The Independence of Claire

By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey________________________________________________________________________This is a rather typical Horne Vaizey book, about the life led by youngwell-brought-up women in Edwardian times. Worries about money, aboutwho to marry, whether to go or not to parties to be given by elderlyhostesses, about clothes, about hair-styles, and even, as so often inthis author's books, with a bit of illness thrown in as well. 

There's a time when Claire seems on the way to making a big mistake, butit all gets sorted out in the end. Make an audiobook of this book -that is probably the best way to enjoy it. ________________________________________________________________________THE INDEPENDENCE OF CLAIRE

BY MRS. GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY

CHAPTER ONE. 

"I'LL HAVE TO DO IT. "

Claire Gifford stood in the salon of the Brussels pension which had beenher home for the last three years, and bent her brows in considerationof an all-absorbing problem. "Can I marry him?" she asked herself onceand again, with the baffling result that every single time her brainanswered instantly, "_You must_!" the while her heart rose up inrebellion, and cried, "I won't!" Many girls have found themselves inthe same predicament before and since, but few have had stronger reasonsfor sacrificing personal inclination on the altar of filial duty thanClaire knew at this minute. 

To begin with, the relationship between herself and her mother was moreintimate than is usually the case, for Claire was an only child, andMrs Gifford a widow only eighteen years older than herself. Brieflystated, the family history was as follows--Eleanor Guyther had been theonly child of stern, old-world parents, and at seventeen had run awayfrom the house which had been more like a prison than a home, to marry ahandsome young artist who had been painting in the neighbourhood duringthe summer months; a handsome merry-faced boy of twenty-one, whoseportrait Claire treasured in an old-fashioned gold locket, long sincediscarded by her mother, who followed the fashion in jewellery as wellas in dress. It was strange to look at the face of a father who was noolder than oneself, and Claire had spent many hours gazing at thepictured face, and trying to gain from it some idea of the personalityof the man of whom her mother persistently refused to speak. 

Mrs Gifford shrank from all disagreeables, great and small, andsystematically turned her back on anything which was disturbing orpainful, so that it was only from chance remarks that her daughter hadgained any information about the past. She knew that her father hadbeen a successful artist, although not in the highest sense of the term. He had a trick of turning out pretty domestic pictures which appealedto the taste of the million, and which, being purchased by enterprisingdealers, were reproduced in cheap prints to deck the walls of suburbanparlours. While he lived he made a sufficient income, and before hisdeath a formal reconciliation had taken place between the runawaydaughter and her north-country parents, from whom she later inheritedthe money which had supported herself and her daughter throughout theyears of her widowhood. 

Claire had the vaguest idea as to the amount of her mother's means, foruntil the last few years the question of money had never arisen, theyhad simply decided what they wished to do, without considering the cost, but of late there had been seasons of financial tightness, and themorning on which this history begins had brought a most disagreeableawakening. 

Mrs Gifford was seated in the salon staring disconsolately at a notewhich had just arrived by the afternoon post. It was a verydisagreeable note, for it stated in brief and callous terms that heraccount at the bank was overdrawn to the extent of three hundred francs, and politely requested that the deficit should be made good. Clairelooked flushed and angry; Mrs Gifford looked pathetic and pale. 

It seemed, in the first place, quite ludicrous that such a relationshipas that of mother and daughter should exist between two women who lookedso nearly of an age, and Mrs Gifford's youthful appearance was astanding joke in the Pension. Every new visitor was questioned byMadame as to the relationship between the two English ladies, and neverhad one of the number failed to reply "sisters, " and to be convulsedwith astonishment when corrected; and in good truth Mrs Gifford was awonderful specimen of the prolonged youth which is a phenomenon of thepresent day. 

She was slight, she was graceful, her waving brown hair was as naturallyluxuriant as that of a girl, her complexion was smooth and fair, herpretty features were unchanged, she dressed with good taste, and, thoughsecretly proud of her youthful looks, was never so foolish as to adoptkittenish airs to match. Her manner was quiet, gracious, appealing; alittle air of pathos enveloped her like a mist; on strangers she madethe impression of a lovely creature who had known suffering. Everybodywas kind to Mrs Gifford, and she in return had never been known toutter an unkind word. She had been born with the faculty of lovingeverybody a little, and no one very much, which--if one comes to thinkof it--is the most powerful of all factors towards securing an easylife, since it secures the owner from the possibility of keen personalsuffering. 

At the present moment Mrs Gifford did, however, look really perturbed, for, after shutting her eyes to a disagreeable fact, and keeping themshut with much resolution and--it must be added--ease, for many yearspast, she was now driven to face the truth, and to break it to herdaughter into the bargain. 

"But I don't understand!" Claire repeated blankly. "How _can_ themoney be gone? We have spent no more this year than for years past. Ishould think we have spent less. I haven't been extravagant a bit. Youoffered me a new hat only last week, and I said I could do without--"

"Yes, yes, of course. It's quite true, _cherie_, you have been mostgood. But, you see, ours has not been a case of an income that goes onyear after year--it never was, even from the beginning. There was notenough. And you _did_ have a good education, didn't you? I sparednothing on it. It's folly to stint on a girl's education. --It was oneof the best schools in Paris. "

"It was, mother; but we are not talking about schools. Do let us get tothe bottom of this horrid muddle! If it isn't a case of `income, ' whatcan it be? I'm ignorant about money, for you have always managedbusiness matters, but I can't see what else we can have been livingupon?"

Mrs Gifford crinkled her delicate brows, and adopted an air ofplaintive self-defence. 

"I'm sure it's as great a shock to me as it is to you; but, under thecircumstances, I do think I managed very well. It was only ninethousand pounds at the beginning, and I've made it last over thirteenyears, _with_ your education! And since we've been here, for the lastthree years, I've given you a good time, and taken you to everythingthat was going on. Naturally it all costs. Naturally money can't lastfor ever... "

The blood flooded the girl's face. Now at last she _did_ understand, and the knowledge filled her with awe. 

"Mother! Do you mean that we have been living all this time on_capital_?"

Mrs Gifford shrugged her shoulders, and extended her hands in anattitude typically French. 

"What would you, _ma chere_? Interest is so ridiculously low. Theyoffered me three per cent. Four was considered high. How could we havelived on less than three hundred a year? Your school bills came tonearly as much, and I had to live, too, and keep you in the holidays. Idid what I thought was the best. We should both have been miserable incheap pensions, stinting ourselves of everything we liked. The moneyhas made us happy for thirteen years. "

Claire rose from her seat and walked over to the window. The road intowhich she looked was wide and handsome, lined with a double row oftrees. The sun shone on the high white houses with the green_jalousies_, which stood _vis-a-vis_ with the Pension. Along thecobble-stoned path a dog was dragging a milk-cart, the gleaming brasscans clanking from side to side; through the open window came the faintindescribable scent which distinguishes a continental from a Britishcity. Claire stared with unseeing eyes, her heart beating with heavythuds. She conjured up the image of a man's face--a strong kindlyface--a face which might well make the sunshine of some woman's life, but which made no appeal to her own heart. She set her lips, and twobright spots of colour showed suddenly in her cheeks. So smooth anduneventful had been her life that this was the first time that she hadfound herself face to face with serious difficulty, and, after the firstshock of realisation, her spirit rose to meet it. She straightened hershoulders as if throwing off a weight, and her heart cried valiantly, "It's my own life, and I will _not_ be forced! There must be some otherway. It's for me to find it!"

Suddenly she whirled round, and walked back to her mother. 

"Mother, if you knew how little money was left, why wouldn't you let meaccept Miss Farnborough's offer at Christmas!"

For a moment Mrs Gifford's face expressed nothing but bewilderment. Then comprehension dawned. 

"You mean the school-mistress from London? What was it she suggested?That you should go to her as a teacher? It was only a suggestion, sofar as I remember. She made no definite offer. "

"Oh, yes, she did. She said that she had everlasting difficulty withher French mistresses, and that I was the very person for whom she'dbeen looking. Virtually French, yet really English in temperament. Shemade me a definite offer of a hundred and ten pounds a year. "

Mrs Gifford laughed, and shrugged her graceful shoulders. She appearedto find the proposal supremely ridiculous, yet when people were withoutmoney, the only sane course seemed to be to take what one could get. Claire felt that she had not yet mastered the situation. There must besomething behind which she had still to grasp. 

"Well, never mind the school for a moment, mother dear. Tell me what_you_ thought of doing. You must have had some plan in your head allthese years while the money was dwindling away. Tell me your scheme, then we can compare the two and see which is better. "

Mrs Gifford bent her head over the table, and scribbled aimlessly witha pen in which there was no ink. She made no answer in words, yet asshe waited the blood flamed suddenly over Claire's face, for it seemedto her that she divined what was in her mother's mind. "I expected thatyou would marry. I have done my best to educate you and give you ahappy youth. I expected that you would accept your first good offer, and look after _me_!"

That was what a French mother would naturally say to her daughter; thatwas what Claire Gifford believed that her own mother was saying to herat that moment, and the accusation brought little of the revolt which anEnglish girl would have experienced. Claire had been educated at aParisian boarding school, and during the last three years had associatedalmost entirely with French-speaking Andrees and Maries and Celestes, who took for granted that their husbands should be chosen for them bytheir parents. Claire had assisted at betrothal feasts, and played_demoiselle d'honneur_ at subsequent weddings, and had witnessed anastonishing degree of happiness as an outcome of these business-likeunions. At this moment she felt no anger against her own mother forhaving tried to follow a similar course. Her prevailing sensation wasannoyance with herself for having been so difficult to lead. 

"It must be my English blood. Somehow, when it came to the point, Inever _could_. But Mr Judge is different from most men. He is so goodand generous and unmercenary. He'd be kind to mother, and let her livewith us, and make no fuss. He is as charming to her as he is to me. Oh, dear, I _am_ selfish! I _am_ a wretch! It isn't as if I were inlove with anyone else. I'm not. Perhaps I never shall be. I'll neverhave the chance if I live in lodgings and spend my life teachingirregular verbs. Why can't I be sensible and French, and marry him andlive happily ever after? _Pauvre petite mere_! Why can't I think of_her_?"

Suddenly Claire swooped down upon her mother's drooping figure, wrappedher in loving arms, and swung her gently to and fro. She was a tall, strikingly graceful girl, with a face less regularly beautiful than hermother's, but infinitely more piquant and attractive. She was moreplump and rounded than the modern English girl, and her complexion lesspink and white, but she was very neat and dainty and smart, possesseddeep-set, heavily-lashed grey eyes, red lips which curled mischievouslyupward at the corner, and a pair of dimples on her soft left cheek. 

The dimples were in full play at this moment; the large one was just onthe level with the upward curl of the lips, the smaller one nestledclose to its side. In repose they were almost unnoticed, but at theslightest lighting of expression, at the first dawn of a smile, theydanced into sight and became the most noticeable feature of her face. Claire without her dimples would have been another and far lessfascinating personality. 

"Mother darling, forgive me! Kiss me, _cherie_--don't look sad! I_have_ had a good time, and we'll have a good time yet, if it is in mypower to get it for you. Cheer up! Things won't be as bad as you fear. We won't allow them to be bad. ... How much does the horrid old banksay that we owe? Three hundred francs. I can pay it out of my ownlittle savings. Does it mean literally that there is nothing more, nothing at all--not a single sou?"

"Oh no. I have some shares. They have been worthless for years, butjust lately they have gone up. I was asking Mr Judge about themyesterday. He says I might get between two and three hundred pounds. They were worth a thousand, years ago. "

Claire brightened with the quick relief of youth. Two or three hundredEnglish pounds were a considerable improvement on a debit account. Withtwo or three hundred pounds much might yet be done. Thousands of peoplehad built up great fortunes on smaller foundations. In a vague, indefinite fashion she determined to devote these last pounds tosettling herself in some business, which would ensure a speedy andgenerous return. School teaching was plainly out of the question, sincetwo gentlewomen could not exist on a hundred and ten pounds a year. Shemust think of something quicker, more lucrative. 

All through dinner that evening Claire debated her future vocation asshe sat by her mother's side, halfway down the long dining-table whichto English eyes appeared so bare and unattractive, but which was yetsupplied with the most appetising of food. Claire's eyes wereaccustomed to the lack of pretty detail; she had quite an affection forthe Pension which stood for home in her migratory life, and a real lovefor Madame Dupre, the cheery, kindly, most capable proprietor. Such ofthe _pensionnaires_ as were not purely birds of passage she regarded asfriends rather than acquaintances; the only person in the room to whomshe felt any antagonism was Mr Judge himself, but unfortunately he wasthe one of all others whom she was expected to like best. 

As she ate her salad and broke fragments of delicious crusty roll, Claire threw furtive glances across the table at the man who for thelast weeks had exercised so disturbing an element in her life. Was itsix weeks or two months, since she and her mother had first made hisacquaintance at the tennis club at which they spent so many of theirafternoons? Claire had noticed that a new man had been present on thatoccasion, had bestowed on him one critical glance, decided with youthfularrogance: "Oh, quite old!" and promptly forgotten his existence, untilan hour later, when, as she was sitting in the pavilion enjoying theluxury of a real English tea, the strange man and her mother had enteredside by side. Claire summoned in imagination the picture of her motheras she had looked at that moment, slim and graceful in the simplest ofwhite dresses, an untrimmed linen hat shading her charming face. Shelooked about twenty-five, and Claire was convinced that she knew asmuch, and that it was a mischievous curiosity to see her companion'ssurprise which prompted her to lead the way across the floor, andformally introduce "My daughter!"

Mr Judge exhibited all the expected signs of bewilderment, but he madehimself exceedingly amiable to the daughter, and it was not until a weeklater that it was discovered that he had concluded that the relationshipmust surely be "step, " when fresh explanations were made, and all thebewilderment came over again. 

Since then, oh, since then, Claire told herself, there had been nogetting away from the man! He was, it appeared, an Indian merchantspending a few months on the Continent, at the conclusion of a year'sleave. He had come to Brussels because of the presence of an old schoolfriend--the same friend who was responsible for the introduction at thetennis club--but week after week passed by, and he showed no dispositionto move on. 

Now Brussels is a very gay and interesting little city, but when Parislooms ahead, and Berlin, Vienna, to say nothing of the beauties ofSwitzerland and the Tyrol, and the artistic treasures of Italy--well! it_did_ seem out of proportion to waste six whole weeks in that one spot!

At the end of the last fortnight, too, Mr Judge declared that he wassick to death of hotels and lonely evenings in smoking rooms, andapproached Madame Dupre with a view to joining the party at Villa BeauSejour. Madame was delighted to receive him, but Claire Gifford toldher mother resentfully that she considered Mr Judge's behaviour "verycool. " How did he know that it would be pleasant for them to have himpoking about morning, noon, and night?

"It isn't _our_ Pension, darling, and he is very nice to you, " MrsGifford had said in return, and as it was impossible to contradicteither statement, Claire had tossed her head, and relapsed into silence. 

For the first weeks of her acquaintance with Mr Judge, Claire hadthoroughly enjoyed his attentions. It was agreeable to know a man whohad a habit of noting your wishes, and then setting to work to bringthem about forthwith, and who was also delightfully extravagant asregards flowers, and seemed to grow chocolates in his coat pockets. Itwas only when he spoke of moving to the Pension, and her girl friends atthe tennis club began to tease, roll meaning eyes, and ask when she wasto be congratulated, that she took fright. 

Did people really think that she was going to _marry_ Mr Judge?

Lately things had moved on apace, and as a result of the unwelcomerevelations of the morning's post, Claire was to-day asking herself adifferent question. She was no longer occupied with other people; shewas thinking of herself... "Am I going to marry Mr Judge? Oh, goodgracious, is that _My Husband_ sitting over there, and have I got tolive with him every day, as long as we both shall live?"

She shuddered at the thought, but in truth there was nothing to shudderat in Robert Judge's appearance. He was a man of forty, bronzed, andwiry, with agreeable if not regular features. Round his eyes the skinwas deeply furrowed, but the eyes themselves were bright and youthful, and the prevailing expression was one of sincerity and kindliness. Hewore a loose grey tweed suit, with a soft-coloured shirt which showed alength of brown neck. The fingers of his right band were deeply stainedwith tobacco. During _dejeuner_ he carried on a conversation with hisright-hand companion, in exceedingly bad French, but ever and anon heglanced across the table as though his thoughts were not on his words. Once, on looking up suddenly, Claire found his eyes fixed upon herself, with a strained, anxious look, and her heart quickened as she looked, then sank down heavy as lead. 

"It's coming!" she said to herself. "It's coming! There's no runningaway. I'll have to stay, and see it out. Oh, why can't I be French, and sensible? I ought to be thankful to marry such a kind, good man, and be able to give mother a comfortable home!"

But as a matter of fact she was neither glad nor thankful. Despite herFrench training, the English instinct survived and clamoured forliberty, for independence. "It's my own life. If I marry at all, Iwant to choose the man for no other reason than that I love him; not asa duty, and to please somebody else!" Then she glanced at her mothersitting by her side, slim, and graceful, with the little air of pathosand helplessness which even strangers found so appealing, and as she didso, a shiver passed through Claire's veins. 

"But I'll have to do it!" she said to herself helplessly. "I'll have todo it!"

CHAPTER TWO. 

TOO SUCCESSFUL!

The next few days passed by slowly enough. It is a great trial for ayoung creature to realise that a change is inevitable and, at the sametime, that one must be cautious about making it. The impulse is alwaysto rush into action, and it is difficult to sit still and agree with theelderly precept in favour of consideration and delay. If matters hadbeen left to Claire she would have started out forthwith to search for acheap Pension, and would have also despatched a letter to MissFarnborough by the first post, to inquire if the school post were stillopen, but her mother vetoed both proposals, and pleaded so urgently fordelay, that there was nothing left but to agree, and compose herself asbest she might. 

The weather was too hot for tennis, and in truth Claire was not in themood for games. With every hour she realised more keenly that she hadcome to the parting of the ways, and in the prospect of a new life oldinterests lost their savour. Her mother seemed to share herrestlessness, but while Claire preferred to stay indoors, in the privacyof her own room, Mrs Gifford seemed to find relief in action, and wasoften out for hours at a time, without vouchsafing any explanation ofher absence. 

Claire was not curious. She was content to close the green shutters ofher windows, slip into a muslin wrapper, and employ herself at somesimple piece of needlework, which kept her hands busy while leaving herthoughts free. 

Where would she be this time next year? It was a question which nomortal can answer with certainty, but many of us are happy in theprobability that we shall be still living in the same dear home, surrounded by the people and the objects which we love, whereas Claire'sone certainty was that she must move on to fresh scenes. Bombay orLondon--that seemed the choice ahead! Matrimony or teaching. On theone hand a luxurious home, carriages and horses, a staff of servants, and apparently as much society as one desired, with the incubus of ahusband whom she did not love, and who was twenty years her senior. Onthe other hand, work and poverty, with the advantages of freedom andindependence. 

Claire's eyes brightened at the sound of those two words, for dear asliberty is to the heart of an Englishwoman, it was in prospect dearerstill to this girl who had been educated in a country still enslaved bychaperonage, and had never known a taste of real freedom of action. Mrs Gifford had been as strict as or stricter than any Belgian mother, being rightly determined that no breath of scandal should touch herdaughter's name; therefore wherever Claire went, some responsible femalewent with her. She was chaperoned to church, chaperoned on her morningconstitutional, a chaperon sat on guard during the period of music anddrawing lessons, and at their conclusion escorted her back to thePension. What wonder that the thought of life as a bachelor girl inLondon seemed full of a thrilling excitement!

Suppose for one minute that she decided on London--what would become ofmother? Again and again Claire asked herself this question, again andagain she recalled the interview between herself and the headmistress, Miss Farnborough, when the subject of teaching had been discussed. Ithad happened one morning in the salon of the Pension, when Claire hadbeen coaching an English visitor in preparation for a French interviewwhich lay ahead, and Miss Farnborough, laying down her book, hadlistened with smiling interest. Then the Englishwoman left the room, and Miss Farnborough had said, "You did that very cleverly; verycleverly indeed! You have a very happy knack of putting things simplyand forcibly. I've noticed it more than once. Have you ever done anyteaching?"

"None professionally, " Claire had replied with a laugh, "but a greatdeal by chance. I seem to drift into the position of coach to most ofthe English visitors here. It pleases them, and it interests me. And Iused to help the French girls with their English at school. "

Then Miss Farnborough had inquired with interest as to the details ofClaire's education, the schools she had attended, the examinations shehad passed, and finally had come the critical question, "Have you everthought of taking up teaching as a profession?"

Claire had never thought of taking up work of any kind, but thesuggestion roused a keen interest, as one of the temporary "tight" timeswas in process, so that the prospect of money-making seemed particularlyagreeable. She discussed the subject carefully, and out of thatdiscussion had arisen the final offer of a post. 

The junior French mistress in the High School of which Miss Farnboroughwas head was leaving at midsummer. If Claire wished she could take herplace, at a salary beginning at a hundred and ten pounds a year. InTrust Schools, of which Saint Cuthbert's was one, there was no fixedscale of advancement, but a successful teacher could reach a salary of, say, two hundred a year by the time she was thirty-eight or forty, asagainst the permanent sixty or seventy offered to mistresses inresidential schools of a higher grade. Miss Farnborough's mistresseswere women trained at the various universities; the school itself wassituated in a fashionable neighbourhood, and its pupils were for themost part daughters of professional men, and gentlefolk of moderateincomes. There was no pension scheme, and mistresses had to live out, but with care and economy they could take out some insurance to providefor old age. 

Claire took little interest in her own old age, which seemed too faraway to count, but she was intensely interested in the immediate future, and had been hurt and annoyed when her mother had waved aside theproposal as unworthy of serious consideration. And now, only threemonths after Miss Farnborough's departure, the crisis had arisen, andthat hundred and ten pounds assumed a vastly increased value. Supposingthat the post was accepted, and mother and daughter started life inLondon with a capital of between two and three hundred pounds, and asalary of one hundred and ten, as regular income--how long would thenest-egg last out?

Judging from the experience of past years, a very short time indeed, andwhat would happen after that? Claire had read gruesome tales of thestruggles of women in like positions, overtaken by illness, losing thesalaries which represented their all, brought face to face with actualstarvation, and in the midst of the midsummer heat, little shivers offear trickled up and down her spine as she realised how easily she andher mother might drift into a like position. 

Then, on the other hand, Bombay! Indian houses were large; mother couldhave her own rooms. In the hot weather they would go together to thehills, leaving Mr Judge behind. How long did the hot season last, fouror five months? Nearly half the year, perhaps. It would be only halfas bad as marrying a man for money in Europe, for you would get rid ofhim all that time! Claire shrugged her shoulders and laughed, and twominutes later whisked away a tear, dedicated to the memory of girlishdreams. Useless to dream any longer, she was awake now, and must facelife in a sensible manner. Her duty was to marry Robert Judge, and tomake a home for her mother. 

Another girl might have cherished anger against the recklessness whichhad landed her in such a trap, but after the first shock of discoverythere had been no resentment in Claire's heart. She implicitly believedher mother's assurance that according to her light she had acted for thebest, and echoed with heartiness the assertion that the money hadprovided a good time for thirteen long years. 

They had not been rich, but there had been a feeling of sufficiency. They had had comfortable quarters, pretty clothes, delightful holidayjourneys, a reasonable amount of gaiety, and, over and beyond all, theadvantages of an excellent education. Claire's happy nature rememberedher benefits, and made short work of the rest. Poor, beautiful mother!who could expect her to be prudent and careful, like any ordinary, prosaic, middle-aged woman?

Even as the thought passed through the girl's mind the door of thebedroom opened, and Mrs Gifford appeared on the threshold. She wore alarge shady hat, and in the dim light of the room her face was notclearly visible, but there was a tone in her voice which arousedClaire's instant curiosity. Mother was trying to speak in her ordinaryvoice, but she was nervous, she was agitated. She was not feelingordinary at all. 

"Claire, _cherie_, we are going to the forest to have tea. It isimpossibly hot indoors, but it will be delightful under the trees. MrJudge has sent for a _fiacre_, and Miss Benson has asked to come too. Put on your blue muslin and your big hat. Be quick, darling! I'llfasten you up. "

"I'd rather not go, thank you, mother. I'm quite happy here. Don'ttrouble about me!"

Mrs Gifford was obviously discomposed. She hesitated, frowned, walkedrestlessly up and down, then spoke again with an added note ofinsistence--

"But I want you to come, Claire. I've not troubled you before, becauseI saw you wanted to be alone, but--it can't go on. Mr Judge wants youto come. He suggested the drive because he thought it would tempt you. If you refuse to-day, he will ask you again to-morrow. I think, dear, you ought to come. "

Claire was silent. She felt sick and faint; all over her body littlepulses seemed to be whizzing like so many alarm clocks, all crying ininsistent voices, "Time's up! Time's up! No more lazing. Up with you, and do your duty!" Her forehead felt very damp and her throat felt verydry, and she heard a sharp disagreeable voice saying curtly--

"Oh, certainly, I will come. No need to make a fuss. I can dressmyself, thank you. I'll come down when I'm ready!"

Mrs Gifford turned without a word and went out of the room, but Clairewas too busy being sorry for herself to have sympathy to spare foranyone else. She threw off her wrapper and slipped into the cool muslindress which was at once so simple, and so essentially French and up-to-date, and then, throwing open the door of a cupboard, stared at a longrow of hats ranged on a top shelf, and deliberately selected the onewhich she considered the least becoming. 

"I will _not_ be decked up for the sacrifice!" she mutteredrebelliously, then bent forward, so that her face approached close tothe flushed, frowning reflection in the glass. "You are going to beproposed to, my dear!" she said scornfully. "You are going to be goodand sensible, and say `Yes, please!' When you see yourself next, youwill be Engaged! It won't be dear little Claire Gifford any more, itwill be the horrible future Mrs Robert Judge!"

She stuck hat-pins through the straw hat with savage energy; for once inher life noticed with distinct satisfaction that it was secured at anunbecoming angle, then, hearing through the _jalousies_ the sound ofapproaching wheels, marched resolutely forth to meet her fate... 

In the _fiacre_ Mrs Gifford and Miss Benson took the seats of honour, leaving Claire and Mr Judge to sit side by side, and the one furtiveglance which she cast in his direction showed him looking confident andunperturbed. Just like a French _pretendu_, already assured by Mamanthat Mademoiselle was meekly waiting to assent to his suit!

"He might at least pay me the compliment of _pretending_! It isdreadfully dull to be taken for granted, " reflected Claire in disgust. 

The next hour was a horrible experience. Everything happened exactly asClaire had known it would, from the moment the quartette set forth. Arrived at the forest, they took possession of one of the little tablesbeneath the trees, and made fitful conversation the while they consumeddelicious cakes and execrable tea. Then the meal being finished, MrsGifford and her companion announced a wish to sit still and rest, whileMr Judge nervously invited Miss Claire to accompany him in a walk. Sheassented, of course; what was the use of putting it off? and as soon asthey were well started, he spied another seat, and insisted upon sittingdown once more. 

