"Oh, Clary!" "I was. I told Patience how it was to be. I saw it in his eyes. One does see these things. I knew it would be so; and I told Patience that we three would be three Mrs. Newtons. But that of course was nonsense." "Nonsense, indeed." "I mean about Patience." "And what about yourself, Clary?" Clarissa made no answer, and yet she was burning to tell her own story. She was most anxious to tell her own story, but only on the condition of reciprocal confidence. The very nature of her story required that the confidence should be reciprocal. "You said that you wanted to tell me everything," said Mary. "And so I do." "You know how glad I shall be to hear." "That is all very well, but,--" And then Clarissa paused. "But what, dear?" "You do mean to accept Mr. Newton?" Now it was time for Mary to pause. "If I were to tell you my whole heart," she said, "I should be ashamed of what I was saying; and yet I do not know that there is any cause for shame." "There can be none," said Clary. "I am sure of that." "My acquaintance with Mr. Newton is very, very slight. I liked him,--oh, so much. I thought him to be high-spirited, manly, and a fine gentleman. I never saw any man who so much impressed me." "Of course not," said Clarissa, making a gesture as though she would stop on the high road and clasp her hands together, in which, however, she was impeded by her parasol and her remembrance of her present position. "But it is so much to say that one will love a man better than all the world, and go to him, and belong to him, and be his wife." "Ah;--but if one does love him!" "I can hardly believe that love can grow so quickly." "Tell the truth, Mary; has it not grown?" "Indeed I cannot say. There; you shall have the whole truth. When he comes to me,--and I suppose he will come." "There isn't much doubt of that." "If he does come--" "Well?" "I hardly know what I shall say to him. I shall try to--to love him." "Of course you will love him,--better than all the world." "I know that he is paying me the greatest compliment that a man can pay to a woman. And there is no earthly reason why I should not be proud to accept all that he offers me. I have nothing of my own to bestow in return." "But you are so beautiful." Mary would make no pretence of denying this. It was true that that one great feminine possession did belong to her. "After all," she said, "how little does beauty signify! It attracts, but it can make no man happy. He has everything to give to a wife, and he ought to have much in return for what he gives." "You don't mean that a girl should refuse a rich man because she has no fortune of her own?" "No; not quite that. But she ought to think whether she can be of use to him."