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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Clarence"

Don't
be greedy, Clarence, but give me a cake." She took one and finished the
dregs of his glass.
Then sitting on the arm of his chair, she darted a violet ray of half
reproach and half mischievousness into his amused and retrospective
eyes. "There used to be room for two in that chair, Klarns."
The use of the old childish diminutive for his name seemed to him
natural as her familiarity, and he moved a little sideways to make
room for her with an instinct of pleasure, but the same sense of
irresponsibility that had characterized his reflections. Nevertheless,
he looked critically into the mischievous eyes, and said quietly,--
"Where is your husband?"
There was no trace of embarrassment, apology, or even of consciousness
in her pretty face as she replied, passing her hand lightly through his
hair,--
"Oh, Jim? I've packed him off!"
"Packed him off!" echoed Clarence, slightly astonished.
"Yes, to Fair Plains, full tilt after your wife's buggy. You see,
Clarence, after the old cat--that's your wife, please--left, I wanted to
make sure she had gone, and wasn't hangin' round to lead you off again
with your leg tied to her apron string like a chicken's! No! I said to
Jim, 'Just you ride after her until you see she's safe and sound in
the down coach from Fair Plains without her knowin' it, and if she's
inclined to hang back or wobble any, you post back here and let me
know!' I told him I would stay and look after you to see you didn't bolt
too!" She laughed, and then added, "But I didn't think I should
fall into the old ways so soon, and have such a nice time.


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