Everett had gone to Victoriano's room, and now that impatient invalid was screaming for Clarence to come. His loud calling brought Doña Josefa to him, and then all the family learned that Clarence had arrived.
“Come here, you truant,” said Victoriano to Clarence, “come here, you ugly man.” And as Clarence stooped to embrace him, he clasped him to his heart, making him lie down by his side. “There,” said he, “I have given you a good hugging; now go and kiss the girls.”
Which Clarence did gladly, but his mother and Doña Josefa he kissed first. He then went to the parlor, where he was kindly greeted by no less than fourteen girls, counting thus: three Alamares, three Holmans, four Darrells, and four other Alamares, cousins of Mercedes.
Clarence was a brave fellow, so he never flinched and kissed them all, very deliberately. “Not to give offence,” he said.
There was one duty which Clarence shrank from performing, but which he submitted to quietly, and that was meeting his father.
Darrell came to the Alamar house for the first time in his life, and as he said he would like to be alone when he met Clarence, Rosario conducted him to the office, a room used by her father when he saw people on business and where he wrote his letters, but where others of the family scarcely ever entered.
Clarence was shocked to see how aged his father was. When he left, the auburn hair of the old man showed no white lines at all. Now he was so gray that his hair was almost white. The sight of that white hair swept from Clarence's heart all trace of resentment, and his love for his father seemed to rush back to him with pain, but with great force.
“Oh, father!” exclaimed Clarence, seeing the open arms before him.
“My boy, my best beloved,” said the old man, with a sob and a checking of breath, holding his son close to his breast.
“Father, why are you so gray?” Clarence asked.