I remember taking a cab and driving to a shop into which I had often looked with longing eyes.

I bought wine, grapes, peaches, flowers, dainty jellies--everything that I thought most likely to please my sister--and then drove home.

I had resolved that I would not tell my good fortune to Clare all at once, lest there should be some fatal mistake unforeseen by any one.

She looked up astonished when I entered the room, my arms full of fruit and flowers.
"Oh, Edgar!" she cried, "you have ruined yourself.

Why you must have spent your whole week's money!" I forgot now what fiction I told here--something of a friend of my father, who had left me a little money, and that I was going away that same evening on business.
"Shall you be long ?" she asked, with so sad a face I did not like to leave her.
"Two or three days at the outside," I told her.