The thought of Clarence was, in truth, the one cloud in her happiness just then. It was impossible to calculate how he would take the news. If it made him angry or very unhappy, if it broke up his friendship with Geoff, and perhaps interfered with their partnership so that one or other of them must leave the High Valley, Clover felt that it would grievously mar her contentment. There was no use in planning anything till they knew how he would feel and act. In any case, she realized that they were bound to consider him before themselves, and make it as easy and as little painful as possible. If he were vexatious, they must be patient; if sulky, they must be forbearing.
Phil opened his eyes very wide at the pair sitting so coseyly over the fire when at last he came in.
“I say, have you been here all the evening?” he cried. “Well, that’s a sell! I wouldn’t have gone out if I’d known.”
“We’ve missed you very much,” quoth Geoff; and then he laughed as at some extremely good joke, and Clover laughed too.
“You seem to have kept up your spirits pretty well, considering,” remarked Phil, dryly. Boys of eighteen are not apt to enjoy jokes which do not originate with themselves; they are suspicious of them.
“I suppose I must go now,” said Geoff, looking at his watch; “but I shall see you again before I leave. I’ll come in to-morrow after I’ve met my man.”
“All right,” said Phil; “I won’t go out till you come.”
“Oh, pray don’t feel obliged to stay in. I can’t at all tell when I shall be able to get through with the fellow.”
“Come to dinner if you can,” suggested Clover. “Phil is sure to be at home then.”
Lovers are like ostriches. Geoff went away just shaking hands casually, and was very particular to say “Miss Carr;” and he and Clover felt that they had managed so skilfully and concealed their secret so well; yet the first remark made by Phil as the door shut was, “Geoff seems queer to-night, somehow, and so do you. What have you been talking about all the evening?”
An observant younger brother is a difficult factor in a love affair.
Two days passed. Clover looked in vain for a note from the High Valley to say how Clarence had borne the revelation; and she grew more nervous with every hour. It was absolutely necessary now to dismantle the house, and she found a certain relief in keeping exceedingly busy. Somehow the break-up had lost its inexplicable pain, and a glad little voice sang all the time at her heart, “I shall come back; I shall certainly come back. Papa will let me, I am sure, when he knows Geoff, and how nice he is.”
She was at the dining-table wrapping a row of books in paper ready for packing, when a step sounded, and glancing round she saw Clarence himself standing in the doorway. He did not look angry, as she had feared he might, or moody; and though he avoided her eye at first, his face was resolute and kind.