?"

"You've done very well--for you. But was it necessary to tell so many
lies, Bob?"

"Now _that_ is not in good taste, if I am a judge--to put such ugly
names upon the graceful fancies with which I decorate the plain, rude
facts of everyday life. What are we without Imagination, that glorious
gift which causes the desert to rejoice and blossom like your little
flower-bed in the back yard at home? You know, Clarice, that my mind is
a deep clear well of Truth, and my lips merely the bucket that draws it
up. Where will you get candor and veracity, those priceless pearls, if
not from me?"

"Robert, you have fallen into this way of practising your little tricks
and deceptions on everybody. O, I know you mean no harm; it is merely
for your own amusement. But Mabel and Jane don't quite understand it."

"Couldn't you explain it to them, Clarice? Some people have no sense of
humor. I can't well go around saying, This is a joke; please take it in
the spirit in which it is offered."

"O, it does no great harm: they are very seldom deceived, and perhaps
they will learn to make allowances for you by and by. But you may be
tempted to try your games on me: if I ever catch you at that--Remember,
I am not to be trifled with."

"Perish the thought, and perish the caitiff base who would harbor it.
Princess, you are sharper than I. Do you think I would be fool enough to
try any tricks on you, when I should be found out at once?"

"People generally find you out at once, but that doesn't seem to stop
you. How can I tell whether I can trust you? I don't believe you know
yourself when you are serious--if you ever are."

"There is one subject on which I am serious--deeply so, and always.
Clarice, when I die, if you will see that the autopsy is properly
performed, you will find your initials, as the poet says, neatly
engraven on my blighted heart."

"Robert, sometimes I fear you have incipient softening of the brain."

"And if I have, is not that a reason why I should be watched and guarded
tenderly--why loving arms should enfold my tottering frame, and sweet
smiles cheer my declining path, and a strong firm brain like yours
support my failing intellect? Clarice, be gentle with me. I am an orphan
like yourself; soon, if you read the future aright, to be laid beneath
the cold clods of the valley. When I am sleeping under the daisies in
the lonely churchyard, you will say to yourself, He was my friend, my
more than brother: he loved