"Now he'll begin, " thought Claire desperately. "He'll talk about India, and being lonely, and say how happy he has felt since he's been here, "and even as the thought passed through her mind, Mr Judge began tospeak. 

"Awfully jolly old forest this is--awfully nice place Brussels, altogether. Nicest place in the world. Never been so happy in my lifeas I've been the last month. Of course, naturally, you must realisethat, when a fellow hangs on week after week, there--er, there must besome special attraction. Not that it isn't a rattling old city, and allthat!" Mr Judge was growing a little mixed: his voice sounded flurriedand nervous, but Claire was not in the least inclined to help him. Shesat rigid as a poker, staring stolidly ahead. There was not the ghostof a dimple in her soft pink cheeks. 

"I--er, your mother tells me that she has said nothing to you, but sheis sure, all the same, that you suspect. I asked her to let me speak toyou to-day. Naturally she feels the difficulty. She is devoted to you. You know that, of course. I have told her that I will make yourhappiness my special charge. There is nothing in the world I would notdo to ensure it. You know that too, don't you, Claire?"

He stretched out his hand and touched her tentatively on the arm, butClaire drew herself back with a prickly dignity. If he wanted topropose at all, he must propose properly; she was not going to commitherself in response to an insinuation. 

"You are very kind. I am quite happy as I am. "

"Er--yes--yes, of course, but--but things don't go on, you know, can'tgo on always without a change!"

Mr Judge took off his straw hat, twirled it nervously to and fro, andlaid it down on the bench by his side. Claire, casting a quick glance, noticed that his hair was growing noticeably thin on the temples, andfelt an additional sinking of spirits. 

"Claire!" cried the man desperately, "don't let us beat about the bush. I'm not used to this sort of thing--don't make it harder than you need!You _have_ noticed, haven't you? You know what I want to tell you?"

Claire nodded dumbly. In the case of previous Belgian admirers affairshad been checked before they reached the extreme stage, and she foundthis, her first spoken proposal much less exciting than she hadexpected. As a friend pure and simple, she had thoroughly liked MrJudge, and at the bottom of her heart there lived a lingering hope thatperhaps if he loved her very much, and expressed his devotion in veryeloquent words, her heart might soften in response. But so far he hadnot even mentioned love! She was silent for several minutes, and whenshe did speak it was to ask a side question. 

"Is mother willing to go to India?"

She was looking at the man as she spoke, and the change which passedover his face, startled her by its intensity. His eyes shone, therugged features were transfigured by a very radiance of joy. He lookedyoung at that moment, young and handsome, and blissfully content. Claire stared at him in amazement, not unmingled with irritation. Evenif mother _were_ willing, her own consent had still to be obtained. Itwas tactless to make so sure!

Her own face looked decidedly sulky as she twitched round on her seat, and resumed her stolid staring into space. Again there was silence, till a hand stretched out to clasp her arm, and a voice spoke in deepappealing accents--

"Claire, dear child, you are young; you have never known loneliness ordisappointment. We have! Happiness is fifty times more precious, whenit comes to those who have suffered. You would not be cruel enough todamp our happiness! You _can_ do it, you know, if you persist in anattitude of coldness and disapproval. I don't say you can destroy it. Thank God! it goes too deep for anyone to be able to do that. But youcan rub off the bloom. Don't do it, Claire! Be generous. Be yourself. Wish us good luck!"

"Wish _who_ good luck? What, oh, what are you talking about?" Clairewas gasping now, quivering with a frenzy of excitement. Robert Judgestared in return, his face full of an honest bewilderment. 

"Of our engagement, of course. Your mother's engagement to me. I havebeen talking about it all the time!"

Then Claire threw up both her hands, and burst into a wild peal oflaughter. Peal after peal rang out into the air, she rocked to and froon her seat, her eyes disappeared from view, her teeth shone, her littlefeet in their dainty French shoes danced upon the ground; she laughedtill the tears poured down her cheeks, and her gloved hands pressedagainst her side where a "stitch" was uncomfortably making itself felt. Stout Belgian couples passing past the end of the avenue, looked on withindulgent smiles, a little shocked at so much demonstration in public, but relieved to perceive that _une Anglaise_ could laugh with such_abandon_. Monsieur they observed looked not sympathetic. Monsieur hadan air injured, annoyed, on his dignity. On his cheeks was a flush, asof wounded pride. When at length the paroxysm showed signs oflessening, he spoke in cold stilted tones. 

"You appear to find it ridiculous. It seems to amuse you very much. Imay say that to us it is a serious matter!"

"Oh no! You don't understand--you _don't_ understand!" gasped Clairefeebly. "I am not laughing at you. I'm laughing at myself. Oh, MrJudge, you'll never guess, it's too screamingly funny for words. Ithought all this time, from the very beginning I thought, it was _me_!"

"You thought it was--you thought I wanted--that I was talking of--that Imeant to propose to--"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Me! Me! Me! Of course I did. I've been thinkingit for weeks. Everyone thought so. They've teased me to death. Youwere attentive to me, you know you were. You were always giving methings ... "

"Well, of course!" Poor Mr Judge defended himself with honestindignation. "What else could I do? I could not give them to _her_!And I wanted--naturally I wanted, to get you on my side. You were thedifficulty. I knew that if she had only herself to consider I could winher round, but if you ranged yourself against me, it would be a hardfight. Naturally I tried to ingratiate myself. It appears that I haverather overdone the part, but I can't flatter myself, " his eyes twinkledmischievously, "that I've been too successful! You don't appear exactlyovercome with disappointment!"

They laughed together, but only for a moment. Then he was seriousagain, appealing to her in earnest tones. 

"You won't range yourself against me, Claire? You won't dissuade her. --I love her very dearly, and I know I can make her happy. You won't makeit hard for us?"

"Indeed, I won't! Why should I?" Claire cried heartily. "I'm only toothankful. Mother needs someone to look after her, and I'd sooner youdid it than anyone else. I like you awfully--always did, until I beganto be afraid--I didn't want to marry you myself, but if mother does, Ithink it's a splendid thing. "

"Thank you, dear, thank you a thousand times. That's a _great_ relief. "Robert Judge stretched himself with a deep breath of satisfaction. Then he grew confidential, reviewing the past with true lover-likeenjoyment. 

"I fell in love with her that first afternoon at the tennis club. Thought Bridges introduced her as Miss Gifford, put her down at twenty-five, and hoped she wouldn't think me a hopeless old fogey. Never hadsuch a surprise in my life as when she introduced you. Thought for atime I should have to give it up. Then she asked my advice on one ortwo business matters, and I discovered--" He hesitated, flushinguncomfortably, and Claire finished the sentence. 

"That we are coming to the end of our resources?"

Mr Judge nodded. 

"And so, of course, " he continued simply, "that settled it. I couldn'tgo away and leave her to face a struggle. I was jolly thankful to feelthat I had met her in time. "

"I think you are a dear, good man. I think mother is very lucky. Thankyou so much for being my step-papa!" cried Claire, her grey eyessoftening with a charming friendliness as they dwelt on the man's honestface, and he took her hand in his, and squeezed it with affectionateardour. 

"Thank you, my dear. Thank _you_! I shall be jolly proud of havingsuch a pretty daughter. I'm not a rich man, but I am comfortably well-off, and I'll do my best to give you a good time. Your mother feelssure she will enjoy the Indian life. Most girls think it great fun. And of course I have lots of friends. "

Claire stared at him, a new seriousness dawning in her eyes. She lookedvery pretty and very young, and not a little pathetic into the bargain. For the first time since the realisation of her mistake the personalapplication of the situation burst upon her, and a chill crept throughher veins. If she herself had married Robert Judge, her mother wouldhave made her home with them as a matter of course; but it was by nomeans a matter of course that she should make her home with her mother. She stared into the honest face of the man before her--the man who wasnot rich, the man who was in love for the first time in his life, and asmile twisted the corner of her lips. 

"Mr Judge, if I ask you a question, will you promise to give me anabsolutely honest answer?"

"Yes, I will. "

"Well, then, will you _like_ having a third person living with you allthe time?"

Up to the man's forehead rushed the treacherous blood. He frowned, hescowled, he opened his lips to protest; but that flush had answered forhim, and Claire refused to listen. "No, no--don't! Of course youwouldn't. Who would, in your place? Poor darlings--I quite understand. You _are_ middle-aged, you know, though you feel about nineteen, andmother is prettier and more charming than half the girl brides. And youwill want to be just as young and foolish as you like, not to be_obliged_ to be sensible because a grown-up daughter is there all thetime, staring at you with big eyes? I should be in the way, and Ishould _feel_ in the way, and--"

Mr Judge interrupted in an urgent voice:

"Look here, Claire, I don't think you ought to corner me like this. It's not fair. I've told you that I am prepared to do everything foryour happiness. You ought surely to realise that I--"

"And _you_ ought to realise that I--" Claire broke off suddenly, andheld out her hand with a charming smile. "Oh, but there's plenty oftime--we can arrange all that later on. Let's go and find mother andput her out of her misery. She will be longing to see us come back. "

They walked down the avenue together, and, as they went, Claire turnedher head from side to side, taking in the well-known scene with wistfulintensity. How many times would she see it again? As she had said, many discussions would certainly take place as to her futuredestination, but she knew in her heart that the result was sure. Providence had decided or her. The future was London and work!

CHAPTER THREE. 

MRS. GIFFORD IS MARRIED. 

Claire lost no time in writing to Miss Farnborough to apply for the postof French mistress if it were still vacant, and by return of postreceived a cordial reply. Several applications had been received, butno appointment had been made, and the Head was pleased to confirm herprevious offer of a commencing salary of a hundred and ten pounds, andwould expect Miss Gifford to take up her duties at the beginning of theautumn term. She congratulated her on her decision, and felt sure shewould never regret devoting her life to so interesting and valuable awork, instead of being content to waste it in the pursuit of idlepleasure. 

Poor Claire looked a little dubious as she read those last words. Thepursuit of pleasure does not as a rule begin to pall at twenty-one; andthe old life looked very sweet and pleasant viewed from the newstandpoint of change. She put on a bright face, however, and sternlyrepressed all signs of depression in discussing the matter with hermother and Mr Judge. Her determination evoked the expected opposition, but slowly and surely the opposition decreased, and her arguments werelistened to with increasing respect. The lovers were sincerely desirousof securing the girl's happiness, but middle-aged though they were, theywere deeply in love, and felt a natural desire to begin their marriedlife without the presence of a third person, however dear that personmight be. 

Mr Judge applauded Claire's spirit, and prophesied her rapid success asa teacher. Mrs Gifford murmured sweetly, "And if you _don't_ like it, dear, you can always come out by the next boat. Try it for a year. Itwill be quite an amusing experience to live the life of a bachelor girl. And, of course, in a year or two we'll be coming home. Then you mustspend the whole leave with us. We'll see, won't we? We won't make anyplans, but just be guided by circumstances. If you want somewhere to goin the holidays, there's my old Aunt Mary in Preston, but you'd be boredto sobs, darling. No doubt Miss Farnborough will introduce you to lotsof nice people in London, and you will have all the fifteen othermistresses to take you about. I expect you'll be quite gay! ... Claire, darling, _would_ you have gold tissue under this ninon, or justa handsome lace?"

For the next few weeks things moved quickly. In answer to inquiriesabout lodgings, Miss Farnborough wrote a second time to say that MissRhodes, the English mistress, had comfortable rooms which she wassharing with the present French teacher. She was willing to continuethe arrangement, and, as a stranger in town, Claire would doubtless findit agreeable as well as economical. The letter was entirely business-like and formal, and, as such, a trifle chilling to Claire, for MissFarnborough had been so warm in her spoken invitation that Claire hadexpected a more cordial welcome. Could it be that the shadow ofofficialdom was already making itself felt?

The next few weeks were given up to trousseau-hunting and farewellvisits, and no girl could have shown a livelier interest in theselection of pretty things than did this bride of thirty-nine. Clairecame in for a charming costume to wear at the wedding, and for the rest, what fitted her mother fitted herself, and as Mrs Gifford said sweetly, "It would be a sin to waste all my nice things, but they're quiteunsuitable for India. Just use them out, darling, for a month or two, and then get what you need, " an arrangement which seemed sensibleenough, if one could only be sure of money to supply that need when itarose!

The day before her marriage Mrs Gifford thrust an envelope into herdaughter's hand, blushing the while with an expression of real distress. 

"I'm so sorry, darling, that it's so little. I've tried to be careful, but the money has flown. Going out to India one needs so many clothes, and there were quite a number of bills. I'll send more by and by, andremember always to say if you run short. I want you to have plenty forall you need. With what you have, this will see you nicely through yourfirst term, and after that you'll be quite rich. "

Claire kissed her, and was careful not to look at the cheque until shewas alone. She had counted on at least a hundred to put in the bank asa refuge against a rainy day. Surely at this parting of the ways motherwould wish her to have this security; but when she looked at her cheque, it was to discover that it was made out for fifty pounds--only half thatsum. Claire felt sore at that moment, and for the first time a chill offear entered into her anticipations. Fifty pounds seemed a dreadfullysmall sum to stand between herself and want. A hundred might be onlytwice its value, but its three figures sounded so much more substantial. She struggled hard to allow no signs of resentment to be seen, and feltthat virtue was rewarded, when late that evening Mr Judge presented herwith yet another envelope, saying awkwardly--

"That's--er--that's the bridesmaid's present. Thought you'd like tochoose for yourself. Something to do, you know, some fine half-holiday, to go out and look in the shops. I've no views--don't get jewelleryunless you wish. Just--er--`blew it' your own way!"

Claire kissed him, and remarked that he was a sweet old dear; and thistime the opening of the envelope brought a surprise of an agreeablenature, for this cheque also was for fifty pounds, so that the desiredhundred was really in her possession. No jewellery for her! Into thebank the money should go--every penny of it, and her bridesmaid presentshould be represented by peace of mind, which, after the financial shockof the last month, seemed more precious than many rubies. 

Mr and Mrs Judge were married at the Embassy, and afterwards at anEnglish church, the bride looking her most charming self in a costume ofdiaphanous chiffon and lace and the most fascinating of French hats, andthe bridegroom his worst in his stiff conventional garments. They werea very radiant couple, however, and the _dejeuner_ held after theceremony at the "Hotel Britannique" was a cheerful occasion, despite theparting which lay ahead. 

The gathering was quite a large one, for Mr Judge had insisted uponinviting all the friends who had been kind to his _fiancee_ and herdaughter during their three years' sojourn in the city, while the_pensionnaires_ at "Villa Beau Sejour" came _en masse_, headed by Madameherself, in a new black silk costume, her white transformationelaborately waved and curled for the occasion. 

There were speeches, and there were toasts. There were kindly words offarewell and cheerful anticipations of future meetings, there were goodwishes for the bride and bridegroom, and more good wishes for thebridesmaid, and many protestations that it was "her turn next. "

Then the bride retired to change her dress. Claire went with her, andtried valiantly not to cry as she fastened buttons and hooks, andrealised how long it might be before she next waited on her mother. Mrs Judge was tearful, too, and the two knew a bitter moment as theyclung together for the real farewell before rejoining the guests. 

"I've been careless; I've made a mess of things. I've not been half asthoughtful as I should have been, " sobbed the bride, "but I _have_ lovedyou, Claire, and this will make no difference! I shall love you justthe same. "

Claire flushed and nodded, but could not trust herself to speak. Thelove of a mother in far-off India could never be the same as the love ofthe dear companion of every day. But she was too generous to add to hermother's distress by refusing to be comforted, and the bride nervouslypowdered her eyes, and re-arranged her veil before descending to thehall, anxious as ever to shelve a painful subject, and turn her face tothe sun. 

Five minutes later Mr and Mrs Judge drove away from the door, and thegirl who was left behind turned slowly to re-enter the hotel. It wasvery big, and fine, and spacious, but at that moment it was a type ofdesolation in Claire's eyes. With a sickening wave of loneliness sherealised that she was motherless and alone!

CHAPTER FOUR. 

A FELLOW TRAVELLER INTRODUCES HERSELF. 

The next afternoon Claire started on her journey to London. She hadspent the night with friends, and been seen off at the station by quitea crowd of well-wishers. Little souvenirs had been showered upon herall the morning, and everyone had a kindly word, and a hopeful prophecyof the future. There were invitations also, and promises to look her upin her London home, and a perfect shower of violets thrown into thecarriage as the train steamed out of the station, and Claire laughed andwaved her hand, and looked so complacent and beaming that no one lookingon could have guessed the real nature of her journey. She was notpretending to be cheerful, she _was_ cheerful, for, the dreaded partingonce over, her optimistic nature had asserted itself, and painted thelife ahead in its old rosy colours. Mother was happy and secured fromwant; she herself was about to enjoy a longed-for taste forindependence; then why grumble? asked Claire sensibly of herself, andanything less grumbling than her appearance at that moment it would behard to imagine. 

She was beautifully dressed, in the simplest but most becoming oftravelling costumes, she was agreeably conscious that the onlookers toher send-off had been unanimously admiring in their regard, and, as shestood arranging her bags on the rack overhead, she saw her own face inthe strip of mirror and whole-heartedly agreed in their verdict. 

"I'm glad I'm pretty! It's a comfort to be pretty. I should grow sotired of being with myself if I were plain!" she reflected complacentlyas she settled herself in her corner, and flicked a few grains of dustfrom the front of her skirt. 

She had taken a through first-class ticket from sheer force of habit, for Mrs Gifford had always travelled first, and the ways of economytake some time to acquire. In the opposite corner of the carriage satan elderly woman, obviously English, obviously also of the _grande dame_species, with aquiline features, white hair dressed pompadour fashion, and an expression compounded of indifference and quizzical good humour. The good humour was in the ascendant as she watched the kindly Belgianscrowd round her fellow-passenger, envelop her in their arms, murmurtearful farewells, and kiss her soundly on either cheek. The finelymarked eyebrows lifted themselves as if in commiseration for the victim, and as the door closed on the last farewell she heaved an involuntarysigh of relief. It was evident that the scene appealed to her entirelyfrom the one standpoint; she saw nothing touching about it, nothingpathetic; she was simply amused, and carelessly scornful ofeccentricities in manner or appearance. 

On the seat beside this imposing personage sat a young woman in black, bearing the hall mark of lady's maid written all over her in capitalletters. She sat stiffly in her seat, one gloved hand on her knee, theother clasped tightly round the handle of a crocodile dressing-bag. 

Claire felt a passing interest in the pair; reflected that if it wereher lot in life to be a maid, she would choose to live on the Continent, where an affectionate intimacy takes the place of this frigidseparation, and then, being young and self-engrossed, promptly forgotall about them, and fell to building castles in the air, in which sheherself lived in every circumstance of affluence and plenty, beloved andadmired of all. There was naturally a prince in the story, a veritablePrince Charming, who was all that the most exacting mind could desire, but the image was vague. Claire's heart had not yet been touched. Shewas still in ignorance as to what manner of man she desired. 

Engaged in these pleasant day-dreams Antwerp was reached before Clairerealised that half the distance was covered. On the quay the wind blewchill; on the boat itself it blew chillier still. Claire became awarethat she was in for a stormy crossing, but was little perturbed by thefact, since she knew herself to be an unusually good sailor. She tippedthe stewardess to fill a hot bottle, put on a cosy dressing-jacket, andlay down in her berth, quite ready for sleep after the fatigue andexcitement of the past week. 

In five minutes the ship and all that was in it was lost in dreams, and, so far as Claire was concerned, it might have been but another fiveminutes before the stewardess aroused her to announce the arrival atParkeston Pier. The first glance around proved, however, that the otherpassengers had found the time all too long. The signs of a bad crossingwere written large on the faces of her companions, and there was a traceof resentment in the manner in which they surveyed her active movements. An old lady in a bunk immediately opposite her own seemed especiallyinjured, and did not hesitate to put her feelings into words, "_You_have had a good enough night! I believe you slept right through... Areyou aware that the rest of us have been more ill than we've ever been inour lives?" she asked in accusing tones. And Claire laughed her happy, gurgling little laugh, and said--

"I'm _so_ sorry, but it's all over, isn't it? And people always saythat they feel better afterwards!"

The old lady grunted. She certainly looked thoroughly ill and wretchedat the moment, her face drawn and yellow beneath her scanty locks, andher whole appearance expressive of an extremity of fatigue. It seemedto her that it was years since she had left the quay at Antwerp, andhere was this young thing as blooming as though she had spent the nightin her own bed! She hitched a shawl more closely over her shoulders, and called aloud in a high imperious tone--

"Mason! Mason! You must really rouse yourself and attend to me. Weshall have to land in a few minutes. Get up at once and bring me mythings!"

The covering of another bunk stirred feebly, and two feet encased inblack merino stockings descended slowly to the floor. A moment later aghastly figure was tottering across the floor, lifting from a box abeautifully waved white wig, and dropping it carefully over the head ofthe aggrieved old lady of the straggly locks. 

It was all that Claire could do to keep from exclaiming aloud, as itburst upon her astonished senses that this poor, huddled creature wasnone other than the _grande dame_ of the railway carriage, the haughtilyindifferent, cynically amused personage who had seemed so supremelysuperior to the agitations of the common ruck! Strange what changes afew hours' conflict with the forces of Nature could bring about!

Ill as the mistress was, the maid was even worse, and it was pitiful tosee the poor creature's efforts to obey the exigent demands of heremployer. In the end faintness overcame her, and if Claire had notrushed to the rescue, she would have fallen on the floor. 

"It's no use struggling against it! You must keep still until the boatstops. You'll feel better at once when we land, and you get into theair. " Claire laid the poor soul in her bunk, and turned back to the oldlady who was momentarily growing younger and more formidable, as shecontinued the stages of her toilette. 

"Can I help you?" she asked smilingly, and the offer was accepted withgracious composure. 

"Please do. I should be grateful. Thank you. That hook fastens overhere, and the band crosses to this side. The brooch is in my bag--agold band with some diamonds--and the hat-pins, and a cleanhandkerchief. Can you manage? ... The clasp slides back. "

Claire opened the bag and gazed with admiration at a brown _moire_antique lining, and fittings of tortoiseshell, bearing raised monogramsin gold. "I shall have one exactly to match, when I marry my duke!" wasthe mental reflection, as she selected the articles mentioned and putthe final touches to the good lady's costume. 

Later on there was Mason to be dressed; later on still, Claire foundherself carrying the precious dressing-bag in one hand, and supportingone invalid with the other, while Mason tottered in the wake, unable forthe moment to support any other burden than that of her own body. 

Mrs Fanshawe--Claire had discovered the name on a printed card let intothe lining of the bag--had no sympathy to spare for poor Mason. Sheplainly considered it the height of bad manners for a maid to dare to besea-sick; but being unused to do anything for herself, gratefullyallowed Claire to lead the way, reply to the queries of custom-houseofficials, secure a corner of a first-class compartment of the waitingtrain, and bid an attendant bring a cup of tea before the ordinarybreakfast began. 

Mason refused any refreshment, but Mrs Fanshawe momentarily regainedher vigour, and was all that was gracious in her acknowledgment ofClaire's help. The quizzical eyes roved over the girl's face andfigure, and evidently approved what they saw, and Claire, smiling back, was conscious of an answering attraction. Thoughtless and domineeringas was her behaviour to her inferior, there was yet something in the oldlady's personality which struck an answering chord in the girl's heart. She was enough of a physiognomist to divine the presence of humour andgenerosity, combined with a persistent cheerfulness of outlook. Thesigns of physical age were unmistakable, but the spirit within wasyoung, young as her own!

The mutual scrutiny ended in a mutual laugh, which was the last breakingof the ice. 

"My dear, " cried Mrs Fanshawe, "you must excuse my bad manners! Youare so refreshing to look at after all those horrors on the boat that Ican't help staring. And you've been so kind! Positively I don't knowhow I should have survived without you. Will you tell me your name? Ishould like to know to whom I am indebted for so much help. "

"My name is Claire Gifford. "

"Er--yes?" Plainly Mrs Fanshawe felt the information insufficient. "Gifford! I knew some Giffords. Do you belong to the Worcestershirebranch?"

Claire hitched her shoulders in the true French shrug. 

"_Sais pas_! I have no English relations nearer than second cousins, and we have lived abroad so much that we are practically strangers. Myfather died when I was a child. I went to school in Paris, and for thelast few years my mother and I have made our headquarters in Brussels. She married again, only yesterday, and is going to live in Bombay. "

Mrs Fanshawe arched surprised brows. 

"And you are staying behind?"

"Yes. They asked me to go. Mr Judge is very kind. He is my--er--stepfather!" Claire shrugged again at the strangeness of that word. "He gave me the warmest of invitations, but I refused. I preferred tobe left. "

Mrs Fanshawe hitched herself into her corner, planted her feet morefirmly on the provisionary footstool, and folded her hands on her knee. She had the air of a person settling down to the enjoyment of afavourite amusement, and indeed her curiosity was a quality well-knownto all her acquaintances. 

"Why?" she asked boldly, and such was the force of her personality thatClaire never dreamt for a moment of refusing to reply. 

"Because I want to be independent. "

Mrs Fanshawe rolled her eyes to the hat-rail. 

"My dear, nonsense! You're far too pretty. Leave that to the poorcreatures who have no chance of finding other people to work for them. You should change your mind, you know, you really should. India's quitean agreeable place to put in a few years. The English girl is a trifleoverdone, but with your complexion you would be bound to have a success. Think it over! Don't be in a hurry to let the chance slip!"

"It _has_ slipped. They sail from Marseilles a week from to-day, andbesides I don't want to change. I like the prospect of independencebetter even than being admired. "

"Though you like that, too?"

"Of course. Who doesn't? I'm hoping--with good luck--to be admired inEngland instead!"

"Then you mustn't be independent!" Mrs Fanshawe said, laughing. "Itwas the rage a year or two ago; girls had a craze for joiningSettlements, and running about in the slums, but it's quite out of date. Hobble skirts killed it. It's impossible to be utilitarian in a hobbleskirt... And how do you propose to show your independence, may I ask?"

"I am going to be French mistress in a High School, " Claire saidsturdily, and hated herself because she winced before the eloquentchange of expression which passed over her companion's face. 

Mrs Fanshawe said, "Oh, really! How _very_ interesting!" and lookedabout as uninterested the while as a human creature could be. In thepause which followed it was obvious that she was readjusting the firstimpression of a young gentlewoman belonging to her own leisured class, and preparing herself to cross-question an entirely different person--anordinary teacher in a High School! There was a touch of patronage inher manner, but it was still quite agreeable Mrs Fanshawe was alwaysagreeable for choice: she found it the best policy, and her indolentnature shrank from disagreeables of every kind. This pretty girl hadmade herself quite useful, and a chat with her would enliven a dull hourin the train. Curiosity shifted its point, but remained actively inforce. 

"Tell me all about it!" she said suavely. "I know nothing aboutteachers. Shocking, isn't it? They alarm me too much. I have a horrorof clever women. You don't look at all clever. I mean that as acompliment--far too pretty and smart, but I suppose you are dreadfullylearned, all the same. What are you going to teach?"

