"Hazel is n't my sister."
"Why, of course, you can't feel as near to her as to Rose, but then, you must see how dear she has become to us all--and Mr. Clyde has put it in such a way, that the most sensitive person could accept it without injury to any feeling of true pride. Take time and think it over, March. It has come upon you rather suddenly, and I have been thinking about it for two weeks."
"It's no use to think it over." Deep tragedy now made itself audible, as March rolled over and sat up, displaying eyes bright with excitement, flushed cheeks, and a generally determined air of having it out with himself.
"Well, I can't understand you, March."
"I wish you could."
His mother smiled in spite of the gravity of the situation. "Can't you tell me? or give me some clue to this mysterious determination of yours?"
March cast a despairing glance at his mother. "Mother, will you promise never to tell?"
"Not even your father, March?"
"No, father, nor any one--ever, mother."
"Very well; I promise, March, for I trust you."