This most particular something was
about George Fairfax: she felt very sure of that.
"I am going to be quite candid with you, Clary," Lady Laura began
presently, when they were in a narrow walk sheltered by hazel bushes, the
most secluded bit of the garden. "I shall treat you just as if you were a
younger sister of my own. I think I have almost a right to do that; for I'm
sure I love you as much as if you were my sister."
And here Lady Laura's plump little black-gloved hand squeezed Clarissa's
tenderly.
"You have been all goodness to me," the girl answered; "I can never be too
grateful to you."
"Nonsense, Clary; I will not have that word gratitude spoken between us. I
only want you to understand that I am sincerely attached to you, and that
I am the last person in the world to hold your happiness lightly. And now,
dearest child, tell me the truth--have you seen George Fairfax since you
left Hale?"
Clarissa flushed crimson. To be asked for the truth, as if, under any
circumstances, she would have spoken anything less than truth about George
Fairfax! And yet that unwonted guilty feeling clung to her, and she was not
a little ashamed to confess that she had seen him.
"Yes, Lady Laura."
"I thought so. I was sure of it. He came here on the very day you left--the
day which was to have been his wedding-day."
"It was on that evening that I saw him; but he did not come to this house.
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