"French. I am almost as good as a Frenchwoman, for I've talked littleelse for sixteen years. Mother and I spoke English together, or Ishould have forgotten my own language. It seems, from a scholasticpoint of view, that it's a useful blend to possess--perfect French andan English temperament. `Mademoiselle' is not always a model ofpatience!"

"And you think you will be? I prophesy differently. You'll throw thewhole thing up in six months, and fly off to mamma in India. Youhaven't the least idea what you are in for, but you'll find out, you'llfind out! Where is this precious school? In town, did you say? Shallyou live in the house or with friends?"

"I have no friends in London except Miss Farnborough, the head mistress, but there are fifteen other mistresses besides myself. That will befifteen friends ready-made. I am going to share lodgings with one ofthem, and be a bachelor girl on my own account. I'm so excited aboutit. After living in countries where a girl can't go to the pillar-boxalone, it will be thrilling to be free to do just as I like. Pleasedon't pity me! I'm going to have great fun. "

Mrs Fanshawe hitched herself still further into her corner and smiled alazy, quizzical smile. 

"Oh, I don't pity you--not one bit! All young people nowadays thinkthey are so much wiser than their parents; it's a wholesome lesson tolearn their mistake. You're a silly, blind, ridiculous little girl, andif I'd been your mother, I should have insisted upon taking you with me, whether you liked it or not. I always wanted a daughter like you--sonsare so dull; but perhaps it's just as well that she never appeared. Shemight have wanted to be independent, too, in which case we should havequarrelled. --So those fifteen school-mistresses make up your wholesocial circle, do they? I wouldn't mind prophesying that you'll neverwant to speak a word to them out of school hours! I have a friendliving in town, quite a nice woman, with a daughter about your age. Shall I ask her to send you a card? It would be somewhere for you to goon free afternoons, and she entertains a good deal, and has a craze forthe feminist movement, and for girls who work for themselves. You mightcome in for some fun. "

Claire's flush of gratification made her look prettier than ever, andMrs Fanshawe felt an agreeable glow of self-satisfaction. Nothing sheliked better than to play the part of Lady Bountiful, especially whenany effort involved was shifted onto the shoulders of another, and inher careless fashion she was really anxious to do this nice girl a goodturn. She made a note of Claire's address in a dainty gold-edgedpocket-book, expressed pleasure in the belief that through her friendshe would hear reports of the girl's progress, and presently shut hereyes, and dozed peacefully for the rest of the ride. 

Round London a fine rain was falling, and the terminus looked bleak andcheerless as the train slowed down the long platform. Mason, stillhaggard, roused herself to step to the platform and look around as ifexpecting to see a familiar face, and in the midst of collecting her ownimpedimenta Claire was conscious that Mrs Fanshawe was distinctlyruffled, when the familiar figure failed to appear. Once more she foundherself coming to the rescue, marshalling the combined baggage to thescreened portion of the platform where the custom-house officials wentthrough the formalities incidental to the occasion, while the tiredpassengers stood shiveringly on guard, looking bleached and grey aftertheir night's journey. The bright-haired, bright-faced girl stood outin pleasant contrast to the rest, trim and smart and dainty as thoughsuch a thing as fatigue did not exist. Mrs Fanshawe, looking at her, stopped short in the middle of a mental grumble, and turned it round, sothat it ended in being a thanksgiving instead. 

"Most neglectful of Erskine to fail me after promising he would come... Perhaps, after all, it's just as well he did not. "

And at that moment, with the usual contrariety of fate, Erskineappeared! He came striding along the platform, a big, loosely-builtman, with a clean-shaven face, glancing to right and left over theupstanding collar of a tweed coat. He looked at once plain anddistinguished, and in the quizzical eyes and beetling eyebrows there wasan unmistakable likeness to the _grande dame_ standing by Claire's side. Just for a moment he paused, as he came in sight of the group ofpassengers, and Claire, meeting his glance, knew who he was, even beforehe came forward and made his greeting. 

"Holla, Mater! Sorry to be late. Not my fault this time. I was readyall right, but the car did not come round. Had a good crossing?"

"My dear, appalling! Don't talk of it. I was prostrate all night, andMason too ill to do anything but moan. She's been no use. "

"Poor beggar! She looks pretty green. But-- er--" The plain facelighted with an expectant smile as he turned towards the girl who stoodby his mother's side, still holding the precious bag. "You seem to havemet a friend... "

"Oh--er--yes!" With a gesture of regal graciousness Mrs Fanshaweturned towards the girl, and held out her gloved hand. "Thank you _so_much, Miss Gifford! You've been quite too kind. I'm really horribly inyour debt. I hope you will find everything as you like, and have a verygood time. Thank you again. _Good-bye_. I'm really dropping withfatigue. What a relief it will be to get to bed!" She turned aside, and laid her hand on her son's arm. "Erskine, where _is_ the car?"

Mother and son turned away, and made their way down the platform, leaving Claire with crimson cheeks and fast-beating heart. The littlescene which had just happened had been all too easy to understand. Thenice son had wished for an introduction to the nice girl who a momentbefore had seemed on such intimate terms with his mother: the mother hadbeen quite determined that such an introduction should not take place. Claire knew enough of the world to realise how different would have beenthe proceedings if she had announced herself as a member of the "idlerich, " bound for a course of visits to well-known houses in the country. "May I introduce my son, Miss Gifford? Miss Gifford has been an angelof goodness to me, Erskine. Positively I don't know what I should havedone without her! Do look after her now, and see her into a taxi. Sucha mercy to have a man to help!" That was what would have happened tothe Claire Gifford of a week before, but now for the first time Claireexperienced a taste of the disagreeables attendant on her changedcircumstances, and it was bitter to her mouth. All very well to remindherself that work was honourable, that anyone who looked down on her forchoosing to be independent was not worth a moment's thought, the factremained that for the first, the very first time in her life she hadbeen made to feel that there was a barrier between herself and a memberof her own class, and that, however willing Mrs Fanshawe might be tointroduce her to a casual friend, she was unwilling to make her known toher own son!

Claire stood stiff and poker-like at her post, determined to make nomovement until Mrs Fanshawe and her attendants had taken theirdeparture. The storm of indignation and wounded pride which was surgingthrough her veins distracted her mind from her surroundings; she wasdimly conscious that one after another, her fellow-passengers had takentheir departure, preceded by a porter trundling a truck of luggage;conscious that where there had been a crowd, there was now a space, until eventually with a shock of surprise she discovered that she wasstanding alone, by her own little pile of boxes. At that she shookherself impatiently, beckoned to a porter and was about to walk ahead, when an uneasy suspicion made itself felt. The luggage! Something waswrong. The pile looked smaller than it had done ten minutes before. She made a rapid circuit, and made a horrible discovery. A box wasmissing! The dress-box containing the skirts of all her best frocks, spread at full length and carefully padded with tissue paper. It hadbeen there ten minutes ago; the custom-house officer had given it aspecial rap. She distinctly remembered noticing a new scratch on theleather. Where in the name of everything that was inexplicable could ithave disappeared? Appealed to for information the porter was notilluminating. "If it had been there before, why wasn't it there now?Was the lady _sure_ she had seen it? Might have been left behind atAntwerp or Parkeston. Better telegraph and see! If it had been therebefore, why wasn't it there now? Mistakes did happen. Boxes were muchalike. P'raps it was left in the van. If it was there ten minutesbefore, why wasn't it--"

Claire stopped him with an imperious hand. 

"That's enough! It _was_ there: I saw it. I counted the pieces beforethe custom-house officer came along. I noticed it especially. Someonemust have taken it by mistake. "

The porter shook his head darkly. 

"On purpose, more like! Funny people crosses by this route. Funnything that you didn't notice--"

Claire found nothing funny in the reflection. She was furious withherself for her carelessness, and still more furious with Mrs Fanshaweas the cause thereof. Down the platform she stalked, a picture of vividimpetuous youth, head thrown back, cheeks aflame, grey eyes sending outflashes of indignation. Every porter who came in her way was stoppedand imperiously questioned as to his late load, every porter was in histurn waved impatiently away. Claire was growing seriously alarmed. Suppose the box was lost! It would be as bad as losing _two_ boxes, forof what use were bodices minus skirts to match? Never again would shebe guilty of the folly of packing bits of the same costumes in differentboxes. How awful--how awful beyond words to arrive in London without adecent dress to wear!

Whirling suddenly round to pursue yet another porter, Claire becameaware of a figure in a long tweed coat standing on the space beside thetaxi-stand, intently watching her movements. She recognised him in amoment as none other than "Erskine" himself, who, having seen his motherinto her car, was presumably bound for another destination. But why washe standing there? Why had he been so long in moving away? Clairehastily averted her eyes, but as she cross-questioned porter numberfour, she was aware that the tall figure was drawing nearer, andpresently he was standing by her side, taking off his hat, and saying inthe most courteous and deferential of tones--

"Excuse me--I'm afraid something is wrong! Can I be of any assistance?"

Claire's glance was frigid in its coldness; but it was difficult toremain frigid in face of the man's obvious sincerity and kindliness. 

"Thank you, " she said quietly. "Please don't trouble. I can managequite well. It's only a trunk... "

"Is it lost? I say--what a fag! Do let me help. I know this stationby heart! If it is to be found, I am sure I can get it for you. "

This time there was a distinct air of appeal in his deep voice. Clairedivined that the nice man was anxious to atone for his mother's cavalierbehaviour, and her heart softened towards him. After all, why shouldshe punish herself by refusing? Five minutes more or less on thestation platform could make no difference one way or another, for at theend they would wish each other a polite adieu, and part never to meetagain. And she _did_ want that box!

She smiled, and sighed, and looked delightfully pretty and appealing, asshe said frankly--

"Thank you, I _should_ be grateful for suggestions. It's the mostextraordinary and provoking thing--"

They walked slowly down the platform while she explained the situation, and reiterated the fact that she had seen the box ten minutes before. Erskine Fanshawe did not dispute the statement as each porter had donebefore him; he contented himself with asking if there was anydistinctive feature in the appearance of the box itself. 

Claire shook her head. 

"The ordinary brown leather, with strappings and C. G. On one side. Justlike a thousand other boxes, but it had a label, beside the initials. Idon't see how anyone can have taken it by mistake. " She set her teeth, and her head took a defiant tilt. "There's one comfort; if it _is_stolen, whoever has taken it will not get much for her pains! There'snothing in it but skirts. Skirts won't be much good without the bodicesto match!"

The man looked down at her, his expression comically compounded ofsympathy and humour. At that moment, despite the irregularity of hisfeatures, he looked wonderfully like his handsome mother. 

"Er--just so! Unfortunately, however, from the opposite point of view, you find yourself in the same position! Bodices, I presume, withoutskirts--"

Claire groaned, and held up a protesting hand. 

"Don't! I can't bear it. It's really devastating. My whole outfit--atone fell sweep!"

"Isn't it--excuse my suggesting it--rather a mistake to--er--dividepieces of the same garment, _so_ that if one trunk should be lost, theloss practically extends to two?"

"No, it isn't. It's the only sensible thing to do, " Claire saidobstinately. "Skirts must be packed at full length, and a dress-box ismade for that very purpose. All the same, I shall never do it again. It's no use being sensible if you have to contend with--_thieves_!"

"I don't think we need leap to that conclusion just yet. You have onlyspoken to two or three porters. We'd better wait about a few minuteslonger until the other men come back. Very likely the box was put on atruck by accident, and if the mistake was discovered before it was puton the taxi, it would be sent back to see if its owner were waitinghere. If it doesn't turn up at once, you mustn't be discouraged. Theodds are ten to one that it's only a mistake, and in that case when thetaxi is unloaded, the box will be sent back to the lost luggage office, or forwarded to your address. Was the full address on the box, by theway?"

Claire nodded assent. 

"Oh, yes; I have that poor satisfaction at least. I was most methodicaland prudent, but I don't know that that's going to be much consolationif I lose my nice frocks, and am too poor to buy any more. "

The last phrase was prompted by a proud determination to sail under nofalse colours in the eyes of Mrs Fanshawe's son; but the picture evokedthereby was sufficiently tragic to bring a cloud over her face. Thememory of each separate gown rose before her, looking distractinglydainty and becoming; she saw a vision of herself as she might have been, and faced a future bounded by eternal blue serge. All the tragedy ofthe thought was in her air, and her companion cried quickly--

"You won't need to buy them! They'll turn up all right, I am quite sureof that. The worst that can happen is a day or two's delay. After all, you know, there are thousands of honest folk to a single thief, and evena thief would probably prefer a small money reward to useless halves ofdresses! If you hear nothing by to-morrow, you might offer a reward. "

"Oh, I will!" Claire said gratefully. "Thank you for thinking of it. "

No more porters having for the moment appeared in sight, they nowturned, and slowly retraced their steps. Claire, covertly regarding hercompanion, wondered why she felt convinced that he was a soldier;Erskine Fanshawe in his turn covertly regarded Claire, and wondered whyit was that she seemed different from any girl he had seen before. Thententatively he put a personal question. 

"Do you know London well, Miss Gifford? My mother told me you were--er--coming to settle--"

"Not at all well, as a whole. I know the little bit around RegentStreet, and the Park, and the places one sees in a week's visit, butthat's all. We never stayed long in town when we came to England. Ishall enjoy exploring on half holidays when I am free from work. I am aschool-mistress!" said Claire with an air, and gathered from hercompanion's face that he knew as much already, and considered it asubject for commiseration. He looked at her with sympathetic eyes, andasked deeply--

"Hate it very much?"

"Not at all. Quite the contrary. I adore it. At least, that's to say, I haven't begun yet, but I feel sure I _shall_!" Claire cried ardently;and at that they both laughed with a delightful sense of understandingand _camaraderie_. At that moment Claire felt a distinct pang at thethought that never again would she have the opportunity of speaking andlaughing with this attractive, eminently companionable man; then herattention was distracted by the appearance of two more porters, who hadeach to be interviewed in his turn. 

They had no good news to give, however, so the searchers left theplatform in disgust, and repaired to the office for lost luggage, wherethe story of the missing box was recounted to an unsympathetic clerk. When a man spends his whole life listening to complaints of missingproperty, he can hardly be expected to show a vehement distress at theloss of yet another passenger, but to Claire at this moment there wassomething quite brutal in his callous indifference. The one suggestionwhich he had to make was that she could leave her name, and the mannerin which it was given was a death-blow to hope. 

At this very moment, however, just as Claire was bending forward todictate the desired information she felt a touch on her arm, and lookingin the direction of Mr Fanshawe's outstretched hand, beheld a porterapproaching the office, trundling before him a truck on which reposed insolitary splendour, a long brown dress-box, and oh, joy of joys! even atthe present distance the white letters C. G. Could be plainlydistinguished on the nearer side! Claire's dignity went to the winds atthat sight, and she dashed forward to meet her property with the joyousimpetuosity of a child. 

The explanation was simple to a degree, and precisely agreed with MrFanshawe's surmise as to what had really happened. During Claire'strance of forgetfulness, the box had been wheeled away, with a largeconsignment of luggage, and the mistake discovered only when the variousitems were in process of being packed into a company's omnibus, when, there being no one at hand to claim it, it had been conveyed--by veryleisurely stages--to the lost luggage office. 

All's well that ends well! Claire gleefully collected her possessions, feeling a glow of delight in the safety which an hour before she wouldhave taken as a matter of course, and stood at attention while eachseparate item was placed on the roof of the taxi. The little addressesof which she had boasted were duly inserted in leather framings on eachbox, the delicate writing too small to be deciphered, except near athand. Claire saw her companion's eyes contract in an evident effort todistinguish the words, and immediately moved her position so as tofrustrate his purpose. She did not intend Mr Fanshawe to know heraddress! When she was seated in the taxi, however, there came anawkward moment, for her companion waved the chauffeur to his seat, andstood by the window looking in at her, with a face which seemed undulyserious and earnest, considering the extremely slight nature of theiracquaintance. 

"Well! I am thankful the box turned up. I shall think of you enjoyingyour re-united frocks... Sure you've got everything all right? Whereshall I tell the man to drive?"

For the fraction of a second Claire's eyes flickered, then she spoke indecided tones. 

"`The Grand Hotel. '"

Mr Fanshawe's eyes flickered too, and turned involuntarily towards theboxes on the roof. What exactly were the words on the labels he couldnot see, but at least it was certain that they were not "The GrandHotel!" He turned from the inspection to confront a flushed, obstinateface. 

"Do you wish me to give the man that address?"

"I do. "

Very deliberately and quietly Mr Fanshawe stepped back a pace, openedhis long coat, and fumbled in an inner pocket for a leather pocket-book;very quietly and deliberately he drew from one bulging division avisiting card, and held it towards her. Claire caught the word"Captain" and saw that an address was printed in the corner, but shecovered it hastily with her hand, refusing a second glance. CaptainFanshawe leant his arm on the window sash and said hesitatingly--

"Will you allow me to give you my card! As you are a stranger in townand your people away, there may possibly be--er--occasions, when itwould be convenient to know some man whom you could make of use. Pleaseremember me if they do come along! It would be a privilege to repayyour kindness to my mother... Send me a wire at any time, and I am atyour service. I hope you _will_ send. Good morning!"

"Good-bye!" said Claire. Red as a rose was she at that moment, but verydignified and stately, bending towards him in a sweeping bow, as thetaxi rolled away. The last glimpse of Captain Fanshawe showed himstanding with uplifted hat, the keen eyes staring after her, with not aglint of humour in their grey depths. Quite evidently he meant what hesaid. Quite evidently he was as keen to pursue her acquaintance as hismother had been to drop it. 

Claire Gifford sat bolt upright on her seat, the slip of cardboardclasped within her palms, and as she sat she thought many thoughts. Aphysiognomist would have been interested to trace the progress of thosethoughts on the eloquent young face. There was surprise written there, and obvious gratification, and a demure, very feminine content; later oncame pride, and a general stiffening of determination. The spoiledchild of liberty and the High School-Mistress of the future had fought aheated battle, and the High School-Mistress had won. 

Deliberately turning aside her eyes, so that no word of that printedaddress should obtrude itself on her notice, Claire tore the cardsharply across and across, and threw the fragments out of the window. 

A moment later she whistled through the tube, and instructed thechauffeur as to her change of address. 

Adieu to the Fanshawes, and all such luxuries of the past. Heigh-ho forhard work, and lodgings at fifteen shillings a week!

CHAPTER FIVE. 

MISS RHODES, POISONER. 

It is a somewhat dreary feeling to arrive even at a friend's housebefore seven o'clock in the morning, and be received by sleepy-lookingpeople who have obviously been torn unwillingly from their beds indeference to the precepts of hospitality, but it is infinitely worse toarrive at a lodging-house at the same hour, ring several times at thebell before a dingy servant can be induced to appear, and to realise amoment later that in a tireless parlour you perceive your journey'sgoal!

Claire Gifford felt a creep of the blood at the sight of that parlour, though if her first introduction had been at night, when the curtainswere drawn and the lamps lit, she would have found it cosy enough. There was no sign of her room-mate; perhaps it was too much to expecther to get up at so early an hour to welcome a stranger, but Claire_had_ expected it, felt perfectly sure that--had positions beenreversed--she herself would have taken pains to deck both herself andher room in honour of the occasion, and so felt correspondinglydowncast. 

Presently she found herself following the dingy maid up three separatenights of stairs, and arriving at a tiny box of a bedroom on the topfloor. There was a bed, a washstand, a chest of drawers doing serviceas a dressing-table, two chairs and a sloping roof. Claire would havebeen quite disappointed if that last item had been missing, for whoeverheard of a girl who set out to make her own living who had not slept ina room with a sloping roof? On the whole, despite its tiny proportions, the little room made a pleasant impression. It was clean, it wasbright, walls and furniture were alike of a plain unrelieved white, andthrough the open casement window could be seen a distant slope of greenovertopping the intervening chimney tops. Claire's eyes roved here andthere with the instinct of a born home-maker, saw what was lacking here, what was superfluous there, grasped neglected possibilities, andmentally re-arranged and decorated the premises before a slower personwould have crossed the floor. 

Then she took up her stand before the small mirror, and devoted a wholeminute to studying her own reflection from the point of view of CaptainErskine Fanshawe of unknown address. By her own deliberate choice shehad cut herself off from future chance of meeting this acquaintance ofan hour; nevertheless it was distinctly reviving to discern that her hatwas set at precisely the right angle, and that for an all-night voyagerher whole appearance was remarkably fresh and dainty. 

Claire first smiled, and then sighed, and pulled out the hat-pins withimpatient tugs. To be prudent and self-denying is not always anexhilarating process for sweet and twenty. 

Presently the maid came staggering upstairs with the smaller boxes, andClaire busied herself in her room until the clock had struck eight, whenshe again descended to the joint sitting-room. This time the fire waslighted, and the table laid for breakfast, and behind the tea-tray satMiss Rhodes, the English mistress, already halfway through her meal. She rose, half smiling, half frowning, and held out a thin hand inwelcome. 

"Morning. Hope you've had a good crossing. Didn't know when you'd bedown. Do you take coffee?"

"Please!" Claire felt that a cup of coffee would be just what sheneeded, but missed the familiar fragrant scent. She seated herself atthe table, and while Miss Rhodes went on with her preparation, studiedher with curious eyes. 

She saw a woman of thirty-two or three, with well-cut features, darkeyes, and abundant dark hair--a woman who ought to have been distinctlygood-looking but who succeeded in being plain and commonplace. She wasbadly-dressed, in a utility blouse of grey flannel, her expression wastired and listless, and her hair, though neat, showed obvious lack ofcare, having none of the silky sheen which rewards regular systematicbrushing. So far bad, but, in spite of all drawbacks, it was aninteresting face, and Claire felt attracted, despite the preliminarydisappointment. 

"There's some bacon in that dish. It will be cold, I'm afraid. You canring, if you like, and ask them to warm it up, but they'll keep youwaiting a quarter of an hour out of spite. I've given it up myself. "

"Oh, I'm accustomed to French breakfasts. I really want nothing butsome bread and coffee. " Claire sipped at her cup as she finishedspeaking, and the sudden grimace of astonishment which followed rousedher companion to laughter. 

"You don't like it? It isn't equal to your French coffee. "

"It isn't coffee at all. It's undrinkable!" Claire pushed away her cupin disgust. "Is it always as bad as that?"

"Worse!" said Miss Rhodes composedly. "They put in more this morningbecause of you. Sometimes it's barely coloured, and it's alwayschicory. " She shrugged resignedly. "No English landlady can makecoffee. It's no use worrying. Have to make the best of what comes. "

"Indeed I shan't. Why should I? I shan't try. There's no virtue indrinking such stuff. We provide the coffee--what's to hinder us makingit for ourselves?"

"No fire, as a rule. Can't afford one when you are going outimmediately after breakfast. "

Claire stared in dismay. It had never occurred to her that she mighthave to be economical to this extent. 

"But when it's very cold? What do you do then?"

"Put on a jersey, and nurse the hot-water jug!"

Claire grimaced, then nodded with an air of determination. 

"I'll buy a machine! There can be no objection to that. You wouldprefer good coffee, wouldn't you, if you could get it without any moretrouble?"

"Oh, certainly. I'll enjoy it--while it lasts!"

"Why shouldn't it last?"

Miss Rhodes stared across at the eager young face. She looked tired, and a trifle impatient. 

"Oh, my dear girl, you're _New_. We are all the same at first--bubblingover with energy, and determined to arrange everything exactly as welike. It's a phase which we all live through. Afterwards you don'tcare. You are too tired to worry. All your energy goes on your day'swork, and you are too thankful for peace and quietness to bother aboutdetails. You take what comes, and are thankful it's not worse. "

Claire's smile showed an elaborate forbearance. 

"Rather a poor-spirited attitude, don't you think?"

"Wait and see!" said the English mistress. 

She rose and threw herself in a chair by the window, and Claire left thedespised coffee and followed her example. Through the half-opened panesshe looked out on a row of brick houses depressingly dingy, depressinglyalike. About every second house showed a small black card on which theword "Apartments" was printed in gilt letters. Down the middle of thestreet came a fruiterer's cart, piled high with wicker baskets. The cryof "Bananas, cheap bananas, " floated raucously on the air. Claireswiftly averted her eyes and turned back to her companion. 

"It is very good of you to let me share your _appartement_. MissFarnborough said she had arranged it with you, but it must be horridtaking in a stranger. I will try not to be too great a bore!"

But Miss Rhodes refused to be thanked. 

"I'm bound to have somebody, " said she ungraciously. "Couldn't affordthem alone. You know the terms? Thirty-five shillings a week for thethree rooms. That's cheap in this neighbourhood. We only get them atthat price because we are out all day, and need so little catering. "She looked round the room with her tired, mocking smile. "Hope youadmire the scheme of decoration! I've been in dozens of lodgings, but Idon't think I've ever struck an uglier room; but the people are cleanand honest, and one has to put that before beauty, in ourcircumstances. "

"There's a great _deal_ of pattern about. It hasn't what one could calla restful effect!" said Claire, looking across at an ochre wallbespattered with golden scrawls, a red satin mantel-border painted withlustre roses, a suite of furniture covered in green stamped plush, acollection of inartistic pictures, and unornamental ornaments. Even herspirit quailed before the hopelessness of beautifying a room in whichall the essentials were so hopelessly wrong. She gave it up in despair, and returned to the question of finance. 

"Then my share will be seventeen and six! That seems very cheap. I amto begin at a hundred and ten pounds. How much extra must I allow forfood?"

"That depends upon your requirements. We have dinner at school; quite agood meal for ninepence, including a penny for coffee afterwards. "

"The same sort of coffee we have had this morning?"

"Practically. A trifle better perhaps. Not much. "

"Hurrah!" cried Claire gaily. "That's a penny to the good! Eightpencefor me--a clear saving of fivepence a week!"

Miss Rhodes resolutely refused to smile. She had the air of thinking itribald to be cheerful on the serious question of pounds, shillings andpence. 

"Even so, it's three-and-four, and you can't do breakfast and supper andfull board on Saturday and Sunday under seven shillings. It's tightenough to manage on that. Altogether it often mounts up to twelve. "

"Seventeen and twelve. " Claire pondered deeply before she arrived at asolution. "Twenty-nine. Call it thirty, to make it even, and I am tobegin at a hundred and ten. Over two pounds a week. I ought to do itcomfortably, and have quite a lot over. "

Miss Rhodes laughed darkly. 

"What about extras?" she demanded. "What about laundry, and fires, andstationery and stamps? What about boot-mending, and Tubes on wet days, and soap and candles, and dentist and medicines, and subs, at school, and collections in church, and travelling expenses on Saturdays andSundays, when you invariably want to go to the very other side of thecity? London is not like a provincial town. You can't stir out of thehouse under fourpence or sixpence at the very least. What aboutillness, and amusement, and holidays? What about--"

Claire thrust her fingers in her ears with an air of desperation. 

"Stop! Stop! For pity's sake don't swamp me any more. I feel in thebankruptcy court already, and I had imagined that I was rich! A hundredand ten pounds seemed quite a big salary. Everybody was surprised at mygetting so much, and I suppose you have even more?"

