still. It will be hard at first, but perhaps it may grow easier with
time."

"Oh, it will," cried Clover, hopefully. "It's only because you're so
lonely out here, and see so few people, that makes you suppose I am better
than the rest. One of these days you'll find a girl who is a great deal
nicer than I am, and then you'll be glad that I didn't say yes. There! the
rain is just stopping."

"It's easy enough to talk," remarked Clarence, gloomily, as he gathered up
the bridles of the horses; "but I shall do nothing of the kind. I declare
I won't!"

CHAPTER X.

NO. 13 PIUTE STREET.

Clover did not see Clarence again for several days after this
conversation, the remembrance of which was uncomfortable to her. She
feared he was feeling hurt or "huffy," and would show it in his manner;
and she disliked very much the idea that Phil might suspect the reason,
or, worse still, Mr. Templestowe.

But when he finally appeared he seemed much the same as usual. After all,
she reflected, it has only been a boyish impulse; he has already got over
it, or not meant all he said.

In this she did Clarence an injustice. He had been very much in earnest
when he spoke; and it showed the good stuff which was in him and his real
regard for Clover that he should be making so manly a struggle with his
disappointment and pain. His life had been a lonely one in Colorado; he
could not afford to quarrel with his favorite cousin, and with him, as
with other lovers, there may have been, besides, some lurking hope that
she might yet change her mind. But perhaps Clover in a measure was right
in her conviction that Clarence was still too young and undeveloped to
have things go very deep with him. He seemed to her in many ways as boyish
and as undisciplined as Phil.

With early September the summering of the Ute Park came to a close. The
cold begins early at that elevation, and light frosts and red leaves
warned the dwellers in tents and cabins to flee.

Clover made her preparations for departure with real reluctance. She had
grown very fond of the place; but Phil was perfectly himself again, and
there seemed no reason for their staying longer.

So back to St. Helen's they went and to Mrs. Marsh, who, in reply to
Clover's letter, had written that she must make room for them somehow,
though for the life of her she couldn't say how. It proved to be in two
small back rooms. An irruption of Eastern invalids had filled the house to
overflowi