Clover was immensely flattered, but Mrs. Page's astonishment next day knew no bounds.
"Really," she said, "I have hopes of Clarence at last. I never knew him volunteer to escort anybody anywhere before in his life."
"I say," remarked Clarence, the evening before the girls went back to school,—"I say, suppose you write to a fellow sometimes, Clover."
"Do you mean yourself by 'a fellow'?" laughed Clover.
"You don't suppose I meant George Hickman or that donkey of an Eels, did you?" retorted Clarence.
"No, I didn't. Well, I've no objection to writing to a fellow, if that fellow is you, provided the fellow answers my letters. Will you?"
"Yes," gruffly, "but you mustn't show 'em to any girls or laugh at my writing, or I'll stop. Lilly says my writing is like beetle tracks. Little she knows about it though! I don't write to her! Promise, Clover!"
"Yes, I promise," said Clover, pleased at the notion of Clare's proposing a correspondence of his
