'And as a woman in years, I, foreseeing the time when I could not have you always to reign over my table at Carnaby Court or in Piccadilly, have deemed it necessary to provide myself with a--a----' 'Papa!' 'Well, a substitute,' he added, giving a finishing adjust to his gloves, and then looking Clare steadily in the face. 'In the person of Evelyn Desmond!' she exclaimed, in a breathless voice, and becoming very pale. 'Precisely, my dear Miss Collingwood. She has promised to fill up in my heart all the fearful void left there by the loss of your good mother. I meant to have told you this long ago, but--but it was an awkward subject to approach.' 'So I should think!' 'With one who comports herself like you; and--ah--in fact, now that we are about it, I may mention that the marriage has been postponed only in consequence of Beverley's death, Ida's mourning, illness, and all that sort of thing.' 'So my sacrifice in declining poor Trevor Chute, after all his faith, love, and cruel treatment, was uncalled for,' thought Clare, as she stood like a marble statue, with scorn growing on her lovely lip, while endeavouring to realize the startling tidings now given to her. 'Is _this_ to be the end of Evelyn's endless manoeuvring and countless flirtations?' she exclaimed after a pause. 'Miss Collingwood, I spoke of Miss Desmond,' said he. 'So did I,' replied Clare, with growing anger. 'Don't be so impulsive--rude, I should say--it is bad form, bad style, very.' 'Poor mamma!' sighed Clare; 'she was a good and true gentlewoman.' 'That I grant you, but a trifle cold and stately.' 'When she died I thought it is only when angels leave us that we see the light of heaven on their wings.' 'Now don't be melodramatic; it is absurd, and to be emotional is bad taste. As one cuckoo does not make a spring any more than one swallow a summer, so no more should one affair of the human heart make up the end of a human existence.' 'Are you really in earnest about this, papa?' 'Of course, though I am not much in earnest about anything usually; it is not worth one's while.' 'At a certain age, perhaps,' thought Clare; 'but you were earnest enough once, in dismissing poor Trevor Chute.' 'You will break this matter to your sisters,' said he, preparing to leave her. 'My sisters!' said Clare, bitterly and sadly. 'Oh, papa! think of Violet's prospects with--with' (she feared to add such a chaperon)--'and of Ida, so sad, so delicate in health.' 'Nonsense, Miss Collingwood, Ida will soon marry again; such absurd grief never lasts; and I am sure that Vane loves her still.' 'Then _he_ is not supposed to have got over "that stuff," as you think Trevor Chute and I have done.' 'Miss Collingwood, I do not like my words repeated; so with your permission we shall cease the subject, and I shall bid you good-morning.'