"Oh yes, you do. Poor Ralph, our Ralph, is a spendthrift, and I shouldn't wonder if this one were to have the property after all. And then his father is very rich. I know that because Gregory told me. Dear me! wouldn't it be odd if we were all three to become Mrs. Newtons?" "Clary, what did I tell you?" "Well; I won't. But it would be odd,--and so nice, at least I think so. Well;--I dare say I ought not to say it. But then I can't help thinking it,--and surely I may tell you what I think." "I would think it as little as I could, dear." "Ah, that's very well. A girl can be a hypocrite if she pleases, and perhaps she ought. Of course I shall be a hypocrite to all the world except you. I tell you what it is, Patty;--you make me tell you everything, and say that of course you and I are to tell everything,--and then you scold me. Don't you want me to tell you everything?" "Indeed I do;--and I won't scold you. Dear Clary, do I scold you? Wouldn't I give one of my eyes to make you happy?" "That's quite a different thing," said Clarissa. Three days afterwards Mr. Ralph Newton;--it is hoped that the reader may understand the attempts which are made to designate the two young men;--Mr. Ralph Newton appeared again at Popham Villa. He came in almost with the gait of an old friend, and brought some fern leaves, which he had already procured from Hampshire, in compliance with a promise which he had made to Patience Underwood. "That's what we call the hart's tongue," said he, "though I fancy they give them all different names in different places." "It's the same plant as ours, Mr. Newton,--only yours is larger." "It's the ugliest of all the ferns," said Clary. "Even that's a compliment," said Newton. "It's no use transplanting them in this weather, but I'll send you a basket in October. You should come down to Newton and see our ferns. We think we're very pretty, but because we're so near, nobody comes to see us." Then he fell a-talking with Mary Bonner, and stayed at the villa nearly all the afternoon. For a moment or two he was alone with Clarissa, and at once expressed his admiration. "I don't think I ever saw such perfect beauty as your cousin's," he said. "She is handsome." "And then she is so fair, whereas everybody expects to see dark eyes and black hair come from the West Indies." "But Mary wasn't born there." "That doesn't matter. The mind doesn't travel back as far as that. A negro should be black, and an American thin, and a French woman should have her hair dragged up by the roots, and a German should be broad-faced, and a Scotchman red-haired,--and a West Indian beauty should be dark and languishing." "I'll tell her you say so, and perhaps she'll have herself altered." "Whatever you do, don't let her be altered," said Mr. Newton. "She can't be changed for the better." "I am quite sure he is over head and ears in love," said Clarissa to Patience that evening. CHAPTER XVI. THE CHESHIRE CHEESE.