"A hundred and fifty. Yes! You must remember that we don't belong tothe ordinary rut of worker--we are experts. Our education has been along costly business. No untrained worker could take our place; we areentitled to expert's pay. Oh, yes, they are quite good salaries if youhappen to have a home behind you, and people who are ready to help overrough times, instead of needing to be helped themselves. The pity of itis that most High School-mistresses come from families who are _not_rich. The parents have made a big effort to pay for the girls'education, and when they are fairly launched, they expect to be helpedin return. Some girls have been educated by relations, or havepractically paid for themselves by scholarships. Three out of four ofus have people who are more in need of help than able to give it. Igive my own mother thirty pounds a year, so we are practically on thesame salary. Have _you_ a home where you can spend your holiday?Holidays run away terribly with your money. They come to nearly fourmonths in the year. "

For the first time those prolonged holidays appeared to Claire as aprivilege which had its reverse side. Friends in Brussels mightpossibly house her for two or three weeks; she could not expect, shewould not wish them to do more; and at the end there would still remainover three months! It was a new and disagreeable experience to lookforward to holidays with _dread_! For a whole two minutes she lookedthoroughly depressed, then her invincible optimism came to the top, andshe cried triumphantly--

"I'll take a holiday engagement!"

The English mistress shook her head. 

"That's fatal! I tried it myself one summer. Went with a family to theseaside, and was expected to play games with the children all day long, and coach them in the evening. I began the term tired out, and nearlycollapsed before the end. Teaching is nerve-racking work, and if youdon't get a good spell off, it's as bad for the pupils as yourself. Yousnap their heads off for the smallest trifle. Besides, it's folly towear oneself out any sooner than one need. It's bad enough to think ofthe time when one has to retire. That's the nightmare which haunts usmore and more every year. "

"Don't you think when the time comes you will be _glad_ to rest?" askedinnocent Claire, whereupon Miss Rhodes glared at her with indignanteyes. 

"We should be glad to rest, no doubt, but we don't exactly appreciatethe prospect of resting in the workhouse, and it's difficult to seewhere else some of us are to go! There is no pension for High School-mistresses, and we are bound to retire at fifty-five--if we can manageto stick it out so long. Fifty-five seems a long way off to you--notquite so long to me; when you reach forty it becomes to feel quite near. Women are horribly long-lived, so the probability is that we'll live onto eighty or more. Twenty-five years after leaving off work, and--_where is the money to come from to keep us_? That's the questionwhich haunts us all when we look into our bank-books and find that, withall our pains, we have only been able to save at the utmost two or threehundred pounds. "

Claire looked scared, but she recovered her composure with a swiftnesswhich her companion had no difficulty in understanding. She pouncedupon her with lightning swiftness. 

"Ah, you think you'll get married, and escape that way! We all do whenwe're new, and pretty, and ignorant of the life. But it's fifty to one, my dear, that you _won't_? You won't meet many men, for one thing; andif you do, they don't like school-mistresses. "

"Doesn't that depend a good deal on the kind of school-mistress?"

"Absolutely; but after a few years we are all more or less alike. Wedon't _begin_ by being dowdy and angular, and dogmatic and prudish; webegin by being pretty and cheerful like you. I used to change my blouseevery evening, and put on silk stockings. "

"Don't you now?"

"I do _not_! Why should I, to sit over a lodging-house table correctingexercises till ten o'clock? It's not worth the trouble. Besides, I'mtoo tired, and it wears out another blouse. "

Claire's attention was diverted from clothes by the shock of thereference to evening work. She had looked forward to coming home toread an interesting book, or be lazy in whatever fashion appealed to hermost, and the corrections of exercises seemed of all things the mostdull. 

"Shall I have evening work, too?" she inquired blankly, and Miss Rhodeslaughed with brutal enjoyment. 

"Rather! French compositions on the attributes of a true woman, or, `How did you spend your summer holiday?' with all the tenses wrong, andthe idioms translated word for word. And every essay a practicalrepetition of the one before. It's not once in a blue moon that onecomes across a girl with any originality of thought. Oh, yes! that'sthe way we shall spend five evenings a week. You will sit at that sideof the table, I will sit at this, and we'll correct and yawn, and yawnand correct, and drink a cup of cocoa and go to bed at ten. Lively, isn't it?"

"Awful! I never thought of homework. But if Saturday is a wholeholiday there will still be one night off. I shall make a point ofdoing something exciting every Saturday evening. "

"Exciting things cost money, and, as a rule, when you have paid up thevarious extras, there's no money to spare. I stay in bed till teno'clock on Saturday, and then get up and wash blouses, and do mymending, and have a nap after lunch, and if it's summer, go and sit on apenny chair in the park, or take a walk over Hampstead Heath. In theevening I read a novel and have a hot bath. Once in a blue moon I havean extravagant bout, and lunch in a restaurant, and go to anentertainment--but I'm sorry afterwards when I count the cost. OnSunday I go to church, and wish some one would ask me to tea. Theydon't, you know. They may do once or twice, when you first come up, butyou can never ask them back, and your clothes get shabby, and you knownothing about their interests, so they think you a bore, and quietly letyou drop. "

A smothered exclamation burst from Claire's lips; with a sudden, swirling movement she leapt up, and fell on her knees before MissRhodes's chair, her hands clasping its arms, her flushed face upturnedwith a desperate eagerness. 

"Miss Rhodes! we are going to live together here, we are going to sharethe same room, and the same meals. Would you--if any one offered you amillion pounds, would you agree to poison me slowly, day by day, dropping little drops of poison into everything I ate and everything Idrank, while you sat by and watched me grow weaker and weaker till I_died_?"

"Good heavens, girl--are you mad! What in the world are you ravingabout?"

Miss Rhodes had grown quite red. She was indignant; she was also morethan a little scared. The girl's sudden change of mood was startling initself, and she looked so tense, so overwhelmingly in earnest. Whatcould she mean? Was it possible that she was a little--_touched_?

"I suppose you don't realise it, but it's insulting even to put such aquestion. "

"But you _are_ doing it! It's just exactly what you are beginningalready. Ever since I arrived you've been poisoning me drop by drop. Poisoning my _mind_! I am at the beginning of my work, and you've beendiscouraging me, frightening me, painting it all black. Every word thatyou've said has been a drop of poison to kill hope and courage andconfidence--and oh, don't do it! don't go on! I may be young andfoolish, and full of ridiculous ideas, but let me keep them as long as Ican! If all that you say is true, they will be knocked out of me soonenough, and I--I've never had to work before, or been alone, and--andit's only two days since my mother left me to go to India--all that longway--and left me behind! It's hard enough to go on being alone, andbelieving it's all going to be _couleur de rose_, but it will be fiftytimes harder if I don't. Please--please don't make it any worse!"

With the last words tears came with a rush, the tears that had beenresolutely restrained throughout the strain of the last week. Clairedropped her head on the nearest resting-place she could find, whichhappened to be Miss Rhodes's blue serge lap, and felt the quick pressureof a hand over the glossy coils. 

"Poor little girl!" said the English mistress softly. "Poor littlegirl! I'm sorry! I'm a beast! Take no notice of me. I'm a sour, disagreeable old thing. It was more than half jealousy, dear, becauseyou looked so pretty and spry, so like what I used to look myself. Thelife's all right, if you keep well, and don't worry too much ahead. There, don't cry! I loathe tears! You will yourself, when you have todeal with silly, hysterical girls. Come, I'll promise I won't poisonyou any more--at least, I'll do my best; but I've a grumbling nature, and you'd better realise it, once for all, and take no notice. We'llget on all right. I like you. I'm glad you came. My good girl, if youdon't stop, I'll shake you till you do!"

Claire sat back on her heels, mopped her eyes, and gave a strangledlaugh. 

"I hate crying myself, but I'll begin again on the faintest provocation. It's always like that with me. I hardly ever cry, but when I oncebegin--"

Miss Rhodes rose with an air of determination. 

"We'd better go out. I am free till lunch-time. I'll take you roundand show you the neighbourhood, and the usual places of call. It willsave time another day. Anything you want to buy?"

Claire mopped away another tear. 

"C-certainly, " she said feebly. "A c-offee machine. "

CHAPTER SIX. 

THE INVITATION. 

The next morning Claire was introduced to the scene of her new labours, and was agreeably impressed with its outside appearance. SaintCuthbert's High School was situated in a handsome thoroughfare, and hadoriginally been a large private house, to which long wings had beenadded to right and left. On each side and across the road were handsomeprivate houses standing in their own grounds, owned by tenants whoregarded the High School with lively detestation, and would have borneup with equanimity had an earthquake swallowed it root and branch. 

Viewed from inside, the building was less attractive, passages andclass-rooms alike having the air of bleak austerity which seemsinseparable from such buildings; but when nine o'clock struck, and theflood of young life went trooping up the stairways and flowed into theseparate rooms, the sense of bareness was replaced by one of tinglingvitality. 

As is usual on an opening day, every girl was at her best and brightest, decked in a new blouse, with pigtails fastened by crisp new ribbons, andgood resolutions wound up to fever point. To find a new French mistressin the shape of a pretty well-dressed girl, who was English at onemoment, and at the next even Frenchier than Mademoiselle, was anunexpected joy, and Claire found the battery of admiring young eyes anembarrassing if stimulating experience. 

Following Miss Farnborough's advice, she spent the first day's lessonsin questioning the different classes as to their past work, and soturned the hour into an impromptu conversation class. The ugly Englishaccents made her wince, and she winced a second time as she realised theunpleasant fact that just as her pupils would have to prepare for her, so would she be obliged to prepare for them! Forgotten rules of grammarmust be looked up and memorised, for French was so much her mothertongue that she would find it difficult to explain distinctions whichcame as a matter of course. That meant more work at night, moreinfringement of holiday hours. 

The girls themselves were for the most part agreeable and well-mannered. The majority were the daughters of professional men, and of gentle-folks of limited means; but there was also a sprinkling of the daughtersof better-class artisans, who paid High School fees at a cost of muchself-denial in order to train their girls for teachers' posts in thefuture. Here and there an awkward, badly-dressed child was plainly of astill lower class. These were the free "places"--clever children whohad obtained scholarships from primary schools, and were undergoing theordeal of being snubbed by their new school-mates as a consequence oftheir success. 

From the teacher's point of view these clever children were a welcomestimulus, but class feeling is still too strong in England to make themacceptable to their companions. 

At lunch-time the fifteen mistresses assembled in the Staff-Room, a dullapartment far too small for the purpose, a common fault in High Schools, where the different governing bodies are apt to spare no expense inproviding for the comfort of the scholar, but grudge the slightestexpenditure for the benefit of those who teach. 

Fifteen mistresses sat round the table eating roast lamb and boiledcabbage, followed by rhubarb pie and rice pudding, and Claire, lookingfrom one to the other, acknowledged the truth of Miss Rhodes's assertionthat they were all of a type. She herself was the only one of thenumber who had any pretensions to roundness of outline, all the restwere thin to angularity, half the number wore pince-nez or spectacles, and all had the same strained pucker round the eyes. Each one wore ablue serge skirt and a white blouse, and carried herself with an air ofdogmatic assurance, as who should say: "I know better than any one else, and when I speak let no dog bark!" The German mistress was the veteranof the party and was probably a good forty-five. Miss Bryce, theFroebel mistress, paired with Claire herself for the place of junior. Miss Blake, the Gym. Mistress, was a graceful girl with an air ofdelicacy which did not seem in accord with her profession. Miss Rose, the Art mistress, was plain with a squat, awkward figure. 

Rising from the table, Claire caught a glimpse of her own reflection inthe strip of mirror over the chimney-piece, and at the sight a littlethrill, half-painful, half-pleasant, passed through her veins. The softbloom of her complexion, the dainty finish of her dress, differentiatedher almost painfully from her companions, and she felt a pang of dreadlest that difference should ever grow less. While she affected to readone of the magazines which lay on a side table, she was really occupiedmaking a number of vehement resolutions: Never to slack in her care ofher personal appearance; never to give up brushing her hair at night;never to wear a flannel blouse; never to give up manicuring her hands;never, no, never to allow herself to grow short-sighted, and be obligedto submit to specs!

The different mistresses seemed to be on friendly terms, but there wasan absence of the camaraderie which comes from living under the sameroof. School was a common possession, but home hours were spent apart, except when, as in Claire's own case, two mistresses shared the samerooms, and it followed as a matter of course that personal interestswere divided. To-day the conversation was less scholastic than usual, the intervening holidays forming a topic of interest. The Art mistresshad been on a bicycle sketching tour with a friend; the German mistresshad taken a cheap trip home; Miss Blake announced that all her money hadgone on "hateful massage, " and the faces of her listeners sobered asthey listened, for Sophy Blake, who led the exercises with such verveand go, had of late complained of rheumatic pains, and her companionsheard of her symptoms with dread. What would become of Sophy if thosepains increased? One after another the mistresses drifted over to whereClaire sat turning the pages of her magazine, and exchanged a fewfragments of conversation, and then the great bell clanged again, andafternoon school began. 

The first half-hour of afternoon school proved the most trying of theday. Claire was tired after the exertions of the morning, and a verypassion for sleep consumed her being. She fought against it with allher might, but the yawns would come; she fought against the yawns, andthe tears flowed. To her horror the infection spread, and the girlsbegan to yawn in their turn, with long, uncontrolled gapes. It was ajunior class, and the new mistress shrewdly suspected that the infectionwas welcomed as an agreeable interlude. It was obvious that she couldnot afford to reject that cup of coffee. Good or bad it must be drunk!Rich or poor that penny must be dedicated to the task of vitalising thatfirst hour of sleepiness. 

At the end of six weeks Claire felt as though she had been a HighSchool-mistress all her life. The regular methodical days, in whichevery hour was mapped out, had a deadening effect on one who had beenused to constant variety, and except for a difference in the arrangementof classes there seemed no distinction between one and the other. Shewas a machine wound up to work steadily from Monday morning until Fridaynight, and absurdly ready to run down when the time was over. 

Every morning after breakfast she started forth with Miss Rhodes, byfoot if the weather were fine, by Tube if wet; every mid-day she dinedin the Staff-Room with the fifteen other mistresses, and gulped down acup of chicory coffee. At four o'clock the mistresses met once more fortea, a free meal this time, supplemented by an occasional cake which oneof the fifteen provided for the general good. At five she and her tablecompanion returned to their rooms, and rested an hour before taking theevening meal. 

Claire was sufficiently French to be intolerant of badly cooked food, and instead of resigning herself to eat and grumble, after the usualhabit of lodging-house dwellers, resolutely set to work to improve thesituation. The coffee machine had now a chafing-dish as companion, andit was a delightful change of work to set the two machines to work toprovide a dainty meal. 

"High Tea" consisted as a rule of coffee and some light dish, thematerials for which were purchased on the way home. On hungry days, when work had been unusually trying, the butcher supplied cutlets, whichwere grilled with tomatoes, or an occasional quarter of a pound ofmushrooms: on economical days the humble kipper--legendary food of allspinsters in lodgings!--was transformed into quite a smart andrestaurant-ey dish, separated from its bones, pounded with butter andflavouring, and served in neat little mounds on the top of hot butteredtoast. Moreover, Claire was a proficient in the making of omelettes, and it was astonishing how large and tempting a dish could be compoundedof two eggs, and the minutest scrap of ham left over from the morning'sbreakfast!

"Every luxury of the season, with the smell thrown in! In _nice_cooking the smell is almost the best part. All the cedars in Lebanonwouldn't smell as good at this moment as this nice ham-ey coffee-yfrizzle, " Claire declared one Friday evening as she served the meal onred-hot plates, and glowed with delight at her own sleight of hand. "Don't you admire eggs for looking so small, when they possess suchpowers of expansion? All the result of beating. Might make a simileout of that, mightn't you?"

"Might, but won't, " the English teacher replied, sipping luxuriously ather coffee. "I'm not a teacher any more at this moment. I'm agourmand, pure and simple, and I'll stay a gourmand straight on tillthis omelette is finished. When all trades fail, you might go out as amissioner to women living in diggings, and teach them how to preparetheir meals, and sell chafing-dishes by instalment payments at the door, as the touts sell sewing machines to the maids. It would be a noblevocation!"

Claire smirked complacently. "I flatter myself I _have_ made adifference to your material comfort! Poor we may be, but we do havenice, dainty little meals, and there's no reason why every able-bodiedwoman shouldn't have them at the same cost. I've just rememberedanother nice dish. We'll have it to-morrow night. " She paused, and awistful look came into her eyes, for the next day was Saturday, and itwas on holiday afternoons that the feeling of loneliness grew mostacute. School life was monotonous, but it was never lonely; frommorning to night one lived in a crowd, and already each class hadfurnished youthful adorers eager to sit at the feet of the pretty newmistress, and bring her offerings of chocolates and flowers; for fivelong days there was always a crowd, always a hum and babble of voices, but at the end of the week came a dead calm. 

On the first Saturday of the term Miss Farnborough had invited the newFrench mistress to tea, and had been all that was friendly andencouraging; but since that time no word had passed between them thatwas not strictly concerned with the work in hand, and Claire realisedthat as one out of sixteen mistresses she could not hope for frequentinvitations. 

On one Sunday the Gym. Mistress had offered her company for a walk, andthere the list of hospitalities ceased. No invitations came from thatfriend of Mrs Fanshawe's who was so fond of girls who were working forthemselves. Claire had hardly expected it, but she was disappointed allthe same. A longing was growing within her to sit again in a pretty, daintily-appointed room, and talk about something else than time-tables, and irregular verbs, and the Association of Assistant Mistresses which, amalgamated with the Association of Assistant Masters and the Teachers'Guild, were labouring to obtain a settled scale of salaries, and thatgreat safeguard, desired above all others, a pension on retirement!

On this particular Friday evening the longing was so strong that she haddeliberately gone out of her way to try to gain an invitation by walkinghome with a certain Flora Ross in the sixth form, who was the mostardent of her admirers. Flora lived in a cheerful-looking house about aquarter of a mile from the school, and every morning hung over the gatewaiting for the chance occasions when her beloved Miss Giffordapproached alone, and she could have the felicity of accompanying herfor the rest of the way. On these occasions she invariably turned towave her hand to a plump, smiling mother who stood at a bay windowwaving in return. An upper window was barred with brass rods, againstwhich two little flaxen heads bobbed up and down. Both the house andits inmates had a cheerful wholesome air, which made a strong appeal tothe heart of the lonely girl, and this Friday afternoon, meeting Florawaiting in the corridor, she had accepted her companionship on the wayhome with a lurking hope that when the green gate was reached, she wouldbe invited to come inside. 

Alas! no such thought seemed to enter Flora's brain. She gazedadoringly into Claire's face and hung breathlessly on her words, but forall her adoration there was a gulf between. Claire was the sweetest andduckiest of mistresses, but she _was_ a mistress, a being shut off fromthe ordinary interests of life. When Flora said, "Isn't it jolly, weare going to have a musical party to-morrow! We have such lovelyparties, and mother always lets me sit up!" she might have been speakingto a creature without ears, for all the consciousness she exhibited thatClaire might possibly wish to take part in the fray. When the greengate was reached, the plump mamma was seen standing outside the drawing-room window and recognising the identity of her daughter's companion, she bent her head in a courteous bow, but she made no attempt toapproach the gate. 

"See you on Monday!" cried Flora fondly, then the gate clicked, andClaire walked along the road with her head held high, and two red spotsburning on either cheek. That evening for the first time she felt adisinclination to change into the pretty summer frock which she hadchosen as a compromise for evening dress; that evening for the firsttime the inner voice whispered to her as it had done to so many beforeher: "What's the good? Nobody sees you! Nobody cares. "

Miss Rhodes finished her share of the omelette, turned on to bread andjam, and cast a glance of inquiry at her companion, who had relapsedinto unusual silence. 

"Anything wrong?"

"Yes, I think so. Usual symptoms, I suppose. I want to wear all mybest clothes and go out to do something gay and exciting, Cecil!" TheEnglish teacher's name being Rhodes, it was obvious that she should beaddressed as Cecil, especially as her parents had been misguided enoughto give her the unsuitably gentle name of Mary. "Cecil, do none of theparents _ever_ ask us out?"

"Why should they?"

"Why shouldn't they? If we are good enough to teach their children, weare good enough for them. If they are interested in their children'swelfare, they ought to make a point of knowing us to see what kind ofinfluence we use. "

"Quite so. "

"Well?"

"Well, my dear, there's only one thing to be said--they _don't_! As Itold you before, there's a prejudice against mistresses. They give uscredit for being clever, and cultivated, and hard-working; but theynever grasp the fact that we are human girls, who would very much enjoybeing frivolous for a change. I _have_ been asked out to tea at rareintervals, and the mothers have apologised for the ordinaryconversation, and laboriously switched it on to books. I didn't want totalk books. I wanted to discuss hats and dresses, and fashionableintelligence, and sing comic songs, and play puss-in-the-corner, and begenerally giddy and riotous; but my presence cast a wet blanket over thewhole party, and we discussed Science and Art. Now I'm old andresigned, but it's hard on the new hands. I think it was rather brutalof your mother to let you come to London without taking the trouble ofgetting _some_ introductions. Don't mind me saying so, do you?"

Claire smiled feebly. 

"You have said it, anyhow! I know it must seem unkind to anyone whodoes not know mother. She's really the kindest person in the world, butshe's very easy-going, and apt to believe that everything will happenjust as she wishes. She felt quite sure that Miss Farnborough and thestaff would supply me with a whirl of gaiety. There _was_ one lady, whosaid she would write to a friend--"

Cecil groaned deeply. 

"I know that friend. She comes from Sheffield. A dear kind friend whowould love to have you out on holidays. A friend who takes a specialinterest in school-mistresses. A friend who gives such nice inter-est-ing parties, and would certainly send you a card if she knew youraddress. Was that it, my dear--was that the kind of friend?"

Cecil chuckled with triumph at the sight of Claire's lengthening jaw. In truth there seemed something uncanny in so accurate a reproduction ofMrs Fanshawe's description. Was there, indeed, no such person? Didshe exist purely as a dummy figure, to be dangled before the eyes ofcredulous beginners? Claire sighed, and buried her last lingering hope;and at that very moment the postman's rap sounded at the door, and asquare white envelope was handed in, addressed in feminine handwritingto Miss Claire Gifford. 

Claire tore it open, pulled forth a white card, gasped and flushed, andtossed it across the table with a whoop of triumph. 

"Raven, look at that! What do you think now of your melancholy croaks?"

Cecil picked up the card, inscribed with the orthodox printed lines, beneath which a few words had been written. 

 Mrs Willoughby, At Home May 26th, 9 p. M. Music. 

"Have just received your address from Mrs Fanshawe. Shall hope to seeyou to-morrow. --E. B. W. "

Cecil screwed up her face in disparagement. 

"Nine o'clock. Mayfair. That means a taxi both ways. Can't arrive ata house like that in a mackintosh, with your shoes in a bag. Much wiserto refuse. It will only unsettle you, and make you unfit for work. She's done the polite thing for once, because she was asked, but she'llnever do it again. I've been through it myself, and I know the ropes. A woman like that has hundreds of friends; why should she bother aboutyou? You'll never be asked again. "

But at that Claire laughed, and beat her hand on the table. 

"But I say I shall! I say I'll be asked _often_! I don't care ifyou've had a hundred experiences, mine shall be different. She hasasked me once; now, as the Yankees say, `it's up to me' to do the rest. I'll make up my mind to make her _want_ to ask me!"

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

TRANSFORMATION OF CECIL. 

In the days to come when Claire looked back and reviewed the course ofevents which followed, she realised that Mrs Willoughby's invitationhad been a starting-point from which to date happenings to others aswell as herself. It was, for instance, on the morning after its arrivalthat Cecil's chronic discontent reached an acute stage. She appeared atbreakfast with a clouded face, grumbled incessantly throughout the meal, and snapped at everything Claire said, until the latter was provokedinto snapping in return. In the old days of idleness Claire had beennoted for the sunny sweetness of her disposition, but she was alreadydiscovering that teaching lays a severe strain on the nerves, and at theend of a week's work endurance seemed at its lowest ebb. So, when hersoft answers met rebuff after rebuff, she began to grumble in her turn, and to give back as good as she got. 

"Really, Cecil, I am exceedingly sorry that your form is so stupid, andyour work so hard, but I am neither a pupil nor a chief, so I fail tosee where my responsibility comes in. Wouldn't it be better if youinterviewed Miss Farnborough instead of me?"

It was the first time that Claire had answered sharply, and for themoment surprise held Cecil dumb. Then the colour flamed into hercheeks, and her eyes sparkled with anger. Though forbearance had failedto soothe her, opposition evidently added fuel to the fire. 

"Miss Farnborough!" she repeated jeeringly. "What does Miss Farnboroughcare for the welfare of her mistresses, so long as they grind throughtheir daily tasks? It is the pupils she thinks about, not us. Thepupils who are to be pampered and considered, and studied, and amused inschool and out. They have to have games in summer, and a mistress hasto give up her spare time to watch the pretty dears to see that theydon't get into trouble; and they must have parties, and concerts, andsilly entertainments in winter, with some poor wretch of a mistress todo all the work so that they may enjoy the fun. Miss Farnborough is anexemplary Head so far as her scholars are concerned, but what does shedo for her mistresses? I ask you, does she do anything at all?"

Claire considered, and was silent. Her first term was nearly over, andshe could not truthfully say that the Head had taken any concern for heras an individual who might be expected to feel some interest in lifebeyond the school door. It is true that almost every day brought thetwo in contact for the exchange of a few words which, if strictly onbusiness, were always pleasant and kindly, but except for the oneinvitation to tea on the day before work began, they had never met outof school hours. Claire was a stranger in London, yet the Head hadnever inquired as to her leisure hours, never invited her to her house, or offered, her an introduction to friends, never even engaged thesympathies of other mistresses on her behalf. Claire had expected avery different treatment, and had struggled against a sense of injury, but she would not acknowledge as much in words. 

"I suppose Miss Farnborough is even more tired than we are. She has atremendous amount of responsibility. And she has a brother and sisterat home. Perhaps they object to an incursion of school in free hours. "

"Then she ought to leave them, and live where she can do her dutywithout interference. After all mistresses are girls, too, not verymuch older than some of the pupils when we begin work; it's inhuman totake _no_ interest in our welfare. It wouldn't kill a Head to give up anight a month to ask us to meet possible friends, or to write a fewletters of introduction. You agree with me in your heart, so it's nouse pretending. It's a moral obligation, if it isn't legal, and I saypart of the responsibility is hers if things go wrong. It's inhuman toleave a young girl alone in lodgings without even troubling to inquireif she has anywhere to go in her leisure hours. But it's the same taleall round. Nobody thinks. Nobody cares. I've gone to the same churchfor three years, and not a soul has spoken to me all that time. I've notime to give to Church work, and the seats are free, so there's no wayof getting into touch. I don't suppose any one has ever noticed theshabby school-mistress in her shabby blue serge. "

Suddenly Mary Rhodes thrust back her chair, and rising impetuously beganto storm up and down the room. 

