She's afraid of
nothing."
"Except of being uncomfortable," Alice retorted. "That frightens her into
fits. Make her uncomfortable, Peter, and you'll see--"
And, red in the face, Peter answered--"I don't think you ought to talk of
any one who's so fond of you behind her back in that way--"
"Oh! I say just the same to her face. I'm always telling her these things
and she always agrees and then's just as selfish as ever. That absurd
little father of hers has spoilt her!"
Spoilt! Clare spoilt! Peter smiled darkly. Alice Galleon--delightful woman
though she was, of course couldn't endure that another woman should receive
such praise--Jealousy! Ah!...
And the aged and weighty author of "Reuben Hallard," to whom the world
was naturally an open book, and life known to its foundations, nodded
to himself. How people, intelligent enough in other ways, could be so
short-sighted!
Afterwards, when they were alone, Bobby took him in hand--
"You're in love with Clare Rossiter, Peter," he said.
"Yes, I am," Peter answered defiantly.
"But you've known her so short a time!"
"What's that to do with it?"
"Oh, nothing, of course. But do you think you're the sort of people likely
to get on?"
"Really, Bobby, I don't--"
"I know--none of my business--quite true. But you see I've known Clare
pretty well all my life and you're the best friend I've got, so you might
allow me to take an interest.
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