"Where, dear?" the mother asks, anxiously.
"Somewhere," vaguely; "anywhere, away from these wicked Clevelands. I hate them, mamma!" she says, with sudden passion in her voice and face.
"You do not hate Leslie Noble?" Mrs. Campbell asks, anxiously.
"No, mamma, for though he is akin to them he is unlike them. Mr. Noble is always kind to me," Vera answers, musingly.
"Listen to me, Vera, child. Mr. Noble l—likes you. He wishes to marry you," the mother exclaims, with a flush of excitement in her eyes.
"Marry me?" Vera repeats, a little blankly.
"Yes, dear. Are you willing?"
"I—I am too young, am I not, mamma?"
"Seventeen, dear. As old as I was when I married your father," Mrs. Campbell answers with a look of heart pain flitting over the pallid face.
"I have never thought of marrying," Vera goes on musingly. "He will not be angry if I refuse, will he, mamma?"