"Oh, I'm tired, I'm tired of this second-hand life. Living in otherpeople's houses, teaching other people's children, obeying otherpeople's orders. I'm sick of it. I can't stand it a moment longer. I'd rather take any risk to be out of it. After all, what could beworse? Any sort of life lived on one's own must be better than this. Nearly twelve years of it--and if I have twenty more, what's the end?What is there to look forward to? Slow starvation in a bed-sitting-room, for perhaps thirty years. I won't do it, I won't! I've hadenough. Now I shall choose for myself!"

Like a whirlwind she dashed out of the room, and Claire put her elbow onthe table and leant her head on her hands, feeling shaken, anddiscouraged, and oppressed. For the first time a doubt entered her mindas to whether she could continue to live with Mary Rhodes. In herbrighter modes there was much that was attractive in her personality, but to live with a chronic grumbler sapped one's own powers ofresistance. Claire felt that for the sake of her own happiness andefficiency it would be wiser to make a change, but her heart sank at thethought of making a fresh start, of perhaps having to live alone with noone to speak to in the long evenings. The life of a bachelor girl madelittle appeal at that moment. Liberty seemed dearly bought at the priceof companionship. 

Claire spent the morning writing to her mother and reading over theseries of happy letters which had reached her week after week. MrsJudge was in radiant spirits, delighted with the conditions of her newlife, full of praise of her husband and the many friends to whom she hadbeen introduced. Three-fourths of the letter were taken up withdescriptions of her own gay doings, the remaining fourth with optimisticremarks on her daughter's life. How delightful to share rooms withanother girl! What a nice break to have every Saturday and Sunday free!What economical rooms! Claire must feel quite rich. What fun to havethe girls so devoted!

Claire made an expressive grimace as she read that "quite rich. " Thislast week she had been obliged to buy new gloves, and to have her bootsmended. A new umbrella had been torn by the carelessness with whichanother teacher had thrust her own into the crowded stand, and one nightshe had been seized with a longing for a dainty well-cooked meal, andhad recklessly stood treat at a restaurant. She did not feel at all"rich" as she made up the week's account, and reflected that next weekthe expense of driving to Mrs Willoughby's "At Home" would again swellup the total of these exasperating "extras" which made such havoc ofadvance calculations. 

Cecil did not appear until lunch was on the table, when she flung thedoor wide open and marched in with an air of bravado, as if wanting hercompanion to stare at once and get over it. It would have beenimpossible not to stare, for the change in her appearance was positivelystartling to behold. Her dark hair was waved and fashionably coiffed. Her best coat and skirt had been embellished with frills of lace at neckand sleeves, a pretty little waistcoat had been manufactured out of alength of blue ribbon and a few paste buttons, while a blue feathernecklet had been promoted a step higher, and encircled an old straw hat. The ribbon bow at the end of the boa exactly matched the shade of thewaistcoat, and was cocked up at a daring angle, while a becoming newveil and a pair of immaculate new gloves added still further to theeffect. 

Claire had always suspected that Cecil could be pretty if she chose totake the trouble, and now she knew it for a fact. It was difficult torealise that this well-groomed-looking girl, with the bright eyes andsoftly-flushed cheeks, could really be the same person as the frumpy-looking individual who every morning hurried along the street. 

Involuntarily Claire threw up her hands; involuntarily she cried aloudin delight "Cheers! Cheers! How do you do, Cecil? Welcome home, Cecil!--the real Cecil! How pretty you are, Cecil! How well that bluesuits you! Don't dare to go back to your dull navy and black. I shallinsist that you always wear blue. I feel quite proud of having such afine lady to lunch. You are going to have lunch, aren't you? Why thosegloves and veil?"

"Oh, well--I'm not hungry. I'll have some coffee. I may have lunch intown. " Cecil was plainly embarrassed under her companion's scrutiny. She pushed up her veil, so that it rested in a little ridge across hernose, craned forward her head, sipping her coffee with exaggerated care, so that no drop should fall on her lacy frills. 

Claire longed to ask a dozen questions, but something in Cecil's mannerheld her at bay, and she contented herself with one inquiry--

"What time will you be home?"

Cecil shrugged her shoulders. 

"Don't know. Perhaps not till late. " She was silent for a moment, thenadded with sudden bitterness, "You are not the _only_ person who hasinvitations. If I chose, I could go out every Saturday. "

"Then why on earth are you always grumbling about your loneliness?"thought Claire swiftly, but she did not put the thought into words. After the warmth of her own welcome, a kinder response was surely herdue; she was angry, and would not condescend to reply. 

The meal was finished in silence, but when Cecil rose to depart, theusual compunction seized her in its grip. She stood arranging her veilbefore the mirror over the mantelpiece, uttering the usual interjectoryexpressions of regret. 

"Sorry, Claire. I'm a wretch. You must hate me. I ought to be shot. Nice Saturday morning I've given you! What are you going to do thisafternoon?"

Claire's eyes turned towards the window with an expression sad to see onso young a face--an imprisoned look. Her voice seemed to lose all itstimbre as she replied in one flat dreary word--

"Nothing!"

A spasm of irresolution passed across Cecil's face. For a moment shelooked as if she were about to throw aside her own project and cast inher lot with her friend's. Then her face hardened, and she turnedtowards the door. 

"Why not call for Sophie Blake, and see if she will go a walk? Sheasked you once before. "

With that she was gone, and Claire was left to consider the proposition. Sophie Blake, the Games mistress, was the single member of the staffwho had shown any disposition towards real friendship, though theintimacy was so far confined to one afternoon's walk, and an occasionalchat in the dinner hour, but this afternoon the thought of her merrysmile acted as an irresistible magnet. Claire ran upstairs to getready, in a panic lest she might arrive at Sophie's lodgings to find shehad already gone out for the afternoon. Cecil had hinted that she mightnot return until late, and suddenly it seemed unbearable to spend therest of the day in solitude. Restlessness was in the air, first thepleasurable restlessness caused by the receipt of Mrs Willoughby'sinvitation, then the disagreeable restlessness caused by Cecil's erraticbehaviour. As she hurried through the streets towards Sophie Blake'slodgings, Claire pondered over the mystery of this sudden development onCecil's part. Where was she going? Whom was she going to see? Whydeclare with one breath that she was without a friend, and with the nextthat if she chose she might accept invitations every week? What specialreason had to-day inspired such unusual care in her appearance?

Sophie was at home. Lonely Claire felt quite a throb of relief as sheheard the welcome words. She entered the oil-clothed passage and wasshown into a small, very warm, very untidy front parlour wherein stoodSophie herself, staring with widened eyes at the opening door. 

"Oh, it's _you_!" she cried. "What a fright you gave me! I couldn'tthink _who_ it could be. Come in! Sit down! Can you find a freechair? Saturday is my work day. I've been darning stockings, andtrimming a hat, and ironing a blouse, and washing lace, and writingletters all in a rush. I love a muddle on Saturdays. It's such achange after routine all the week. What do you think of the hat? Sevenand sixpence, all told. I flatter myself it looks worth every penny often. Don't pull down that cloth. The iron's underneath. Be careful ofthat table! The ink-pot's somewhere about. How sweet of you to call!I'll clear this muddle away and then we can talk ... Oh, my arm!"

"What's the matter with the arm?"

Sophie shrugged carelessly. 

"Rheumatism, my dear. Cheerful, isn't it, for a gym. Mistress? It'sbeen giving me fits all the week. "

"The east winds, I suppose. I know they make rheumatism worse. "

"They do. So does damp. So does snow. So does fog. So does cold. Sodoes heat. If you could tell me of anything that makes it _better_, I'dbe obliged. Bother rheumatism! Don't let's talk of it... It'sSaturday, my dear. I never think of disagreeables on Saturday. Where'sMiss Rhodes this afternoon?"

"I don't know. She made herself look very nice and smart--she can bevery nice-looking when she likes!--and went out for the day. "

"Humph!" Sophie pursed her lips and contracted her brows as if inconsideration of a knotty point. "She was awfully pretty when I came tothe school ten years ago. And quite jolly and bright. You wouldn'tknow her for the same girl. She's a worrier, of course, but it's morethan that. Something happened about six years ago, which took thestarch out of her once for all. A love affair, I expect. Perhaps she'stold you... I'm not fishing, and it's not my business, but I'm sorryfor the poor thing, and I was sorry for you when I heard you were goingto share her room. She can't be the most cheerful companion in theworld!"

"Oh, she's quite lively at times, " Claire said loyally, "and veryappreciative. I'm fond of her, you know, but I wish she didn't grumblequite so much. " She looked round the parlour, which was at once biggerand better furnished than the joint apartment in Laburnum Crescent, andseized upon an opportunity of changing the subject. "You have a verynice room. "

Sophie Blake looked round with an air half proud, half guilty. 

"Y-es. Too nice. I've no business to spend so much, but I simply can'tstand those dreadful cheap houses. People are always fussing andtelling one to save up for old age. I think it matters far more to havethings nice in one's youth. I get a hundred and thirty a year, and haveto keep myself all the year round and help to educate a young sister. We are orphans, and the grown-ups have to keep her between us. Icouldn't save if I wanted to, so what's the use of worrying? I don'tcare very much what happens after fifty-five. Perhaps I shall bemarried. Perhaps I shall be dead. Perhaps some nice kind millionairewill have taken a fancy to me, and left me a fortune. If the worstcomes to the worst, I'll go into a home for decayed gentlewomen and knitstockings--no, not stockings, I should never be able to turn the heels--long armlet things, like mittens, without the thumbs. Look here. Whereshall we go? Isn't it a shame that all the nice shops close early onSaturday? We might have had such sport walking along Knightsbridge, choosing what we'd like best from every window. Have you ever donethat? It's ripping fun. What about Museums? Do you like Museums?Rather cold for the feet, don't you think? What can we do that's warmand interesting, and exciting, and doesn't cost more thaneighteenpence?"

Claire laughed gleefully, not at the thought of the eighteenpennyrestriction, but from pure joy at finding a companion who could facelife with a smile, and find enjoyment from such simple means asimaginary purchases from shop windows. Oh, the blessed effect of acheerful spirit! How inspiriting it was after the constant douche ofdiscouragement from which she had suffered for the last nine weeks!

"Oh, bother eighteenpence! This is my treat, and we are going to enjoyourselves, or know the reason why. I've got a lot of money in the bank, and I'm just in the mood to spend. We'll go to the Queen's Hall, andthen on to have tea in a restaurant. You would like to hear somemusic?"

"So long as it is not a chorus of female voices--I _should_! I'm atrifle fed up with female voices, " cried Sophie gaily. She picked upher newly-trimmed hat from the table and caressed it fondly. "Comealong, darling. You're going to make your _debut_!"

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

THE RECEPTION. 

It was almost worth while leading a life of all work and no play for sixweeks on end, for the sheer delight of being frivolous once more; ofdressing oneself in one's prettiest frock, drawing on filmy silkstockings and golden shoes, clasping a pearl necklace round a whitethroat and cocking a feathery aigrette at just the right angle amongcoppery swathes of hair. No single detail was wanting to complete thewhole, for in the old careless days Claire's garments had been purchasedwith a lavish hand, the only anxiety being to secure the most becomingspecimen of its kind. There were long crinkly gloves, and a lacehandkerchief, and a fan composed of curling feathers and mother-of-pearlsticks, and a dainty bag hanging by golden cords, and a cloak of thenewest shape, composed of layers of different-tinted chiffons, whichlooked more like a cloud at sunset than a garment manufactured by humanhands and supposed to be of use!

Claire tilted her little mirror to an acute angle, gave a little skip ofdelight as she surveyed the completed whole, and then whirled down thenarrow staircase, a flying mist of draperies, through which the littlegold-clad feet gleamed in and out. She whirled into the sitting-room, where the solitary lamp stood on the table, and Cecil lay on the humpygreen plush sofa reading a novel from the Free Library. She put downthe book and stared with wide eyes as Claire gave an extra whirl for herbenefit, and cried jubilantly--

"Admire me! Admire me! I'm dying to be admired! Don't I look fine, and smart, and unsuitable! Will any one in the world mistake me for aHigh School-mistress!"

Cecil rose from the sofa, and made a solemn tour of inspection. Obviously she was impressed, obviously she admired, obviously also shefound something startling in her inspection. There was pure feminineinterest in the manner in which she fingered each delicate fabric inturn, there was pure feminine kindness in the little pat on the armwhich announced the close of the inspection. 

"My dear, it's ripping! Rich and rare isn't in it. You look a dream. Poor kiddie! If this is the sort of thing you've been used to, it'sbeen harder for you than I thought! Yes, horribly unsuitable, and whenit's worn-out, you'll never be able to have another like it. Whiteponge will be your next effort. "

"Bless your heart, I've three others just as fine, and these skimpyskirts last for an age. No chance of any one planting a great foot onthe folds and tearing them to ribbons as in the old days. There _are_no folds to tread on. "

But Cecil as usual was ready with her croak. 

"Next year, " she said darkly, "there will be flounces. Before you havea chance of wearing your four dresses, everybody will be fussy andfrilly, and they'll be hopelessly out of date. "

"Then I'll cut up two and turn them into flounces to fuss out theothers!" cried Claire, the optimist, and gave another caper from sheerlightness of heart. "How do you like my feet?"

"I suppose you mean shoes. A pretty price you paid for those. I'm surethey're too tight!"

"Boats, my dear, boats! I've had to put in a sole. Didn't you know myfeet were so small? How do you like my cloak? It's meant to look likea cloud. Layers of blue, pink and grey, `superimposed, ' as the fashionpapers have it. Or should you say it was more like an opal?"

"No, I should not. Neither one nor the other. Considered as a cloakfor a foggy November evening, I should call it a delusion and a fraud. You'll get a chill. I've a Shetland shawl. I'll lend it to you to wrapround your shoulders. "

"No, you won't!" Claire cried defiantly. "Shetland shawl indeed! Whoever heard of a girl of twenty-one in a Shetland shawl? I'm going to aparty, my dear. The joy of that thought would keep me warm through adozen fogs. "

"You'll have to come back from the party, however, and you mayn't feelso jubilant then. It's not too exciting when you don't know a soul, andsit on one seat all evening. I knew a girl who went to a big crush anddidn't even get a cup of coffee. Nobody asked her to go down. "

Claire swept her cloak to one side, and sat down on a chair facing thesofa, her white gloves clasped on her knee, the embroidered bag hangingby its golden cords to the tip of the golden slippers. She fixed hereyes steadily on her companion, and there was in them a spark of anger, before which Cecil had the grace to flush. 

"Sorry! Really I am sorry--"

 "`Repentance is to _leave_ The sins we loved before, And show that we in earnest grieve By doing so No More!'"

quoted Claire sternly. "Really, Cecil, you are the champion wet blanketof your age. It is too bad. I have to do all the perking up, and youcan't even let me go to a party without damping my ardour. I wasthinking it over the other night, and I've hit on a promising plan. I'mgoing to allow you a grumble day a week--but only one. On that day youcan grumble as much as ever you like, from the moment you get up tillthe moment you go to bed. You'll be within your rights, and I shall notcomplain. I'll have my own day, too, when you can find out what itfeels like to listen, but won't be allowed to say a word in return. Forthe rest of the week you'll just have to grin and bear it. You won't beallowed a single growl. "

Cecil knitted her brows, and looked ashamed and uncomfortable, as sheinvariably did when taxed with her besetting sin. Claire's charge onmental poisoning had struck home, and she had honestly determined toturn over a new leaf; but the habit had been indulged too long to beeasily abandoned. Unconsciously, as it were, disparaging remarks flowedfrom her lips, combined with a steady string of objections, adversecriticisms, and presentiments of darkness and gloom. At the presentmoment she felt a little startled to realise how firmly the habit wasestablished, and the proposal of a licenced grumble day held out somepromise of a cure. 

"Then I'll have Monday!" she cried briskly. "I am always in a badtemper on Mondays, so I shall be able to make the most of my chance. "She was silent for a moment considering the prospect, then was struckwith a sudden thought. "But now and then I _do_ have a nice week-end, and then I shouldn't want to grumble at all. I suppose I could changethe day?"

There was a ring of triumph in Claire's laugh. 

"Not you! My dear girl, that's just what I am counting upon! Sometimesthe sun will shine, sometimes you'll get a nice letter, sometimes thegirls will be intelligent and interesting, and then, my dear, you'llforget, and the day will skip past, and before you know where you are itwill be Tuesday morning and your chance will have gone. Cecil, fancyit! A whole fortnight without a grumble. It seems almost too good tobe true!"

"It does!" said the English mistress eloquently. She sat upright on thegreen plush sofa, her shabby slippers well in evidence beneath the edgeof her shabby skirt, staring with curious eyes at the radiant figure ofthe girl in the opposite chair. "I don't think you need a day at all!"

"Because I'm going to a solitary party? Only two minutes ago, my love, you were sympathising with my hard lot! I shall have Fridays. I'mtired on Fridays, and it's getting near the time for making up accounts. I can be quite a creditable grumbler on Fridays. "

"Well, just as you like! You _are_ going to the party, I suppose?Haven't changed your mind by any chance, and determined to spend theevening hectoring me! If you are going, you'd better go. I'll sit upfor you and keep some cocoa--"

Claire rose with a smile. 

"I appreciate the inference! Starved and disillusioned, I am to creephome and weep on your bosom. Well, we'll see! Good-bye for thepresent. I'll tell you all about it when I get back... "

A minute's whistling at the front door produced a taxi, in which Claireseated herself and was whirled westward through brightly lightedstreets. In the less fashionable neighbourhoods the usual Saturdaycrowd thronged round the shops and booths, making their purchases at anhour when perishable goods could be obtained at bargain prices. Claireand Cecil had themselves made such expeditions before now, coming hometriumphant with some savoury morsel for supper, and with quite a lavishsupply of flowers to deck the little room. At the time the expeditionshad been pleasant enough, and there had seemed nothing in the least_infra dig_ in taking advantage of the opportunity; but to-night thegirl in the cloudy cloak looked through the windows of her chariot withan ineffable condescension, and found it difficult to believe that sheherself had ever made one of so insignificant a throng!

"How I do love luxury! It's the breath of my nostrils, " she said toherself with a little sigh of content, as she straightened herself inher seat, and smiled back at her own reflection in the strip of mirroropposite. Her hair had "gone" just right. What a comfort that was!Sometimes it took a stupid turn and could not be induced to obey. Sheopened the cloak at the top and peeped at the dainty whiteness within, with the daring, thoroughly French touch of vivid emerald green whichgave a _cachet_ to the whole. Yes, it was quite as pretty as she hadbelieved. Every whit as becoming. "I don't look a bit like a school-mistress!" smiled Claire, and snoodled back again against the cushionswith a deep breath of content. 

She was not in the least shy. Many a girl about to make her _entree_into a strange house would have been suffering qualms of misgiving bythis time, but Claire had spent her life more or less in public, and wasaccustomed to meet strangers as a matter of course, so there was nodread to take the edge off her enjoyment. 

Even when the taxi slowed down to take its place in the stream ofvehicles which were drawn up before Mrs Willoughby's house, she knewonly a heightened enjoyment in the realisation that it was not a partyat all, but a real big fashionable At Home. 

The usual crowd of onlookers stood on either side of the door, and asClaire descended from the taxi, the sight of her golden slippers andfloating clouds of gauze evoked a gratifying murmur of admiration. Shepassed on with her head in the air, looking neither to right nor left, but close against the rails stood a couple of working girls whosewistful eyes drew her own as with a magnet. In their expression was awhole world of awe, of admiration; they looked at her as at a denizen ofanother sphere, hardly presuming even to be envious, so infinitely wasshe removed from their grey-hued life. As Claire met their eyes, animpulse seized her to stop and tell them that she was just a workinggirl like themselves, but convention being too strong to allow of suchfamiliarities, she smiled instead, with such a frank and friendlyacknowledgment of their admiration as brought a flash of pleasure totheir faces. 

"She's a real laidy, she is!" said Gladys to Maud; and Maud sniffed inassent, and answered strongly, "You bet your life!"

The inside of the house seemed out of all proportion with the outsideappearance. This is a special peculiarity of the West End, which haspuzzled many a visitor besides Claire Gifford. What _is_ the magicwhich transforms narrow slips of buildings into spacious halls andimposing flights of stairways? Viewed from the street, the town housesof well-known personages seem quite inadequate for their purpose; viewedfrom within, they are all that is stately and appropriate. Those of uswho live in less favoured neighbourhoods would fain solve the riddle. 

Mrs Willoughby stood at the top of her own staircase, shaking handswith the stream of ascending guests, and motioning them forward to thesuite of entertaining rooms from which came a steady murmur of voices. She was a stout woman, with a vast expanse of white shoulders whichseemed to join right on to her head without any preliminary in the shapeof a neck. Her hair was dark, and a plain face was lightened by a pairof exceedingly pleasant, exceedingly alert brown eyes. As soon as shemet those eyes Claire felt assured that the kindness of which she hadheard was a real thing, and that this woman could be counted upon as afriend. There was, it is true, a slight vagueness in the manner inwhich she made her greeting, but a murmur of "Mrs Fanshawe" instantlyrevived recollections. 

"Of course--of course!" she cried heartily. "So glad you could come, mydear. I must see you later on. Reginald!"--she beckoned to a lad in anEton suit--"I want you to take charge of Miss Gifford. Take her to havesome coffee, and introduce her to some one nice. "

A nod and a smile, and Mrs Willoughby had turned back to welcome thenext guest in order, while the Eton boy offered his arm with the air ofa prince of the blood, and led the way to a refreshment buffet aroundwhich the guests were swarming with an eagerness astonishing to beholdwhen one realised how lately they must have risen from the dinner-table. Claire found her young cavalier very efficient in his attentions. Hesettled her in a comfortable corner, brought her a cup of coffee heapedwith foaming cream, and gave it as his opinion that it was going to be"a beastly crush. " Claire wondered if it would be tactful to inquirehow he happened to be at home in the middle of a term; but while shehesitated he supplied the information himself. 

"I'm home on leave. Appendicitis. Left the nursing home three weeksago. Been at the sea, and came back yesterday in time for this show. Getting a bit tired of slacking!"

"You must be. Dear me! I _am_ sorry. Too bad to begin so soon, "murmured Claire pitifully; but Master Reginald disdained sympathy. 

"Oh, I dunno, " he said calmly. "It's quite the correct thing, don't youknow? Everybody's doing it. Just as well to get it through. Itmight"--he opened his pale eyes with a startled look--"it might havecome on in the hols! Pretty fool I should have looked if I'd been doneout of winter sports. "

"There's that way of looking at it!" Claire said demurely. For amoment she debated whether she should break the fact that she herselfwas a school-mistress, but decided that it would be wiser to refrainsince the boy would certainly feel more at ease with her in her privatecapacity. So for the next half-hour they sat happily together in theircorner, while the boy discoursed on the subjects nearest his heart, andthe girl deftly switched him back to the subjects more congenial. 

"Yes, I love cricket. At least I'm sure I should do, if I understood itbetter... _Do_ tell me who is the big old lady with the eyeglass andthe diamond tiara?"

"Couldn't tell you to save my life. Rather an out-size, isn't she?Towers over the men. I say! you ought to go to Lord's Will you turn upat Lord's next year to see our match? We might meet somewhere and I'dgive you tea. Harrow won't have a chance. We've got a bowler who--"

"Can he really? How nice! Oh, that _is_ a curious-looking man with thelong hair! I'm sure he is something, or does something different fromother people. Is he a musician, do you think? Do you ever have musicon these evenings?"

"Rather! Sometimes the mater hires a big swell, sometimes she letsloose the amateurs. She knows lots of amateurs, y'know. People who aretrying to be big-wigs, and want the chance to show off. The materencourages them. Great mistake if you ask me, but you needn't listen ifyou don't want. She has one of these crushes once a month. Beastlydull, I call them. Can't think why the people come. But she gives thema rattling good feed. Supper comes on at twelve, in the dining-roomdownstairs. "

But Claire was not interested in supper. All her attention was taken upin watching the stream of people passing by, and for a time the youth ofher companion had seemed an advantage, since it made it easy to indulgeher curiosity concerning her fellow-guests by a succession of questionswhich might have been boring to an adult. As time passed on, however, and she became conscious that more than one pair of masculine eyesturned in her direction, she wished frankly Master Reginald wouldremember his mother's instructions and proceed without further delay tointroduce her to "someone nice. " To return home and confess to Cecilthat she had spent the evening in company with a schoolboy would bealmost as humiliating as sitting alone in a corner. 

It was at this point that Claire became aware of the presence of a verysmall, very wizened old woman sitting alone at the opposite side of theroom, her mittened hands clawing each other restlessly in her lap, hersunken eyes glancing to right and left with a glance distinctly hostile. The passing of guests frequently hid her from view, but when a gap cameagain, there she sat, still alone, still twisting her mittened hands, still coldly staring around. Claire thought she looked a verydisagreeable old lady, but she was sorry for her all the same. Horridto be old and cross, and to be alone in a crowd! She put yet anotherquestion to the boy by her side. 

"That, " said Master Willoughby seriously, "is Great-aunt Jane. Great-aunt Jane is the skeleton in our cupboard. The mater says so, and sheought to know. Every time the mater has a show, the moment the door isopened, in comes Great-aunt Jane, and sits it out until every one hasgone. If any one dares speak to her she snaps his head off, and if theylet her alone, she's furious, and gives it to the mater after they'regone. Most of the crowd know her by now, and pretend they don't see, ... And she gets waxier and waxier. Would you like to be introduced?"

"Yes, please!" said Claire unexpectedly. She was tired of sitting inone corner, and wanted to move her position, but she was also quitegenuinely anxious to try her hand at cheering poor cross Great-auntJane. The old lady _pensionnaires_ in the "Villa Beau Sejour" had madea point of petting and flattering the pretty English girl, and Clairewas complacently assured that this old lady would follow their example. But she was mistaken. 

"Aunt Jane, Miss Gifford asks to be introduced to you. Miss Gifford--Lady Jane Willoughby. "

Reginald beat a hurried retreat, and Claire seated herself at the end ofthe sofa and smilingly awaited her companion's lead. It did not come. After one automatic nod of the head, Lady Jane resumed her formerposition, taking no more notice of the new-comer than if she hadremained at the far end of the room. Claire felt her cheeks begin toburn. Her complacence had suffered a shock, but pride came to herrescue, and she made a determined effort at conversation. 

"That nice boy has been telling me that he has had appendicitis. "

Lady Jane favoured her with a frosty glance. 

"Yes, he has. Perhaps you will excuse me from talking about it. Iobject to the discussion of diseases at social gatherings. "

Claire's cheeks grew hotter still. A quick retort came to her lips. 

"I wasn't going to discuss it! I only mentioned it for--for somethingto say. I couldn't think how else to begin!"

The droop of Lady Jane's eyelids inferred that it was really quitesuperfluous to begin at all. Claire waited a whole two minutes by theclock, and then made another effort. 

"I hear we are to have some music later on. "

"Sorry to hear it, " said Great-aunt Jane. 

"Really! I was so glad. Aren't you fond of music, then?"

