“Who for?” “For my father and mother--and somebody else, I think.” “That’s me.” “No; I’m waiting yet. I didn’t know I was coming to you till I came, and there you were!” The child was silent for a moment. Then she said thoughtfully, “You will tell me _all_ about yourself! That _will_ be nice!--Can you tell stories?” she added. “--Of course you can! You can do _every_thing!” “Oh, no, I can’t!” “Can’t you?” “No; I can do _some_ things--not many. I can love you, little one!--Now I must go, or I shall be late, and nobody ever ought to be late.” “Go then. I will go to my nursery and wait again.” She went down the stair without once looking behind her. Clare followed. On the next floor she went one way to her nursery, and he another to the back-stairs. One of the causes and signs of Clare’s manliness was, that he never aimed at being a man. Many men continue childish because they are always trying to act like men, instead of simply trying to do right. Such never develop true manliness; Clare’s manhood stole upon him unawares. That which at once made him a man and kept him a child, was, that he had no regard for anything but what was real, that is, true. All the day the thought kept coming, what could he do for the little girl? Perhaps what stirred his feeling for her most, was a suspicion that she was neglected. But the careless treatment of a nurse was better for her than would have been the capricious blandishments and neglects of a mother like Mrs. Shotover. Clare, however, knew nothing yet about Ann’s mother. He knew only, by the solemnly still ways of the child, that she must be much left to her own resources, and was wonderfully developed in consequence--whether healthily or not, he could not yet tell. The practical question was--how to contrive to be her occasional companion; how to offer to serve her. After much thinking, he concluded that he must wait: opportunity might suggest mode; and he would rather find than make opportunity! Chapter LIX. LOVERS’ WALKS. He had not long to wait. That very afternoon, going a message for the head-clerk, he met Ann walking with a young lady--who must be Miss Shotover. Neither sister seemed happy with the other. Ann was very white, and so tired that she could but drag her little feet after her. Miss Shotover, flushed with exertion, and annoyed with her part of nursemaid, held her tight and hauled her along by the hand. She looked good-natured, but not one of the ministering sort. Every now and then she would give the little arm a pull, and say, though not _very_ crossly, “Do come along!” The child did not cry, but it was plain she suffered. It was plain also she was doing her best to get home, and avoid rousing her sister’s tug.