-place. She offered to Clarence her hand in silence. In silence he took it, kissed it and led her to a sofa, sitting down by her side. She was the first to speak. Looking into his eyes, she said:
“Clarence, must we part? I have such, faith in your truth that I believe you will candidly tell me your opinion, even if it kills both of us. Am I right?”
“My darling, what is it? Do not put me to a test that may be too hard, for I tell you frankly I can give up my life, but not my love. Not you! my own! Oh, no; anything but that. Not that.” So saying, he took both her hands—the beauty of which he so loved—and kissed them warmly, all the time fearing that if she said to him that she must break off their engagement, he must submit, as he could not blame her if she considered him beneath her love. “What is it you wish to ask me? Oh, my angel! be merciful!”
“I wish to ask you what must I do when your father has said such frightful things to my papa? Am I obliged and in duty bound to decline a tie which will create any relationship with him?”
Clarence was silent, still holding the dear little hands. His face flushed with shame, but became pale again as he replied:
“It would have been more difficult to solve that problem if my father himself had not done so by driving me off. I am exiled now—driven away from home. I doubt whether he would consider you related to him by being my wife now.”
“I am glad of that,” said she, quickly, but then checking herself, and a little abashed by what she thought the hasty expression of a selfish feeling, she said: “Forgive me; I don't mean I am glad he should drive you away, but that since he has cut you off—and yet—he cannot do that. How can he?”
“He has done so. That proves he can, doesn't it?”
“No, Clarence. No matter what he does he is still your father.”