"I am very fond of music, " said Aunt Jane, and there was a world ofinsinuation in her voice. Without a definite word being spoken, thehearer was informed that good music, real music, music worthy the name, was a thing that no sane person would expect to hear at MrsWilloughby's "At Homes. " She was really the most terrifying anddisconcerting of old ladies, and Claire heartily repented the impulsewhich had brought her to her side. A pretty thing it would be if shewere left alone on this sofa for the rest of the evening!

But fortune was kind, and from across the room came a good angel who wasso exactly a reproduction of Mrs Willoughby herself, minus half herage, that it must obviously be her daughter. Janet Willoughby was not apretty girl, but she looked gay, and bright, and beaming with goodhumour, and at this moment with a spice of mischief into the bargain. The manner in which she held out her hand to Claire was as friendly asthough the two girls had been friends for years. 

"Miss Gifford? I was sure it must be you. Mother told me to look foryou. Aunt Jane, will you excuse my running away with Miss Gifford?Several people are asking to be introduced. Will you come with me, MissGifford? I want to take you into the music room. "

Claire rose with a very leap of eagerness, and as soon as they hadgained a safe distance, Miss Willoughby turned to her with twinklingeyes. 

"I am afraid you were having a bad time! I caught sight of you acrossthe room and was so sorry. Who took you over there? Was it thatnaughty Reginald?"

"He did, but I asked him. I thought she looked lonely. I thoughtperhaps she would be pleased. "

Janet Willoughby's smile showed a quick approval. 

"That was kind! Thanks for the good intention, but I can't let you bevictimised any more. I want to talk to you myself, and half-a-dozen menhave been asking for introductions to the girl with the green sash. Youknow Mrs Fanshawe, don't you? Isn't she charming? She and I are thegreatest of chums. I always say she has never succeeded in growingolder than seventeen. She is so delightfully irresponsible andimpulsive. She wrote mother a charming letter about you. It made usquite anxious to meet you, but you know what town life is--a continualrush! Everything gets put off. "

"It was awfully good of you to ask me at all, and very kind of MrsFanshawe to write. I only know her in the most casual way. We crossedover from Antwerp together, and her maid was ill, and I was able to beof some use, and when she heard that I was coming to work in London andthat I knew nobody here--she--"

Jane Willoughby stared in frank amazement. 

"Do you really mean that that was all? You met her only that one time?You know nothing of her home or her people?"

"Only that time. I hope--I hope you don't think--"

Claire suffered an anxious moment before she realised that for someunexplained reason Miss Willoughby was more pleased than annoyed by theintelligence. An air of something extraordinarily like relief passedover her features. She laughed gaily and said--

"I don't think anything at all except that it is delightfully like MrsFanshawe. She wrote as if she had known you for ages. As a matter offact she probably _does_ know you quite well. She is so extraordinarilyquick and clever, that she crowds as much life into an hour as anordinary person does into a week. She told us that you had chosen tocome to London to work, rather than go to India and have a good time. How plucky of you! And you teach at one of the big High Schools... Youdon't look in the least like a school-mistress. "

"Ah! I'm off duty to-night! You should see me in the morning, in myworking clothes. You should see me at night, correcting exercises onthe dining-table in a lodging-house parlour, and cooking sausages in achafing-dish for our evening meal. I `dig' with the English mistress, and do most of our cooking myself, as the landlady's tastes and oursdon't agree. I'm getting to be quite an expert at manufacturingsixpenny dainties. "

Janet Willoughby breathed a deep sigh; the diamond star on her neck sentout vivid gleams of light. 

"What fun!" she sighed enviously. "What fun!" and as she spoke thereflashed suddenly before the eyes of her listener a picture of theEnglish mistress lying on the green plush sofa, her shabby slippersshowing beneath the hem of her shabby skirt, spending the holidaySaturday evening at home because she had no invitations to go out, andno money to spare for an entertainment. "Oh, I _do_ envy you!" sighedJanet deeply. "It's one of my greatest ambitions to share rooms with anice girl, and live the simple life, and be free to do whatever oneliked. Mother loves independence in other girls, but her principlesdon't extend to me. She says an only daughter's place is at home. Butyou are an only daughter, too. "

"I am; but other circumstances were different. It was a case of beingdependent on a stepfather or of working for myself--so I chose to work, and--"

"And I'm sure you never regret it!"

Claire extended her hands in the expressive French shrug. 

"Ah, but I do! Horribly, at times. Even now, after three months' workI have a conviction that I shall regret it more and more as time goeson; but if I had to decide again, I'd do just the same. It's a questionof principle versus so many things--laziness and self-indulgence, andwanting to have a good time, and the habits of a lifetime, andirritation with stupid girls who won't work. "

Janet Willoughby gave a soft murmur of understanding. 

"Yes, of course. Stupid of me to say that! Of course, you must gettired when you've never taught before. Does it bore you very much?"

"Teaching? Oh, no. As a rule I love it, and take a pride in inventingnew ways to help the girls. It's the all work and no play that gets onone's nerves, and the feeling of being cut off from the world by animpassable barrier of something that really doesn't exist. People havea prejudice against school-mistresses. They think they are dull, andproper, and pedantic. If they want to be complimentary they say, `Youdon't look like a school-mistress. ' You did yourself, not two minutesago. But really and truly they are just natural, everyday girls, wanting to have a good time in their leisure hours like other girls. You can't think how happy I was to come here to-night and have thechance of putting on pretty things again. "

Janet Willoughby put her hand on Claire's arm and piloted her deftlythrough the crowd. 

"Now, " she said firmly, "you just stay here, and I'll bring up all thenicest men in the room, and introduce them in turns. You _shall_ have agood time, and you are wearing the very prettiest things in the room--ifit's any comfort to you to hear it. We won't talk about school anymore. To-night is for fun!"

The next hour passed on flying feet, while Claire sat the queen of alittle court, and Janet Willoughby flitted to and fro, bringing up fresharrivals to be introduced, and drafting off the last batch to otherparts of the crowded rooms. All the men were agreeable and amusing, andshowed a flattering appreciation of their position. Claire felt no moreinterest in one than in another, but she liked them all, and felt adistinct pleasure in talking to men again after the convent-likeexistence of the last months. She was pleased to welcome a new-comer, smiled unconcerned at a farewell. 

From time to time the buzz of voices was temporarily broken by the crashof the piano, but always before the end of each performance it roseagain, and steadily swelled in volume. In truth, the excellence of theperformance was no great inducement to listen, and Mrs Willoughby'sforehead showed a pucker of anxiety. She drifted across to Claire'scorner, and spoke a few kindly words of welcome, which ended in a halfapology. 

"I am sorry the music is so poor. It varies so much on differentnights. Sometimes we have quite a number of good singers, but to-nightthere are none. I am afraid so much piano grows a little boring. "

She looked in the girl's face with a quick inquiry. 

"Do _you_ sing?"

"No-o. " The word seemed final, yet there was an unmistakable hesitationin Claire's voice. Mrs Willoughby's glance sharpened. 

"But you do something? Play? Recite? What is it? My dear, I shouldbe so grateful!"

"I--whistle!" confessed Claire with a blush, and a little babble ofdelight greeted the words. Every one who heard hailed the chance of avariety in the monotonous programme. Mrs Willoughby beamed with allthe relief of a hostess unexpectedly relieved of anxiety. 

"Delightful! Charming! My dear, it will be such a help! You wouldlike an accompaniment? I'll introduce you to Mr Helder. He can playanything you like. Will you come now! I am sure every one will becharmed. "

There was no time for a second thought. The next moment the long-hairedMr Helder was bowing over Claire's hand, and professing his delight. The little group in the corner were pressing forward to obtain a pointof vantage, and throughout the company in general was passing a wordlesshum of excitement. Mr Helder was seating himself at the piano, a girlin a white dress had ascended the impromptu platform and now stood byhis side, a pretty girl, a very pretty girl, a girl who acknowledged thescattered applause with a smile which showed two dimples on one cheek, agirl who looked neither shy nor conceited, but simply as if she wereenjoying herself very much, and expected everybody to do the same. Shewas going to sing. It would be a relief to listen to singing after thecontinued performances upon the piano. They hoped sincerely that shecould sing well. Why didn't the accompaniment begin?

Then suddenly a white-gloved hand gave a signal, Mr Helder's handsdescended on the keys, and at the same instant from between Claire'spursed-up lips there flowed a stream of high, flute-like notes, repeating the air with a bird-like fluency and ease. She had chosen theold-world ballad, "Cherry Ripe, " the quaint turns and trills of whichlent themselves peculiarly well to this method of interpretation, andthe swing and gaiety of the measure carried the audience by storm. Looking down from her platform Claire could see the indifferent facessuddenly lighten into interest, into smiles, into positive beams ofapproval. At the second verse heads began to wag; unconsciously totheir owners lips began to purse. It was inspiring to watch thosefaces, to know that it was she herself who had wrought the magic change. 

Those moments for Claire were pure undiluted joy. Whistling had come toher as a natural gift, compensating to some extent for the lack of asinging voice; later on she had taken lessons, and practised seriouslyto perfect her facility. At school in Paris, later on in attendingsocial gatherings with her mother, she had had abundant opportunities ofovercoming the initial shyness; but indeed shyness was never a serioustrouble with Claire Gifford, who was gifted with that very agreeablecombination of qualities, --an amiable desire to please other people, anda comfortable assurance of her own powers. 

At the end of the third verse the applause burst out with a roar. "Bravos" sounded from every side, and "Encores" persisted so strenuouslythat Claire was not permitted even to descend from her platform. MrsWilloughby rustled forward full of gratitude and thanks. Mr Helderrubbed his hands, and beamingly awaited further commands... What wouldCecil have to say to a success like this?

Claire's second choice was one of Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words, " aquieter measure this time, sweet and flowing, and giving opportunity fora world of delicate phrasing. It was one of the pieces which she hadpractised with a master, and with which she felt most completely athome; and if the audience found it agreeable to hear, they also, tojudge from their faces, found it equally agreeable to watch. Claire'scheeks were flushed to a soft rose-pink, her head moved to and fro, unconsciously keeping time with the air; one little golden shoe softlytapped the floor. Her unconsciousness of self added to the charm of theperformance. But once the audience noticed, with sympathetic amusement, her composure was seriously threatened, so that the bird-like notesquavered ominously, and the twin dimples deepened into veritable holes. Claire had caught sight of Great-aunt Jane standing in solitary state atthe rear of the throng of listeners, her mittened fingers stillplucking, her eyes frosty with disapproval. 

After that Claire safeguarded her composure by looking steadily downwardat the points of her shoes until the end of the song approached, when itseemed courteous, once more, to face her audience. She raised her eyes, and as she did so her heart leapt within her with a startling force. She was thankful that it _was_ the end, that the long final note wasalready on her lips, for there, standing in the doorway, his faceupraised to hers, stood her knight of the railway station, the rescuerof the lost box--Erskine Fanshawe himself!

CHAPTER NINE. 

THE SUPPER. 

Claire stepped down from the platform to be surrounded by a throng ofguests all eager to express their admiration of her interestingperformance, to marvel how she could "do it, " and to congratulate herupon so unusual an accomplishment; and she smiled and bowed, declaredthat it was quite easy, and perjured herself by maintaining that anyonecould do as well, acutely conscious all the time that Captain Fanshawewas drawing nearer with determined steps, edging his way towards thefront of the crowd. The next moment her hand was in his, and he wasgreeting her with the assurance of a lifelong friend. 

"Good evening, Miss Gifford. Hadn't we better make straight for suppernow? I am sure you must need it. "

It was practically the ordinary invitation. There was nothing to findfault with in the words themselves, yet the impression of a previousarrangement was obviously left with the hearers, who fell back, givingway as to a superior right. As for Claire, she laid her hand on theextended arm, with all the good will in the world, and made a triumphantpassage through the crowd, which smiled upon her as though agreeing thatit was now her turn to be amused. 

"This table, I think!" Captain Fanshawe said, leading the way to thefurthest corner of the dining-room, and Claire found herself sipping ahot cup of soup, and realising that the world was an agreeable place, and that it was folly ever to allow oneself to be downhearted, sincesuch delightful surprises awaited round corners ready to transform thegrey into gold!

Captain Fanshawe looked exactly as memory had pictured him--plain offeature, distinguished in bearing, grave, self-contained, yet with thatlurking light in his eyes which showed that humour lay beneath. Clairesmiled at him across the table, and asked an obvious question--

"Rather a different meeting-place from our last! Did you know me atonce?"

"I did, " he said, and added deliberately, "Just as you knew me. "

"Oh, well!" Claire tried to look unconcerned. "Men are always prettymuch the same. Evening dress does not make the same difference tothem. "

She knew a momentary fear lest he should believe she was fishing for acompliment, and give the ordinary banal reply; but he looked at her witha grave scrutiny, and asked quietly--

"Was that one of the frocks which went astray?"

"Yes! All of it. It wasn't even divided in half. "

"It was a good thing the box turned up!" he said; and there, after all, was the compliment, but so delicately inferred that the most fastidioustaste could not object. 

With the finishing of the soup came the first reference to Claire'swork, for the Captain's casual "Do you care for anything solid, or wouldyou prefer a sweet?" evoked a round-eyed stare of dismay. 

"Oh, _please_!" cried Claire deeply. "I want to go straight through. I've been living on mutton and cabbage for over two months, and cookingsuppers on a chafing-dish. I looked forward to supper as part of thetreat!"

The plain face lightened into a delightful smile. 

"That's all right!" he cried. "Now we know where we are. I hadn't muchdinner myself, so I'm quite game. Let us study the book of the words. "

A _menu_ lay on the table, a square white card emblazoned with manygolden words. Captain Fanshawe drew his chair nearer, and ran hisfinger down the list, while Claire bent forward to signify a yea or nay. Every delicacy in season and out of season seemed to find its place onthat list, which certainly justified Master Reginald's eulogy of hismother's "good feeds. " Claire found it quite a serious matter to decidebetween so many good things, and even with various curtailments, maderather out of pride than inclination, the meal threatened to last someconsiderable time. 

Well! there was obvious satisfaction in the manner in which CaptainFanshawe delivered his orders, and for herself, she had been dignifiedand self-denying; she had resolutely shut the door between this man andherself, and devoted herself to work, and now, since fate had thrown himin her way for a chance hour, she could enjoy herself with a light mind. It was good to talk to a man again, to hear a deep masculine voice, tolook at a broad strong frame. Putting aside all question of love andmarriage, the convent life is no more satisfying than the monastic. Each sex was designed by God to be the complement of the other. Eachmust suffer from lack of the other's companionship. 

"I arrived just as you began your performance, " Captain Fanshaweinformed her. "It was a great `draw. ' Everybody had crowded forward tolisten. It was only towards the end of your second--er--how exactlyshould one express it?--_morceau_, that I managed to get into seeingline. It was a surprise! Have you known the Willoughbys long?"

Claire looked at him blankly. 

"I never saw them before to-night. Your mother wrote to ask them ifthey would send me a card. "

"Oh!" Captain Fanshawe was certainly surprised, and Claire mentallysnubbed herself because at the bottom of her heart there had lain asuspicion that perhaps--just perhaps--he had come to-night in the hopeof meeting his acquaintance of the railway station. This was not thecase; no thought of her had been in his mind. Probably until the momentof meeting he had forgotten her existence. Never mind! They _had_ met, and he was agreeable and friendly. Now for a delightful half-hour... 

"That was a good thought of the _mater's_. You will like them. Theyare delightful people. Just the people you ought to know as a strangerin town. How goes the school teaching, by the way? As well as youexpected?"

Claire deliberated, with pursed lips. 

"No. I expected so much; I always do. But much better than otherpeople expected for me. Theoretically it's a fine life. There aretimes when it seems that nothing could be finer. But--"

"But what?"

"I don't think it's quite satisfying, as a _whole_ life!"

"Does anyone suppose it is?"

"They try to. They have to. For most teachers there is so littleelse. "

The waiter handed plates of lobster mayonnaise, and Captain Fanshawesaid quietly--

"Tell me about the times when the work seems fine. "

"Ah--many times! It depends on one's own mood and health, because, ofcourse, the circumstances are always the same. There are mornings whenone looks round a big class-room and sees all the girls' faces lookingupwards, and it gives one quite a thrilling sense of power andopportunity. That is what the heaven-born teacher must feel everytime. --`Here is the fresh virgin soil, and mine is the joy of plantingthe right seed! Here are the women of the future, the mothers of therace. For this hour they are mine. What I say, they must hear. Theywill listen with an attention which even their parents cannot gain. Thewords which I speak this morning may bear fruit in many lives. ' That'sthe ideal attitude, but the ordinary human woman has other mornings whenall she feels is--`Oh, dear me, six hours of this! And what's the use?Everything I batter in to-day will be forgotten by to-morrow. What'sthe ideal anyway in teaching French verbs? I want to go to bed. '"

They laughed together, but Captain Fanshawe sobered quickly, and hisbrow showed furrows of distress. Claire looked at him and saidquickly--

"Do you mind if we don't talk school? I am Cinderella to-night, wearingfine clothes and supping in state. I'd so much rather talk Cinderellato match. "

"Certainly, certainly. Just as you wish. " Lolling back in his chair, Captain Fanshawe adopted an air of _blase_ indifference, and drawledslowly, "Quite a good winter, isn't it? Lots going on. Have you beento the Opera lately?"

"Oh dear!" thought Claire with a gush, "how refreshing to meet a grown-up man who can pretend like a child!" She simpered, and repliedartificially, "Oh, yes--quite often. The dear Duchess is _so_ kind; herbox is open to me whenever I choose to go. Wonderful scene, isn't it?All those tiers rising one above another. Do you ever look up at thegalleries? Such funny people sit there--men in tweed suits; girls inwhite blouses. Who _are_ they, should you think? Clerks and typistsand school-mistresses, and people of that persuasion?"

"Possibly, I dare say. One never knows. They look quite respectableand quiet, don't you know!"

The twinkle was alight in Captain Fanshawe's eyes. It shone morebrightly still as he added, "Everybody turns up sooner or later in theDuchess's box. Have you happened to meet--the Prince!"

For a moment Claire groped for the connection, then dimpled merrily. 

"Not yet. No! but I am hoping--"

The waiter approached with plates of chicken in aspic, and more rolls ofcrisp browned bread. Claire sent a thought to Cecil finishing a box ofsardines, with her book propped up against the cocoa jug. TheCinderella _role_ was forgotten while her eyes roved around, studyingthe silver dishes on the various tables. 

"When you were a small boy, Captain Fanshawe, did you go out toparties?"

Captain Fanshawe knitted his brows. This charming girl was a littledifficult to follow conversationally; she leapt from one subject toanother with disconcerting agility. 

"Er--pardon me! Is that question put to me in my--er--private, orimaginary capacity?"

"Private, of course. But naturally you did. Did you have pockets?"

"To the best of my remembrance I was disguised as a midshipmite, withwhite duck trousers of a prodigious width. They used to crackle, Iremember. There was room for a dozen pockets. "

Claire laid her arms on the table, so that her face drew nearer his own. Her voice fell to a stage whisper--

"Did you--ever--take--something--home?"

The Captain threw back his head with a peal of laughter. 

"Miss Gifford, what a question! I was an ordinary human boy. _Ofcourse_ I did. And sat on my spoils in the carriage going back, and wasscolded for spoiling my clothes. I had a small brother at home. "

"Well--I have a small friend! She has letters after her name, and isvery learned and clever, but she has a _very_ sweet tooth. Do youthink, perhaps--in this bag--"

"Leave it to me!" he said firmly, and when the waiter next appeared, hereceived an order to bring more bon-bons--plenty of bon-bons--aselection of all the small dainties in silver dishes. 

"He thinks I _am_ having a feast!" Claire said demurely, as she watchedthe progress of selection; then she met Erskine Fanshawe's eyes, andnodded in response to an unspoken question, "And I _am_! I'm having alovely time!"

"I wish it were possible that you could oftener--"

"Well, who knows? A week ago I had made up my mind that nothingexciting would ever happen again, and then this invitation arrived. What a perfect dear Miss Willoughby seems to be!"

"Janet? She _is_!" he said warmly. "She is a girl who has hadeverything the world can give her, and yet has come through unspoiled. It's not often one can say that. Many society girls are selfish andvain, but Janet never seems to think of herself. You'd find her anideal friend. "

Claire's brain leapt swiftly to several conclusions. Janet Willoughbywas devoted to Mrs Fanshawe; Mrs Fanshawe returned her devotion. Janet Willoughby was rich, and of good birth. Mrs Fanshawe hadmentally adopted her as a daughter-in-law. Given the non-appearance ofa rival on the scene, her desire would probably be fulfilled, since suchsincere liking could easily ripen into love. Just for a moment Clairefelt a stab of that lone and lorn feeling which comes to solitaryfemales at the realisation of another's happiness; then she ralliedherself and said regretfully--

"I'm afraid I shan't have the chance! Our lives lie too far apart, andmy time is not my own. It is only an occasional Saturday-night that Ican play Cinderella. "

"What do you do on Sundays?"

"Go to church in the morning, and sleep in the afternoon. Soundselderly, doesn't it? But I do enjoy that sleep. The hour after lunchis the most trying of the school day. It's all I can do sometimes tosmother my yawns, and not upset the whole class. It's part of theSunday rest to be able to let go, lie down hugging a hot bottle, andsleep steadily till it's time for tea. "

"Where do you go to church?"

"Oh!" Claire waved an airy hand, "it depends! I've not settled down. I am still trying which I like best. "

Across the table the two pairs of eyes met. The man's questioning, protesting, the girl's steadily defiant. "Why won't you tell me?" camethe unspoken question. "Why won't you give me a chance?"

"I am too proud, " came the unspoken answer. "Your mother did not thinkme good enough. I will accept no acquaintance by stealth. "

Interruption came in the shape of the waiter bearing a tray of littlesilver dishes filled with dainties, which he proceeded to arrange inrows on the table. Claire relapsed into giggles at the sight, andCaptain Fanshawe took refuge, man-like, in preternatural solemnity; buthe made no comment, and the moment that the man had disappeared, bothheads craned eagerly to examine the spoils. 

"Chocolates, _marrons glacis_, crystallised peaches, French bon-bons, plums. I don't recognise them by head mark. These are too sticky... These look uncommonly good!" The big fingers hovered over each dish inturn, lifting sample specimens, and placing them on Claire's plate, whence they were swiftly conveyed to her bag. Not a single sweetmeattouched her own lips. The unconventionality of the action seemed toreceive some justification from the fact that she was confiscating onlyher own share. When the waiter returned with ices, the little bagbulged suspiciously, and the silver dishes were no longer required. Thewaiter was ordered to carry them away, and plainly considered that somepeople did not know what they wanted. 

"The only thing lacking is a cracker. I invariably purloined a cracker, and doubled up the ends. I suppose we are hardly near enough toChristmas. By the by, what are you doing for Christmas? You will haveholidays, of course, " Captain Fanshawe said, with an elaborateunconsciousness, and Claire kept her eyes on her plate. 

"I may go to Belgium. I haven't decided. "

"There seem to be a good many things you cannot--decide. Miss Gifford, you haven't forgotten what I asked you?"

"What did you ask?"

"That if ever I could help--if you ever needed help--"

"I shall want help badly during the next few weeks, when theexaminations come on, and I have all the papers to set and correct. "

Captain Fanshawe refused to smile. 

"The kind of help that a man can give--"

"Yes, I remember. You were very kind, and I am still so much under theinfluence of the old life that I do feel you might be a comfort; but nodoubt, after some more months of school-mistressing, I shall resent theidea that a man could do any more than I could myself. So it's a caseof soon or never. You will hardly be cruel enough to wish to hasten myextremity!"

"I'm not so sure about that, if I could have the satisfaction of puttingthings to rights!"

It was while she was smiling her acknowledgment of this pretty speechthat Claire became conscious of Janet Willoughby's eyes bent searchinglyupon her. She had entered the room on the arm of her supper partner, and came to a pause not a yard away from the table where a veryanimated, apparently very intimate conversation was taking place betweenthe son of her old friend and the girl to whom she had believed him tobe unknown. As she met Claire's glance, Janet smiled automatically, butthe friendliness was gone from her glance. The next moment CaptainFanshawe, had turned, seen her, and sprung to his feet. 

"Janet! Are you waiting for a table? We have nearly finished. Won'tyou sit down and talk to Miss Gifford?"

"Oh, please don't hurry... We'll find another place. You have metbefore, then? I didn't know. "

"I saw Miss Gifford when she was befriending my mother at LiverpoolStreet Station, and recognised her upstairs just now. Do sit down, Janet. You look tired. "

Janet Willoughby took the offered chair and exchanged a few words withClaire as she gathered together her possessions, but the subtle changepersisted. Claire felt vaguely disturbed, but the next half-hour passedso pleasantly that she had no time to puzzle over the explanation. Captain Fanshawe never left her side; they sat together on the same sofawhich Great-aunt Jane had monopolised for the earlier part of theevening, and talked of many things, and discussed many problems, andsometimes agreed, and oftener disagreed, and when they disagreed mostwidely, looked into each other's eyes and smiled, as who should say, "What do words matter? We understand!"

At one o'clock Claire rose to depart, and said her adieu to her hostessand her daughter, who were standing side by side. 

"My dear, it is too bad. I have had _no_ time with you, and I am sograteful for the charming way in which you came to the rescue! We shallhope to see you often again. Shan't we, Janet? You girls must arrangea day which suits you both. "

"Oh, yes, we must!" Janet said, as she shook hands, but she made noattempt to make the arrangement there and then, as her mother obviouslyexpected, and Claire realised, with a sinking of the heart, that apromised friendship had received a check. 

When she descended to the hall wrapped in her filmy cloak it was to findCaptain Fanshawe waiting at the foot of the stairs. He looked worriedand grave, and the front door was reached before he made the firstremark. Then, lingering tentatively on the threshold, he looked down ather with a searching glance. 

"Is--er--is your address still the Grand Hotel?"

Claire's face set into firm lines. 

"Still the Grand Hotel!"

For a moment he looked her steadily in the eyes, then said quietly--

"And my address is still the Carlton Club!" He bowed, and turned intothe house. 

The footman banged the door of the taxi, and stood awaitinginstructions. 

"T-wenty-two, Laburnum Crescent, " said Claire weakly. Halfway throughthe words a sudden obstacle arose in her throat. It was all she coulddo to struggle through. She hoped to goodness the footman did notnotice. 

"There now! what did I tell you? You look fagged to death, and as crossas two sticks. Five shillings wasted on taxis, and nothing for it butgetting thoroughly upset. Next time I hope you will take my advice!"said Cecil, and took up her candle to grope her way up the dark stairwayto bed. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

NOWHERE TO GO. 

Cecil's observance of her day of licenced grumbling was somewhatobstructed by the fact that for several weeks after Mrs Willoughby's AtHome, Monday mornings found her in a condition of excitement and gaiety. It was a restless gaiety, which seemed to spring rather from the headthan the heart, and Claire looking on with puzzled eyes had an instinctthat her companion was assiduously whipping up her own spirits, playingthe part of happiness with all her force, with the object of convincingthe most critical of all audiences--her own heart! Life was a lonelything to Claire in these days, for Cecil went out regularly everySaturday and Sunday, returning so late that the two girls did not meetfrom lunch one day until breakfast the next. She vouchsafed noexplanation of her sudden plunge into society, neither beforehand whenshe sat stitching at pathetic little pieces of finery, nor afterwardswhen letting herself in with her latch-key she crept slowly to bed, never deigning to enter Claire's room for one of those "tell-all-about-it" _seances_ dear to a girl's heart. 

