"Well, Clara, if you can suggest nothing, I suppose that I must take the initiative myself," said he.
"Then what do you propose, papa ?" She braced herself as one who sees the blow which is about to fall.
He looked at her and hesitated.

"How like your poor dear mother you are, Clara!" he cried.

"As I looked at you then it was as if she had come back from the grave." He stooped towards her and kissed her.

"There, run away to your sister, my dear, and do not trouble yourself about me.
Nothing is settled yet, but you will find that all will come right." Clara went upstairs sad at heart, for she was sure now that what she had feared was indeed about to come to pass, and that her father was going to take Mrs.Westmacott to be his wife.

In her pure and earnest mind her mother's memory was enshrined as that of a saint, and the thought that any one should take her place seemed a terrible desecration.