man to break his heart because a
girl rejected him. He was certainly one who could have sung the old
song, "If she be not fair for me, what care I how fair she be." And
yet Clarissa's conduct had distressed him, and had caused him to go
about throughout the whole afternoon with his heart almost in his
boots. He had felt her coldness to him much more severely than he had
that of Mary Bonner. He had taught himself to look upon that little
episode with Mary as though it had really meant nothing. She had just
crossed the sky of his heaven like a meteor, and for a moment had
disturbed its serenity. And Polly also had been to him a false light,
leading him astray for awhile under exceptional, and, as he thought,
quite pardonable circumstances. But dear little Clary had been his
own peculiar star,--a star that was bound to have been true to him,
even though he might have erred for a moment in his worship,--a
star with a sweet, soft, enduring light, that he had always assured
himself he might call his own when he pleased. And now this soft,
sweet star had turned upon him and scorched him. "When I get home,"
she had said to him, "I shall find that you have already made an
offer to Patience!" He certainly had not expected such scorn from
her. And then he was so sure in his heart that if she would have
accepted him, he would have been henceforth so true to her, so good
to her! He would have had such magnanimous pleasure in showering upon
her pretty little head all the good things at his disposal, that,
for her own sake, the pity was great. When he had been five minutes
in his cab, bowling back towards his club, he was almost minded to
return and give her one more chance. She would just have suited him.
And as for her,--would it not be a heaven on earth for her if she
would only consent to forget that foolish, unmeaning little episode.
Could Clary have forgotten the episode, and been content to care
little or nothing for that easiness of feeling which made our Ralph
what he was, she might, probably, have been happy as the mistress of
the Priory. But she would not have forgotten, and would not have been
content. She had made up her little heart stoutly that Ralph the heir
should sit in it no longer, and it was well for him that he did not
go back.

He went to his club instead,--not daring to go to his rooms. The
insanity of Neefit was becoming to him a terrible bane. It was, too,
a cruelty which he certainly had done nothing to des