"It rained hard," he answered. "But men like you care so little for rain; but that is when you have business to take you out,--or pleasure." "You need not be so severe. The truth is I had things to trouble me." "What troubled you, Will? I thought all the trouble was mine." "I suppose everybody thinks that his own shoe pinches the hardest." "Your shoe can't pinch you very bad, I should think. Sometimes when I think of you it seems that you are an embodiment of prosperity and happiness." "I don't see it myself;--that's all. Did you write to Lady Aylmer, Clara?" "I wrote; but I didn't send it. I would not send any letter till I had shown it to you, as you are my confessor and adviser. There; read it. Nothing, I think, could be more courteous or less humble." He took the letter and read it. Clara had simply expressed herself willing to accept Lady Aylmer's invitation, and asked her ladyship to fix a day. There was no mention of Captain Aylmer's name in the note. "And you think this is best?" he said. His voice was hardly like his own as he spoke. There was wanting to it that tone of self-assurance which his voice almost always possessed, even when self-assurance was lacking to his words. "I thought it was your own advice," she said. "Well;--yes; that is, I don't quite know. You couldn't go for a week or so yet, I suppose." "Perhaps in about a week." "And what will you do till then?" "What will I do!" "Yes;--where do you mean to stay?" "I thought, Will, that perhaps you would let me--remain here." "Let you!--Oh, heavens! Look here, Clara." "What is it, Will?" "Before heaven I want to do for you what may be the best for you,--without thinking of myself;--without thinking of myself, if I could only help it."