It was the sight of those pathetic little pieces of finery which firstsuggested the idea of a man to Claire's mind. However dear and intimatea woman friend may be, the prospect of meeting her does not inspire afellow-woman with sufficient energy to sit up until after midnight tocover a shabby lace blouse with ninon, or to put a new silk collar andcuffs on a half-worn coat. It is only the prospect of meeting the eyesof some male creature, who in all probability will remain supremelyunconscious of the result, which stimulates such effort, and Claire, noting Cecil's restless excitement, cast anxious thoughts towards theparticular man in this case. 

Was Sophie Blake correct in her deduction as to a previous unhappyromance? Claire had no tangible grounds to lead her to a conclusion, but instinct induced her to agree. Something beyond the troubles of herprofessional life had gone towards warping a nature that was naturallygenerous and warm. In imagination Claire lived over the pitifulromance. Poor Cecil had been badly treated. Some selfish man had madelove to her, amusing his idle hours with the society of a pretty, cleverwoman; he had never seriously intended marriage, but Cecil had believedin his sincerity, had given him her whole heart, had dreamt dreams whichhad turned the grey of life to gold. 

And then had come the end. How had the end come? Some day when theywere walking together, had he suddenly announced: "I am sailing to Indianext month!" or, "We have been such capital friends, you and I. Ishould like you to be the first to hear my news. I am engaged to bemarried to the dearest girl in the world!" Then, because conventiondecrees that when her heart is wounded a woman may make no moan, hadCecil twisted her lips into a smile, and cried, "I am so glad to hearit. I hope you will be very happy, " while the solid earth rocked aroundher? At such thoughts as these Claire flared with righteous anger. "Ifthat should ever happen to me, I wouldn't pretend! I wouldn't sparehim. I should look him straight in the face, and say, `And all thistime you have been pretending to love me. --I thank God that it _was_pretence. I thank God that He has preserved me from being the wife ofman who could act a double part!'"

But perhaps there had been no real ending. Perhaps the man had simplygrown tired, and ceased to call, ceased to write. Oh, surely that wouldbe the greatest tragedy of all! Claire's quick brain summoned picturesof Cecil creeping down the oil-clothed stairs in her dressing-gown atthe sound of the postman's earliest knock, and creeping back with noletter in her hand; of Cecil entering the little parlour on her returnfrom work with a swift hungry look at the table on which the day'sletters were displayed; seeing no letter lying there; never, never theletter for which she watched! And the days would pass, and the weeks, and the months, and the old routine of life would go on just the same. Whatever might be her private sufferings, the English mistress must beat her post each morning at nine o'clock; she must wrestle all day withthe minds of dull girls, listless girls, clever girls, girls who wereeager to learn, and girls whose energies seemed condensed in the effortto avoid learning at all. However sore might be the English mistress'sheart, it was her duty to be bright and alert; however exhausted her ownstock of patience, she must still be a female Job in her treatment ofher many pupils. A school-mistress must banish her individuality as awoman on the threshold of the form-room; while on duty she must banishevery outside interest from her mind. No lying in bed, with her face tothe pillow; no weeping far into the night. Headache and swollen eyelidsare not for her. If her love-story goes wrong, she must lock her sorrowin her own heart. What wonder if, as a result, her mind grows bitterand her tongue grows sharp!

"That's a lesson for me! I must never, never allow myself to fall inlove!" sighed Claire to herself. It was a depressing necessity, butvaguely she allowed herself to dream of a distant Someday, when the banshould be removed. Something might happen to set her free. Somethingmost certainly _would_ happen! Optimistic one-and-twenty is readyenough to face a short term of renunciation, but it resolutely refusesto believe in its continuance. 

A shadow fell over Claire's happy face as the practical application ofthis resolve came into her mind. Erskine Fanshawe! At the moment hewas the one masculine figure on her horizon, but she did not disguisefrom herself that of all the men she had met, he attracted her the most. What a mercy that she had had the resolution to put a stop to afriendship which might have ended in unfitting her for the work in hand!It had been hard to refuse the desired information, but the fact thatthe second refusal had been twice as hard as the first was in itself aproof of the wisdom of her decision. And then, in illogical girlishfashion, Claire fell to wondering if perchance Captain Fanshawe woulddiscover her address for himself? It would be the easiest of tasks, since he had nothing to do but to put the question to Mrs Willoughby. At one moment Claire openly hoped that he would; at the next sherecalled the expression on Janet Willoughby's face as she stood staringacross the supper room, and then she was not so sure. What if thecontinuance of the friendship brought trouble on Janet as well asherself?

Laboriously Claire thrust the thought of Erskine Fanshawe from her mind, but just because inclination would have led her to so blithely meet him, she felt a keener sympathy with her companion's preparations for similarmeetings. 

The time of examinations had come, and night after night the dining-table of the little parlour was littered with the sheets of foolscapwhich were to test the progress of the pupils throughout the term. Cecil's older forms had been studying _The Merchant of Venice, Richardthe Second_, and the _Essays of Elia_; the younger forms, _TanglewoodTales_ and Kingsley's _Heroes_. She had set the questions not only as atest of memory, but with a view of drawing out original thought. But, to judge from her groans and lamentations, the result was poor. 

"Of all the dull, stupid, unimaginative--_sheep_! Not an original ideabetween them. Every answer exactly like the last--a hash-up of my ownremarks in class. If there's a creature on earth I despise more thananother, it's an English flapper. Silly, vain, egotistical--"

Then the French mistress would scowl across the table, and say, "Nowyou've put me out! I was just counting up my marks. Oh, do be quiet!"

"Sorry!" Cecil would say shortly, and taking up her pencil slashscathing comments at the side of the foolscap sheets. Anon she wouldsmile, and smile again, and forgetting Claire's request, would interruptonce more. 

"Can you remember the name of Florence Mason?"

"If I strain my intellect to its utmost, I believe I can. "

"Well, remember, then! It will be worth while. She'll do something--that girl. When you are an insignificant old woman, you may be proud toboast that you used to sit at the very table on which her first Englishessays were corrected. "

"So they are not all dull, stupid, unimaginative?"

"The exception proves the rule!" cried Cecil, and swept the paperstogether with a sigh of relief. "Done at last. Now for my blouse. "

Claire cast a glance at the clock. 

"Half-past ten. And you are so tired. Surely you won't begin to sew atthis hour?"

"I must. I want it for Saturday. I tried it on last night, and itwasn't a bit nice at the neck. I've got to alter it somehow. "

"I have some trimming upstairs. Just be quiet for five minutes, while Ifinish my list, and then I'll bring down my scrap-box, and we'll seewhat we can find. "

That scrap-box was in constant request during the next weeks. It wasfilled with the dainty oddments which a woman of means and tastecollects in the course of years; trimmings and laces, and scraps of finebrocades; belts and buckles, and buttons of silver and paste; glitteringends of tinsel, ends of silk and ribbons that were really too pretty tothrow away, and cunning little motifs which had the magic quality ofdisguising deficiencies and making both ends meet. Claire gave with alavish hand, and Cecil's gratitude was pathetic in its intensity. Moreand more as the weeks passed on did she become obsessed with the crazefor decking herself in fine garments; new gloves, shoes, and veils werepurchased to supplement the home-made garments, and one memorable nightthere arrived a large dress-box containing an evening dress and cloak. 

"I have been out so little these last years. I have no clothes towear, " Cecil said in explanation. "It's not fair to--er--people, whenthey take you about, to look as if you had come out of the Ark... Andthese ready-made things are _so_ cheap!"

She spoke with an air of excusing herself, and with a flush ofembarrassment on her cheeks, and Claire hastened to sympathise andagree. She wondered if the embarrassment arose from the fact that forthe last two weeks Cecil had not paid her share of the joint expenses!The omission had happened naturally enough, for on each occasion whenthe landlady appeared with the bill, Cecil had been absent on one of hernow frequent excursions, when it had seemed the simplest thing to settlein full, and await repayment next day. 

Repayment, however, had not come. Half a dozen times over Cecil hadexclaimed, "Oh, dear, there's that money. I _must_ remember!" butapparently she never had remembered at a moment when her purse was athand. 

Claire was honestly indifferent. The hundred pounds which she haddeposited in a bank was considerably diminished, since it had been drawnon for all her needs, but the term's salary would be paid in a shorttime, and the thought of that, added to the remainder, gave her apleasant feeling of ease. It was only when for the third Saturday Cecilhurried off with an air of fluster and embarrassment, that an unpleasantsuspicion arose. The weekly bill was again due, and Cecil had notforgotten, she was only elaborately pretending to forget! Claire wasnot angry, she was perfectly willing to play the part of banker untilthe end of the term, but she hated the thought that Cecil was acting apart, and deliberately trying to deceive. What if she had beenextravagant in her expenditure on clothes and had run herself short fornecessary expenses, there was nothing criminal in that! Foolish itmight be, but a fellow-girl would understand that, after being staid andsensible for a long, long time, it was a blessed relief to the femininemind to have a little spell of recklessness for a change. Cecil hadonly to say, "I've run myself horribly short. Can you pay up till I getmy screw?" and the whole matter would have been settled in a trice. Butto pretend to forget was so _mean_!

The next morning after breakfast the vexed question of the Christmasholidays came up for discussion for the twentieth time. Cecil hadpreviously stated that she always spent the time with her mother, but itnow appeared that to a certain extent she had changed her plans. 

"I shall have to go down over Christmas Day and the New Year, I suppose. Old people make such a fuss over those stupid anniversaries, but Ishall come up again on the second. I prefer to be in town. We have topay for the rooms in any case, so we may as well use them. "

Claire's face lengthened. 

"_Pay_ for them! Even if we go away?"

"Of course. What did you expect? The landlady isn't let off her ownrent, because we choose to take a holiday. There's no saving except forthe light and coal. By the way, I owe you for a third week now. I_must_ remember! Have you decided what you are going to do?"

Claire shook her head. It was a forlorn feeling that Christmas wascoming, and she had nowhere to go. Until now she had gone on in faith, feeling sure that before the time arrived, some one would remember herloneliness, and invite her if only for the day itself. Possibly Cecilin virtue of three months' daily companionship would ask her mother'spermission to invite her friend, if only for a couple of days. Orbright, friendly Sophie Blake, who had sympathised with her loneliness, might have some proposition to make, or Mrs Willoughby, who was sointerested in girls who were working for themselves, or MissFarnborough, who knew that it was the French mistress's first Christmaswithout her mother; but no such suggestion had been made. No one seemedto care. 

"I must say it's _strange_ that no one has invited you!" said Cecilsharply. "I don't think much of your grand friends if they can't lookafter you on Christmas Day. What about the people in Brussels? Did noone send you an invitation? If you lived there for three years, surelyyou must know some one intimately enough to offer to go, even if theydon't suggest it. "

"It is not necessary, thank you, " said Claire with an air. "I have anopen invitation to several houses, but I am saving up Brussels forEaster, when the weather will be better, and it will be more of achange. And I have an old grand-aunt in the North, but she is aninvalid, confined to her room. I should be an extra trouble in thehouse. I shall manage to amuse myself somehow. It will be anopportunity for exploring London. "

"Oh well, " Cecil said vaguely, "when I come back!" but she spoke no wordof Christmas Day. 

The next week brought the various festivities with which SaintCuthbert's celebrated the end of the Christmas term. There was a schooldance in the big class-room, a Christmas-tree party, given to thechildren in an East End parish, and last and most important of all thebreaking-up ceremony in the local Town Hall, when an old girl, nowdeveloped into a celebrated authoress, presented the prizes, and gave anamusing account of her own schooldays, which evoked storms of applausefrom the audience, even Miss Farnborough smiling benignly at the recitalof misdoings which would have evoked her sternest displeasure on thepart of present-day pupils! Then the singing-class girls sang a shortcantata, and the eldest girls gave a scene from Shakespeare, very dulland exceedingly correct, and the youngest girls acted a little Frenchplay, while the French mistress stood in the wings, ready to prompt, herface very hot, and her feet very cold, and her heart beating at expressspeed. 

This moment was a public test of her work during the term, and she had ahorror that the children would forget their parts and disgrace theirleader as well as themselves. She need not have feared, however, forthe publicity which she dreaded was just the stimulus needed to spur thejuvenile actors to do their very best, and they shrugged, theygesticulated, they rolled their r's, they reproduced Claire's own littlemannerisms with an _aplomb_ which brought down the house. Claire's lackof teaching experience might make her less sound on rules and routine, but it was obvious that she had succeeded in one important point; shehad lifted "French" from the level of a task, and converted it into aliving tongue. 

Miss Farnborough was very gracious in her parting words to her newmistress. 

"I have not come to my present position without learning to trust myperceptions, " said she. "I recognised at once that you possessed thetrue teaching instinct, and to-day you have justified my choice. I havehad many congratulations on your pupils' performance. " Then she heldout her hand with a charming smile. "I hope you will have very pleasantholidays!"

She made no inquiries as to the way in which this young girl was tospend her leisure. She herself was worn-out with the strain of the longterm, and when the morrow came she intended to pack her bag, and startoff for a sunny Swiss height, where for the next few weeks it would beher chief aim to forget that she had ever seen a school. But the newFrench mistress turned away with a heavy heart. It seemed at thatmoment as if nobody cared. 

That year Christmas fell on a Monday. On the Saturday morning Cecilpacked up her bag, and departed, grumbling, for her week at home. Before she left, Claire presented her with a Christmas gift in the shapeof a charming embroidered scarf, and Cecil kissed her, and flushed, andlooked at the same time pleased and oppressed, and hastily pulling outher purse extracted two sovereigns and laid them down on the table. 

"I keep forgetting that money! Three weeks, wasn't it? There's twopounds; let me know the rest when I come back and I'll settle up. Christmas is an awful time. The money simply melts. "

Claire had an uncomfortable and wholly unreasonable feeling of beingpaid for her present as she put the two sovereigns in her purse. Cecilhad given her no gift, and the lack of the kindly attention increasedthe feeling of desolation with which she returned to her empty room. Even the tiniest offering to show that she had been thought of, wouldhave been a comfort!

The landlady came into the room to remove the luncheon tray, her lipspursed into an expression which her lodger recognised as the preliminaryto "a bit of my mind. " When the outlying cruets and dishes had beencrowded together in a perilous pile, the bit of her mind came out. 

"I was going to say, miss, that of course you will arrange to dine outon Christmas Day. I never take ladies as a rule, but Miss Rhodes, shesaid, being teachers, you would be away all holiday time. I never had alodger before who stayed in the house over Christmas, and of course youmust understand that we go over to Highgate to my mother's for the dayand the girl goes out, and I couldn't possibly think of cooking--"

"Don't be afraid, Mrs Mason. I am going out for the day. "

Mrs Mason lifted the tray and carried it out of the room, shutting thedoor behind her by the skilful insertion of a large foot encased in acashmere boot, and Claire stood staring at her, wondering if it werereally her own voice which had spoken those last words, and from whatsource had sprung the confidence which had suddenly flooded her heart. At this last blow of all, when even the little saffron-coloured parlourclosed the door against her, the logical course would have been tocollapse into utter despair, instead of which the moment had brought thefirst gleam of hope. 

"Now, " said the voice in her heart, "everyone has failed me. I amhelpless, I am alone. This is God's moment. I will worry no more, butleave it to Him. Something will open for me when the time arrives!"

She went upstairs, put on her hat, and sallied out into the busystreets. All the world was abroad, men and women and small eagerchildren all bent on the same task, thronging the shops to the doors, waiting in rows for the favour of being served, emerging triumphant witharms laden with spoils. On every side fragments of the sameconversation floated to the ears. "What can I get for Kate?"

"I can't think what in the world to buy for John. "

"Do try to give me an idea what Rose would like!... "

Claire mingled with the throng, pushed her way towards the crowdedcounters, waited a preposterous time for her change, and then hurriedoff to another department to go through the same struggle once more. Deliberately she threw herself into the Christmas feeling, turning herthoughts from herself, considering only how she could add to the generalhappiness. She bought presents for everybody, for the cross landlady, for the untidy servant girl, for Sophie Blake, and Flora Ross, for themaid at Saint Cuthbert's who waited upon the Staff-Room, with aselection of dainty oddments for girl friends at Brussels, and when thepresents themselves had been secured she bought prettily tinted paper, and fancy ribbons, and decorated name cards for the adornment of theparcels. 

The saffron parlour looked quite Christmas-like that evening, and Claireknew a happy hour as she made up her gifts in their dainty wrappings. They looked so gay and seasonable that she decided to defer putting theminto the sober outer covering of brown paper as long as possible. Theywere all the Christmas decoration she would have!

On Sunday morning the feeling of loneliness took an acute turn. Clairelonged for a church which long association had made into a home; for aclergyman who was also a friend; for a congregation of people who knewher, and cared for her well-being, instead of the long rows of strangefaces. She remembered how Cecil had declared that in London a girlmight attend the same church for years on end, and never hear a word ofwelcome, and hope died low in her breast. The moment of exaltation hadpassed, and she told herself drearily that on Christmas afternoon shemust take a book and sit by the fire in the waiting-room of some greatstation, dine at a restaurant, and perhaps go to a concert at night. 

For weeks past Claire had been intending to go to a West End church tohear one of the finest of modern preachers. She decided to go thismorning, since the length of journey now seemed rather an advantage thana drawback, as helping to fill up another of the long, dragging hours. 

She dressed herself with the care and nicety which was the result of herFrench training, and which had of late become almost a religious duty, for the study of the fifteen women who daily assembled round the tablein the Staff-Room was as a danger signal to warn new-comers of theperils ahead. With the one exception of Sophie Blake, not one of thenumber seemed to make any effort to preserve their feminine charm. Theydressed their hair in the quickest and easiest fashion withoutconsidering the question of appearance; they wore dun-coloured garmentswith collars of the same material; though severely neat, all theirskirts seemed to suffer from the same depressing tendency to drop at theback; their bony wrists emerged from tightly-buttoned sleeves. Thepoint of view adopted was that appearance did not matter, that it waswaste of time to consider the adornment of the outer woman. Brain wasthe all-important factor; every possible moment must be devoted to thecultivation of brain; but an outsider could not fail to note that, withthis destroying of a natural instinct, something which went deeper thanthe surface was also lost; with the grace of the body certain femininegraces of soul died also, and the world was poorer for their loss. 

The untidy servant maid peered out of the window to watch Claire as sheleft the house that morning, and evolved a whole feuilleton to accountfor the inconsistency of her appearance with her position as a firstfloor front. "You'd take her for a lady to look at her! P'raps she_is_ a lady in disguise!" and from, this point the making of thefeuilleton began. 

The service that morning was food to Claire's hungering soul, for thewords of the preacher might have been designed to meet her own need. Asshe listened she realised that the bitterness of loneliness wasimpossible to one who believed and trusted in the great, all-compassinglove. Sad one might still be, so long as the human heart demanded ahuman companionship, but the sting of feeling uncared for, could nevertouch a child of God. She took the comfort home to her heart, andstored it there to help her through the difficult time ahead, and on herknees at the end of the service she sent up her own little petition forhelp. 

"There are so many homes in this great city! Is there no home for me onChristmas Day?" With the words the tears sprang, and Claire mopped hereyes with her handkerchief, thankful that she was surrounded bystrangers by whom her reddened eyes would pass unnoticed. Then risingto her feet, she turned to lift the furs which hung on the back of thepew, and met the brown eyes of a girl who had been sitting behind herthe whole of the service. 

The girl was Janet Willoughby. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

ENTER MAJOR CAREW. 

In the street outside the church door the two girls shook hands andexchanged greetings. Janet wore a long fur coat, and a toque of darkRussian sable, with a sweeping feather at one side. The price of thesetwo garments alone would equal the whole of Claire's yearly salary, butit had the effect of making the wearer look clumsy and middle-agedcompared with the graceful simplicity of the other's French-cut costume. Janet Willoughby was not thinking of clothes at that moment, however;she was looking at reddened eyelids, and remembering the moment when shehad seen a kneeling figure suddenly shaken with emotion. The sight ofthose tears had wiped away the rankling grudge which had lain at herheart since the evening of her mother's At Home, and revived the warmliking which at first sight she had taken to this pretty attractivegirl. 

"Which way are you going? May I walk with you? It's just the morningfor a walk. I hope it will keep cold and bright over Christmas. It'sso inappropriate when it's muggy. Last year we were in Switzerland, butmother is old-fashioned, and likes to have the day at home, so this timewe don't start till the new year. You are not going sporting by anychance?"

"I'm not!" said Claire, and, for all her determination, could not resista grimace, so far from sporting seemed the prospect ahead. Janet caughtthe grimace, and smiled in sympathy, but the next moment her facesobered. 

"But I hope you _are_ going to have jolly holidays?"

"Oh, I hope so. Oh, yes, I mean to enjoy them very much, " Claire saidvaliantly, and swiftly turned the subject. "Where do you go inSwitzerland?"

"Saint Moritz. We've gone there for years--a large party of friends. It has become quite a yearly reunion. It's so comfy to have one's ownparty, and be independent of the other hoteliers. They may be quitenice, of course, but then, again, they may not. I feel rather meansometimes when I see a new arrival looking with big eyes at our merrytable. Theoretically, I think one _ought_ to be nice to new-comers inan hotel. It's such a pelican-in-the-wilderness feeling. I'd hate itmyself, but practically I'm afraid I'm not particularly friendly. Weare so complete that we don't want outsiders. They'd spoil the fun. Don't you think one is justified in being a little bit selfish atChristmas-time?"

Claire laughed, her old, happy, gurgling laugh. It warmed her heart tohave Janet Willoughby's companionship once more. 

"It isn't exactly the orthodox attitude, is it? Perhaps you will bemore justified this year, after you have got through your Christmasduties at home. "

"Yes! That's a good idea. I _shall_, for it was pure unselfishnesswhich prevented me running away last week with the rest of the party. Mother would have given in if I'd persisted, and I wanted to sodreadfully badly. " She sighed, and looked quite dejected, but Claireremained unmoved. 

"I don't pity you one bit. You have only a week to wait. That's not agreat trial of patience!"

"Oh, yes, it is. --Sometimes!" said Janet with an emphasis which gave thewords an added eloquence. 

Claire divined at once that Switzerland had an attraction apart fromwinter sports--an attraction centred in some individual member of themerry party. Could it by any chance be Erskine Fanshawe? She longed toask the question. Not for a hundred pounds would she have asked thequestion. She hoped it was Captain Fanshawe. She hoped Janet wouldhave a lovely time. Some girls had everything. Some had nothing. Itwas unfair--it was cruel. Oh, dear, what was the use of going tochurch, and coming out to have such mean, grudging thoughts? JanetWilloughby too! Such a dear! She deserved to be happy. Claire forceda smile, and said bravely--

"It will be all the nicer for waiting. "

"It couldn't be nicer, " Janet replied. 

Then she looked in the other girl's face, and it struck her that thepretty eyelids had taken an additional shade of red, and her warm heartfelt a throb of compunction. "Grumbling about my own little bothers, when she had so much to bear--hateful of me! I've been mean not to askher again; mother wanted to; but she's so pretty. I admired her so muchthat I was afraid--other people might too! But she was crying; I sawher cry. Perhaps she is lonely, and it's my fault--"

"What do you generally do on Sundays?" she asked aloud. "There are lotsof other mistresses at your school, aren't there? I suppose you goabout together, and have tea at each other's rooms in the afternoon, andsit over the fire at night and talk, and brew cocoa, as the girls do innovels. It all sounds so interesting. The girls are generally ratherplain and very learned; but there is always one among them who is likeyou. I don't mean that you are not learned--I'm sure you are--but--er--pretty, you know, and attractive, and fond of things! And all theothers adore her, and are jealous if she is nicer to one than to theothers... "

Claire grimaced again, more unrestrainedly than before. 

"That's not my part. I wish it were. I could play it quite well. Theother mistresses are quite civil and pleasant, but they don't hankerafter me one bit. With two exceptions, the girl I live with, and oneother, I have not spoken to one of them out of school hours. I don'teven know where most of them live. "

Janet's face lengthened. Suddenly she turned and asked a sharp directquestion:

"Where are you going on Christmas Day?"

Pride and weakness struggled together in Claire's heart, and pride won. She would _not_ pose as an object of pity!

"Oh, I'm going--out!" said she with an air, but Janet Willoughby was notto be put off so easily as that. Her brown eyes sent out a flash oflight. She demanded sternly:

"Where?"

"Really--" Claire tossed her head with the air of a duchess who was sooverburdened with invitations that she found it impossible to make achoice between them. "Really, don't you know, I haven't quitedecided--"

"Claire Gifford, you mean, horrid girl, don't dare to quibble! You aregoing nowhere, and you know it. Nobody has invited you for ChristmasDay; that's why you were crying just now--because you had nowhere to go. And you would have gone away this morning, and said nothing, and satalone in your rooms... I call it _mean_! Talk of the spirit ofChristmas! It's an insult to me and to mother. How do you suppose weshould have felt if we'd found out _afterwards_?"

"W-what else could I do? How could I tell you?" stammered Claire, blushing. "It would have seemed such a barefaced _hint_, and I detesthints. And really why should you have felt bad? I'm a stranger. You've only seen me once. There could be no blame on you. There's noblame on anyone. It just happens that it doesn't quite fit in to visitfriends at a distance, and in town--well! I'm a stranger, you see. I_have_ no friends!"

Janet set her lips. 

"Just as a matter of curiosity I should like to know exactly what you_were_ going to do? You said, I believe, that you were going out. Andnow you say you had nowhere to go. Both statements can't be true--"

"Oh, yes, they can. I have nowhere to go, but I had to find somewhere, because my good landlady is going to her mother's at Highgate, anddisapproves of lodgers who stay in on Christmas Day. She gave me noticethat I must go out as the house would be locked up. "

"But where--what--where _could_ you go?"

"I thought of a restaurant and a concert, and a station waiting-room tofill in the gaps. Quite comfortable, you know. They have lovely fires, and with a nice book--"

"If you don't stop this minute I shall begin to cry--here, in the openstreet!" cried Janet hotly. "Oh, you poor dear, you poor dear! Astation waiting-room. I never heard of anything so piteous. Oh, howthankful I am that I met you! Tell me honestly, was it about that thatyou were crying?"

