"You are quite right, Clare; never betray a trust, however unimportant it may seem."
"I knew you would say so; but I hate to keep anything from you or Margery." And she would spring from her seat and kiss them both, as if to make amends for her involuntary reticence.
From the time the two were children, Barbara Molesworth used to say, "Miss Clare will make many a heart ache before she grows up."
Clare shook her sunny locks, and treasured the remark in her memory, with a keen appreciation of its meaning. To Margery, on the contrary, it had a terrible sound, and she said—
"Nurse, I hope I shall never make any heart ache. I want to be like my mother, and then people will be made glad instead of sorry by what I do."
"Heaven bless you, my precious!" replied Barbara. "You frame to be like your mother. You will not carry your sunshine on your head only, but in your kind heart and loving lips, and you will share it alike with rich and poor. People will run after Miss Clare for her pretty face and ways, and she will say pretty words, too; but when they want deeds as well as words, or a friend on a dark day, they will come to you."
"But I love Clare, and I never want to take anything from her," was always the answer; and Margery meant it.
She took it as the natural thing that admirers should cluster round Clare, though they might have left her to do so. She excelled her adopted sister in many accomplishments, but she kept these in the background, that Clare's might be the more conspicuous, and the latter knew how to make the most of her own.
Both were musical, and had exquisite voices; but Margery's love was so genuine, her admiration of Clare so unselfish, that she would be content to accompany her, and to play the part of listener only, while others praised the singer, without knowing that the elder girl was hiding her light, that the other's might shine more brightly.
To exalt Clare cost Margery nothing; for true love effaces self, and she was the happier for the admiration so freely showered on her sister.