Dear Clovy," coaxingly, "couldn't you?
You liked the High Valley, didn't you?
I'd do anything possible to make it nice and pleasant for you." "I do like the High Valley very much," said Clover, still with the feeling that Clarence must be half in joke, or she half in dream.

"But, my dear boy, it isn't my home.

I couldn't leave papa and the children, and stay out here, even with you.

It would seem so strange and far away." "You could if you cared for me," replied Clarence, dejectedly; Clover's kind, argumentative, elder-sisterly tone was precisely that which is most discouraging to a lover.
"Oh, dear," cried poor Clover, not far from tears herself; "this is dreadful!" "What ?" moodily.

"Having an offer?
You must have had lots of them before now." "Indeed I never did.