There was some comfort in that and in the belief that she still had power to move him. She had reason to change her mind within a few days. Yielding to Paul’s and Elithe’s solicitations, she and her mother went with them to the opera, the Bois, the Luxembourg,—to Bignon’s and St. Germain,—Paul always insisting upon paying the bills and saying: “You know you are my guests.” Once, as they were standing alone on the Terrace at St. Germain Clarice said to him, “Paul, I must tell you how sorry I am for the course I took in your trouble. I ought to have known you were innocent. At first, I did think so, but the testimony was so strong that I could not help believing it was an accident and I wondered you did not say so. Still, I might have done differently,—might have shown you what I really felt. I was not as heartless as I seemed and I was so glad when I heard of your acquittal, and how the people lionized you. We were in Florence when the news reached us, and I was foolish enough to hope you would write to me, although I didn’t deserve it. At last I wrote to you. I suppose you never received my letter. I hope you never will, for I said some foolish things in it. If you do get it, I am sure you will tear it up unread.” He could not tell her he had received the letter. That would have been too cruel, and he said, “I think you can trust me, Clarice. I shall always be your friend. I have no hard feelings against you. How can I have when I am so very, very happy?” He was looking in the direction of Elithe, with an expression which told Clarice that she no longer held a place in his affection, and the pallor on her face deepened as she realized all she had lost. A few days later the Ralstons left for Switzerland and the Percys crossed the channel to England, where they were to spend a week and then sail for America. Clarice was very tired of foreign travel and her mother was glad to go home. Their house in Washington had been re-rented for a second year and the question arose as to where they should live in the interim. “There’s our cottage in Oak City. We can go there if you think you can endure it,” Mrs. Percy suggested. For a moment Clarice made no reply. The loss of Paul had hurt her cruelly, but she was too proud to let any one know that she cared. She would go there and show them she did not need their pity, she said, and, towards the last of August, the Percy cottage was again opened and made ready for Clarice and her mother. CHAPTER XLIV. LAST GLIMPSE OF OAK CITY.