"Y-yes, it was. I was saying a little prayer and trying not to feellonesome, and then I looked round and saw--you. "

"End of volume one!" cried Janet briskly. "No more waiting-rooms, mydear. You must come to us for the whole of Christmas Day. I wish Icould ask you to stay, but we are chock-a-block with cousins and aunts. I'll come round in my car in time to take you to church, and send youback at night after the Highgate revels are over. We can't offer youanything very exciting, I'm afraid--just an old-fashioned homeygathering. "

"It's just what I want. I am thirsty for a home; but your mother--whatwill she say? Will she care for a stranger--"

"Mother says what I say, " Janet declared with the assurance of an onlydaughter. "And she'll say in addition, `What a blessing! She'llwhistle for us, and amuse Aunt Jane. ' Did you realise that Aunt Janewas coming? She's generally _very_ cross all day, and makes a point ofgiving away her presents to other members of the party under the verynoses of the givers, to let them see what she thinks of their choice. The great idea is to sit down by her quickly when you see her begin tofumble with something you would like to have. I got quite a nice bagthat way last Christmas!"

Presents! That was another idea. Claire went home mentally reviewingher own treasures with a view to selecting some trifle which Janet inthe midst of her plenty might still be glad to receive. She decided ona silver clasp of quaint Breton manufacture, which had the merit that inthe whole of London it would be impossible to purchase another to match. 

Claire returned to her room in a frame of mind vastly different fromthat in which she had started forth. Her buoyant spirits soared upwardsat the prospect of a Christmas spent in the midst of a happy familyparty, and all the difficulties of life seemed to dissolve into thinair, since, after the providential meeting just vouchsafed, it seemedfaithless to doubt that future difficulties would be solved in the sameway. 

She intended to devote the afternoon to writing a long letter to hermother, which had been delayed owing to her recent depression ofspirits, for it seemed cruel to write in a pessimistic strain to thehappy bride, who now, more than ever, saw everything _couleur de rose_. Mrs Judge's present had arrived the week before, in the shape of arichly embroidered Indian table-cloth, for which her daughter had asmuch use as she herself would have found for a fur rug. To use it inthe saffron parlour was a sheer impossibility, for every separatearticle of furniture shrieked at it, and it shrieked at them in return;so Claire folded it away at the bottom of her box, reflecting, between asigh and a smile, that the choice was "just like mother. " It was notagreeable to the bride to picture her daughter living in an uglylodging-house parlour, so she had mentally covered the ugliness beneaththe gorgeous embroidery of that cloth, and happily dismissed the subjectfrom her mind. At the time of the opening of the parcel, Claire hadfelt a sense of sharp disappointment, amounting even to irritation, butthis morning she could see the humour of the situation, and she chuckledsoftly to herself as she walked homeward, rehearsing words of thanksthat would be at once cordial and truthful. "Just what I wanted, " wasplainly out of the question; "So useful" was also ruled out, but shecould honestly admire the workmanship of the cloth, and enlarge on thecare with which it should be preserved! It was an easy task to satisfya correspondent who was eager to interpret words into the meaning mostagreeable to herself!

Claire entered the house prepared to devote herself to writing lettersto absent friends, but the excitements of the day were not yet over, forthe little maid met her on the threshold with the exciting intelligencethat a gentleman was in the parlour waiting to see her. 

The feuilleton made an exciting leap forward, as Lizzie watched theblood rush into the "first floor's" cheeks, and ebb away suddenly, leaving her white and tense. "Struck all of a heap, like! I shouldn'thave thought meself as she'd look at him! Queer thing, love!"soliloquised Lizzie, as she clumped down the kitchen stairs, andreturned to her superintendence of Sunday's "jint. "

The "first floor" meanwhile stood motionless in the oil-clothed hall, struggling to regain self-possession before turning the handle of thedoor. A gentleman waiting to see her! Who could the gentleman be? Butat the bottom of her heart Claire believed the question to besuperfluous, for there was only one "gentleman" who could possibly come. Captain Fanshawe had found out her address, and it was Christmas-time, when a visitor was justified in counting on a hospitable reception. AtChristmas-time it would be churlish for a hostess to deny a welcome. Every pulse in Claire's body was throbbing with anticipation as sheflung open that door. 

The visitor was standing with his back towards her, bending low toexamine a photograph on the mantelpiece. At the sound of her entrancehe straightened himself and wheeled round, and at the sight of his faceClaire's heart dropped heavy as lead. They stood for a moment staringin a mutual surprise, the girl's face blank with disappointment, theman's brightening with interest. 

He was a tall, thickly-set man, trim and smart in his attire, yet with acoarseness of feature which aroused Claire's instant antagonism. Compared with the face she had expected to see, the florid good lookswhich confronted her were positively repugnant. Before the obviousadmiration of the black eyes she stiffened in displeasure. 

"You wished to see me?"

"Miss Gifford, I believe! I called about a little matter of a parcelfor Miss Rhodes. To be sent on. I wanted to ask if you--"

"Oh, certainly! I shall be delighted. "

Claire thawed at the prospect of a present for Cecil, but could it bepossible that it was this man with the flushed cheeks, and harsh, uncultivated voice, who had so revolutionised Cecil's life! Could it befor the delectation of those bold eyes that she had worked far into thenight, contriving her pitiful fineries? Claire's instinctive dislikewas so strong that she would not seat herself and so give an opportunityfor prolonging the interview; she crossed the room to a bureau thatstood in the corner, and took a slip of paper from one of the pigeon-holes. 

"Perhaps it would be simpler if I gave you the address?"

The man laughed complacently. 

"No need, thank you, I've got it all right, but it's safer not to write. The old lady, you know! Parcel coming in for her daughter addressed ina man's writing--no end of fuss and questioning. You know what oldladies are! Never satisfied till they've ferreted to the bottom ofeverything that comes along. It's not good enough, that sort of thing, but she'll expect a present. It's all stamped and made up, if you'll begood enough just to address it, and slip it into the post to-morrow. "

He put his hand in his pocket as he spoke and drew out a little packagesome two inches square, the sort of package which might contain anarticle of jewellery, such as a brooch or ring. Could it by any chancebe an engagement ring? Claire's blood shuddered as she took the littlepacket and dropped it quietly on the bureau. 

"Certainly I will post it. Do you wish it registered?"

He looked at her sharply as though suspicious of an under-meaning to theinquiry, then, meeting the glance of her clear eyes, had the grace tolook ashamed. 

"N-no. No! It is not worth while. A trifle, just a trifle--Christmas, you know--must do the proper thing!" He mumbled vaguely the while hecollected his hat and gloves, the aloofness in Claire's attitude makingit impossible to prolong the interview; but as he held out his hand infarewell, his self-possession returned. He laughed meaningly, andsaid--

"Odd, you know; I imagined that you were quite old! Miss Rhodes gave methat impression. Nothing definite, you know; no false statements; justthe way she spoke. Clever of her, what?--very clever! Knew better thanto spoil her own game!"

If looks could have slain, the saffron parlour would have seen a deadman at that moment. Claire withdrew her hand, and surreptitiouslyrubbed it against her skirt. She would not condescend to notice thatlast remark. 

"I'll post the parcel to-morrow. Perhaps you will tell me your name, asI shall have to explain. "

He drew out a pocket-book and extracted a card. Claire dropped itunread upon the table, and bowed stiffly in farewell. The next momenthe was gone, and she could satisfy her curiosity unseen. Then camesurprise number two, for the card bore the inscription, "Major J. F. Carew, " and in the corner two well-remembered words, "Carlton Club. " Anofficer in the Army--who would have thought it! He was emphatically nota gentleman; he was rough, coarse, mannerless, yet he was in a positionwhich would bring him into intimate association with gentle people; by astrange coincidence, he might know, he almost certainly would know, theman whom she had expected to see in his stead--Erskine Fanshawe himself!They could never be friends, but they would meet, they would sit in thesame rooms, they would exchange occasional remarks. Claire's mood ofintolerable disgust changed suddenly into something strangelyapproaching envy of this big rough man! Christmas morning brought Janetbright and early, to find Claire standing at the window ready to rushout the moment the car stopped at the door. It felt delightfullyluxurious to seat herself on the springy cushions, draw the fur rug overher knees, and feel the warmth of a hot tin beneath her feet. 

"_Wasn't_ it lacerating?" Janet cried. "Just as I was starting theparcel post arrived, and there were about half-a-dozen parcels for mefrom Saint Moritz! There was no time to open them, and I simply die toknow what's inside. I care about those presents more than anythingelse. We had our family presents this morning. Mother gave me this. "She opened her coat to show a glittering crescent. "Quite pretty, isn'tit, but I'd rather have had pearls. That's the worst of Christmaspresents, you so seldom get what you want. Half the time you feel moredisappointed than pleased. People cling to the idea that they ought togive you a surprise, and you _are_ surprised, but not in the way theyexpect. I have given mother thousands of hints about pearls. Ah, well!" She hooked the coat with an air of resignation. "We must takethe will for the deed. Have you had nice things?"

"My mother sent me a very handsome present, " Claire said demurely. Shehad no personal agitations about the day's post; but she did feelinterested in the thought of those parcels from Switzerland which layawaiting Janet Willoughby's return. Half eager, half shrinking, shelooked forward to seeing their contents. 

It was in Janet's dainty boudoir that the unpacking took place. The twogirls went straight upstairs on their return from church, and there, ona gate-legged table, lay the pile of parcels which had arrived by themorning's delivery. Janet pounced upon the Swiss packets, and cut thefastenings with eager haste. From across the room Claire watched hereager face as she read the inscriptions one by one. As she neared theend of the pile, the eagerness became tinged with anxiety; she picked upthe last parcel of all, and the light died out of her face. 

Claire turned aside and affected to be absorbed in examining thecontents of an old cabinet, and Janet moved to the nearer side of thetable so that her face was hidden from view; after a few minutes ofsilence, she broke the silence in a voice of forced lightness. 

"Won't you come and look at my trophies? Switzerland is not a veryhappy hunting-ground, for there is so little variety to be had. That'smy fifth carved chalet, and about the seventeenth bear. Rather a dear, though, isn't he? Such a nice man sent it--one of the nicest of men. That's his photograph on the mantelpiece. "

Claire looked, met a straight keen glance which lived in her memory, andfelt a tingle of blood in her cheeks. Janet's eyes followed hers, andshe said quickly--

"Not that; that's Erskine Fanshawe. He is a casual person, and doesn'tgo in for presents. He hasn't even troubled to send a card. I meantthe man in the leather frame. He always remembers. I do like that, ina man! They are all good enough in an emergency, but so few of themthink of the nice _little_ things!" Janet sighed, and dropped thecarved wooden bear on to the table. However much she might appreciatethe donor's thoughtfulness, it had not had a cheering effect. The lighthad died out of her eyes, and she turned over the various trophieswithout a trace of the enthusiasm with which she had torn open theparcel. Claire standing beside her felt torn between sympathy and aguilty sense of relief. She was sorry for Janet's obviousdisappointment, but she was also (it was a dog-in-the-manger feeling, for how could it possibly affect herself?) _relieved_ that CaptainFanshawe was not the donor of the bear!

As the two girls stood together turning over the little collection ofcarved toys, Claire slipped her hand through Janet's arm with anaffectionate pressure, which was an outward apology for the inwarddisloyalty, and Janet stretched out her own hand to clasp it withunexpected fervour. 

"Oh, I am glad you are here! I'm glad to have another girl! Girlsunderstand. I wish I hadn't opened those horrid old parcels. It's justas I said--presents are disappointing. Now I feel thoroughly humped anddumpy! It's so stupid, too, for I know quite well that I've every sanereason to be pleased. How exasperating it is that one's head and one'sheart so seldom agree!"

Claire gave the plump arm another squeeze, but made no further answer. She was afraid to show how well she understood. Janet would forget herhasty words, and believe that her secret was locked within her ownbreast; but the other girl realised the position as clearly as if shehad been told in so many words--"I am in love with one man, and anotherman is in love with me. I am throwing away the substance for theshadow!"

"Ah, well, such is life!" continued Janet, sighing. "Now I'm supposedto go downstairs and be the life of the party! How I do dislike familyparties! Mother says it's the ideal thing for relations to gathertogether for Christmas Day, but I've been gathered together for so_many_ years!"

"You are too well-off, my dear, that's what's the matter! I have nevermet a girl before who had so much to make her happy, and yet you are notsatisfied. How would you like to be a High School-mistress living inpoky lodgings, not able to have a holiday because she can't afford tworents, and getting only one present all told?"

Janet looked at her quickly. 

"Have you had only one?"

"I said _a_ High School-mistress, not any special mistress, but I willbe definite if you like. How would you like to be _Me_?"

Janet turned suddenly, laid her free hand on Claire's shoulder, andstared deeply into her face. 

"I--don't--know!" she said slowly. "Sometimes I think it's just what Ishould like. I have a great deal, but you have more. Look at our twofaces in that glass!"

She drew Claire round so that they stood in front of the Chippendalemirror over the mantelpiece, from whence a row of pictured faces staredback, as though stolidly sitting in judgment. The clear tints ofClaire's skin made Janet look sallow and faded, the dark curve of hereyebrows under the sweep of gold brown hair, the red lips and deeplycleft chin, made Janet's indeterminate features look insignificant, thebrown eyes seemed the only definite feature in her face, and they wereclouded with depression. 

"Look at yourself, " she said deeply, "and look at me!"

It was an awkward moment, and Claire shrugged uncomfortably. 

"But my face is--it has to be--my fortune!"

"Oh, beauty! I wasn't thinking of beauty, " Janet cried unexpectedly. "You are very pretty, of course, but heaps of girls are pretty. It'ssomething more--I suppose it is what is called Charm. When people seeyou once, they remember you; they want to see you again. You make aplace for yourself. I am one in a crowd. People like me well enoughwhen they are with me, but--they forget!"

"And I never meet anyone to remember. We're two love-lorn damsels, andthis is Merrie Christmas. Would you have thought it?" cried Claire, andthat wrought the desired effect, for Janet awoke with a shock to herresponsibilities as hostess, and led the way downstairs to join the restof the house-party. 

The rest of the day was spent in conventional English fashion in apraiseworthy effort to sustain spirits at concert pitch, and keep up acontinuous flow of gaiety, a mountainous task when guests are broughttogether by claims of birth, without consideration as to suitability!Mrs Willoughby's party consisted of four distinct elements; there wereGreat-aunt Jane, and second cousin William, two octogenarians, who forhealth's sake dined early all the year round, and sipped a cup of Bengerat eight, but who dauntlessly tackled sausages and plum pudding onChristmas Day, and suffered for it for a week to come. There were Mrand Mrs Willoughby, and two cousin husbands and their wives, and aspinster aunt to represent the next generation, then came sweet andtwenty as represented by Janet and Claire, followed by Reginald of Eton, on whom they looked down as a mere boy, the while he in his turndisdained to notice the advances of two curly-headed cousins of nine andten! Claire enjoyed herself because it was in her nature to enjoy, andit felt good to be once more in a beautiful, well-appointed home, amongfriends; but driving home in the taxi she yawned persistently from onedoor to the other. It was dreadfully tiring work being pleasant at thesame time to the whole five ages of man!

With the opening of the door of the saffron parlour came an end ofsleepiness, for on the table lay a square parcel, and the parcel borethe same stamp, the same markings which she had seen duplicated in JanetWilloughby's boudoir! Red as a rose was Claire as she stared at thebold masculine writing of the address, tore open the wrappings of thebox, and drew forth a carved cuckoo clock with the well-known chaletroof and long pendulum and chains. It was an exquisite specimen of itskind, the best that could be obtained, but for the moment Claire had noattention to spare for the gift itself; she was absorbed in huntingamong the paper and straw for a card which should settle the identity ofthe donor. Not a line was to be found. Pink deepened to crimson onClaire's cheeks. 

"Who in the world could have sent it? Who _could_ it be?" She playedat bewilderment, but in spite of herself the dimples dipped. "Now howin the world has he found out my address?" asked Claire of herself. 

For the next week Claire experienced the sensation of being "alone inLondon. " From the evening of Christmas Day until Cecil returned onJanuary 2nd, not one friendly word did she hear; she walked abroad amonga crowd of unknown faces, she returned to a solitary room. 

Miss Farnborough was spending the Christmas abroad; the other mistresseswere either visiting or entertaining relations, the ladies of thecommittee were presumably making merry each in her own sphere. It wasno one's business to look after the new member of the staff out of termtime, and no one troubled to make it her business. 

The only friendly sound which reached Claire's ears during those dayswas the striking of the cuckoo clock, as a minute before every hour asliding door flew open, and a little brown bird popped out and piped thedue number of cuckoos in a clear, sweet note. Claire loved that littlebird; the sight of him brought a warmth to her heart, which was assunshine lighting up the grey winter days. Someone had remembered!Someone had cared! In the midst of a merry holiday, time and thoughthad been spared for her benefit. 

The presence of the cuckoo clock preserved Claire from personalsuffering, but during that silent week there was borne in upon her arealisation of the loneliness of the great city which was neverobliterated. A girl like herself, coming to London withoutintroductions, might lead this desert life, not for a week alone, butfor _years_! Her youth might fade, might pass away, she might growmiddle-aged and old, and still pass to and fro through crowded street, unnoted, uncared for, unknown beyond the boundaries of the schoolroom orthe office walls. A working-woman was as a rule too tired and too poorto join societies, or take part in social work which would lead to themaking of friends; she was dependent on the thoughtfulness of herleisured sisters, and the leisured sisters were too apt to forget. Theyinvited their own well-off friends, exhausted themselves in organisingentertainments which were often regarded as bores pure and simple, andcast no thought to the lonely women sitting night after night inlodging-house parlours. "If I am ever rich--if I ever have a home, I'llremember!" Claire vowed to herself. "I'll take a little trouble, and_find out_! I couldn't do a hundredth or a thousandth part of whatought to be done, but I'd do my share!" Cecil announced her return forthe evening of January 2nd, and remindful of the depressing influence ofher own arrival, Claire exerted herself to make the room look ashomelike as possible, and arranged a dainty little meal on a tablespread with a clean cloth and decorated with a bowl of holly andChristmas roses. At the first sound of Cecil's voice she ran out intothe hall, hugged her warmly, and relieved her of a bundle of packages ofall sorts and sizes. 

"You look a real Mother Christmas hidden behind parcels. What are theyall? Trophies? You _have_ come off well! It is lovely to see youback. If you'd stayed away the whole time I think I should have growndumb. My tongue would have withered from sheer lack of use. I neverrealised before how much I love to talk. I do hope you feel sociable. I want to talk and talk for hours at a time, and to hear _you_ talk, too. "

"Even to grumble?"

Claire grinned eloquently. 

"Oh, well--if you _must_, but it would be rather mean, wouldn't it, after a holiday, and when I've got everything so nice? I am driven topraise myself, because _you_ take no notice. "

"You have given me no time. You chatter so that no one else can get ina word. " Cecil took off hat and gloves, and threw them down on thesofa. "I must say your looks don't pity you. You look as if you hadbeen enjoying yourself all right. That kettle's boiling! I'm dying fora cup of tea! Let's have it at once, and talk comfortably. " She seatedherself by the table, and helped herself to a buttered scone. "What didyou do on Christmas Day?"

"The Willoughbys asked me. I went to church with them, and stayed untileleven. "

"Anything going on, or just the ordinary family frumps?"

Claire laughed. 

"Nobody but relations and my fascinating self; but you needn't be soblighting. I enjoyed every moment, and they were angelically kind. Janet was like an old friend. "

"Did she give you a present?"

"Yes, she did. Half a dozen pairs of gloves. "

"The wrong size, of course! They always are!"

"No, my pessimist, they were not! She had diagnosed me as a six and ahalf, and six and a half I am, so all was peace and joy. I put on a newpair the next day when I went out for a constitutional. It was quite atonic. Gloves are much cheaper abroad, and I never wore a shabby pairin my life until this winter. It's been one of the things I've hatedmost. "

"Six pairs will soon go, " said Cecil; "I prefer to have things thatlast. Oh, by the way, you addressed a parcel. How did it come? Was itleft at the door?"

Instinctively Claire busied herself over the tea-tray. She had afeeling that Cecil would rather be unobserved; she was also afraid thather own expression might betray too much. 

"Oh no, he called. When I came in after morning church on Sunday, Lizzie said that a gentleman was waiting. It was Major Carew. He askedme if I would address the parcel and send it on. "

Silence. Claire bent over the tea-tray, but she knew without lookingthat Cecil's face had fallen into the cold set lines which she had seentimes and again, when things had gone wrong; she knew that when shespoke again the coldness would be in her voice, but her own consciencewas clear. She had done nothing to offend. 

"Really! That's curious. _Waiting_, you say? You didn't ask him in?What did he say?"

"He said, `Miss Gifford, I presume. I have called to ask if you will bekind enough to address a small parcel for Miss Rhodes. ' I said, `Wouldn't it be better if I gave you her address?' He said, `I shouldprefer if you wrote it yourself. ' I said, `I will do so with pleasure. Good morning. ' He said, `Good morning. ' He then took up his hat anddeparted. He showed himself out, and shut the door after him. I wentupstairs and took off my things. "

"He didn't stay long then?"

"About three minutes, I should say, perhaps four; I can't tell you to asecond, unfortunately. I didn't look at the clock. "

Cecil laughed, half apologetic, half relieved. 

"Oh, well, you needn't be sarcastic. Naturally I wanted to know. Icouldn't make it out when I saw your writing, for you had given me thescarf--I'm going to buy your present at the sales, by the way--but, ofcourse, when I took off the paper, there was a message inside. I wasexpecting that present. "

"I hope it was very nice?"

"Oh, yes--yes! A brooch, " Cecil said carelessly. Claire hoped it wasnot the insignificant little golden bar which she was wearing at themoment, but she had never seen it before, and Cecil's jewellery was ofthe most limited description. She determined to ask no more questionson the subject, since evidently none were desired. Cecil helped herselfto a second scone, and asked suddenly--

"Why didn't he sit down?"

"It wasn't necessary, was it? He gave his message, and then there wasnothing to say. I wasn't going to make conversation. "

"You didn't like him!" cried Cecil, but she laughed as she spoke, andher face relaxed; it was evident that she was more pleased thandisconcerted at her friend's lack of approval. "You're no good athiding your feelings, Claire; your voice gives you away as well as yourface. _Why_ didn't you like Major Carew? I suppose you don't deny thathe is a handsome man?"

"I don't think I care about handsome men, " said Claire, seeing beforeher a clean-shaven face which could lay no claims to beauty, but incomparison with which the Major's coarse good looks were abhorrent inher eyes. 

"Prefer men plain, I suppose? Well, I don't; I shouldn't like Frankhalf so much, if he didn't look so big and imposing. And other peopleadmire him, too. People stare at him as we pass. I suppose you haveguessed that it is with him that I've been going out? There didn't seemany need to speak of it before, but during the rest of the holidays youmight expect me to go about with you, and sometimes--often, I hope, I'llbe engaged, so it's just as well to explain. We can do things togetherin the morning, but naturally--"

"Yes, of course; I quite understand. Don't worry about me, Cecil. I'dlove you to have a good time. Are you--are you engaged to him, dear?"

There was in her voice that soft, almost awed note with which anunengaged girl regards a companion who has actually plighted her troth. Cecil softened at the sound. 

"Well--I suppose we are. Between ourselves. It's not public yet, but Ithink it soon will be. Half a dozen years ago I should have been sure, but I know better now. You can never be sure! Men are such brutes. They think of nothing but themselves, and their own amusement. "

"Some men!"

"Most men! Of course, every girl who falls in love thinks her ownparticular man is the exception, and believes in him blindly until shegets her heart broken for her pains. I believed in a man, too, yearsago, when I was not much older than you are now. "

She paused, as though waiting for comment, but Claire sat silent, listening with grave, tender eyes. 

Cecil sent her a flickering smile. 

"You are a nice child, Claire; you have some sense! I'll tell you, because you never pried or asked questions. You would never have gotanything out of me that way, but sometimes I feel as if it would be arelief to talk. I was twenty-three, and very pretty; not as pretty asyou are, perhaps, but very nearly, and he was twenty-eight, a lawyer--brother of one of the girls. He came to one of the prize-givings, andwe were introduced. After that he made his people invite me once ortwice, and he found out where I was going in the summer holidays, andcame down to the same inn. He stayed a fortnight. " Cecil sighed, andstared dreamily at her cup. "Even now, Claire, after all that hashappened, I can never quite make up my mind to be sorry that he came. It made things harder when the parting came, but I _had had it_. Fortwo whole weeks I had been as perfectly, blissfully happy as a humancreature can be! I had wakened every morning to feel that life was toogood to be true, I had gone to bed every night grudging the time forsleep. A fortnight is not very long, but it's not every woman who getseven as much as that. I shall never feel that happiness again, but I'mglad that I know what it is like. "

"But, Cecil dear, if--if Major Carew--"

Cecil shook her head. 

"No! Never again. One may be happy enough, but it's never the same. Ican't feel now as I did then. The power has gone. I cared so much, yousee; I would have given my life for him a dozen times over. I thoughtof him night and day for over a year; I lived for the times when wecould meet. It wasn't very often, for his people had taken fright, andwould not ask me to the house. They were rich people, and didn't wanthim to marry a poor girl who was working for herself. It's a greatmistake, Claire, to be friends with a man when his relations ignore you. If I'd had any pride I would have realised that, but I hadn't, and Ididn't care; I didn't care for anything but just to see him, and do whathe wished. And then, my dear, after a year he began to change. Hedidn't write to me for weeks, and I had to go to school every day, andtry to think of the work, and be patient with the girls, and seem brightand interested, as if I had nothing on my mind. It was near Christmas-time, and we were rehearsing a play. I used to feel as if I should gomad, staying behind after four o'clock to go over those wretched scenes, when I was panting to run home to see if a letter had come! But eachtime that we met again I forgot everything; I was so happy that I had notime to grumble. That surprises you, doesn't it? You can hardlybelieve that of me, but I was different then. I was quite nice. Youwould have liked me, if you had known me then!"

"Dear old Cecil! I like you now. You know I do!"

"Oh, you put up with me! We get along well enough, but we are not_friends_. If we had not been thrown together, you would never havesingled me out. Don't apologise, my dear; there's no need. I'm agrumbling old thing, and you've been very patient. Well, that's how ithappened. I went out to meet him one night, and he told me quite calmlythat he was going to be married. She was the sweetest girl in theworld, and he was the happiest of men. Wanted me to know, because wehad been such _good_ friends, and he was sure I should be pleased!"

Claire drew her breath with a sharp, sibilant sound. 

"And _you_? Oh, Cecil! What did you say?"

Mary Rhodes compressed her lips; the set look was in her face. 

"I said what I thought! Quite plainly, and simply, and very much to thepoint. I suppose it would have been dignified to congratulate him, andpretend to be delighted; but I couldn't do it. He had broken my heartfor his own amusement, and he knew it as well as I did, so why should Ipretend? Something inside me seemed to go snap at that moment, and I'vebeen sour and bitter ever since; but I've learnt _one_ lesson, and thatis, that it is folly to go on waiting for perfection in this world. Much better take what comes along, and make the best of it!"

Claire was silent, applauding the sentiment in the abstract, butshrinking from its application to the swarthy Major Carew. Shestretched her hand across the table, and laid it caressingly on Cecil'sarm. 

"_Pauvre_! Dear old girl! It's no use saying he wasn't worth having--that's no comfort. When you have loved a man, it must be the worst blowof all to be obliged to despise him; but men are not all like that, Cecil; you mustn't condemn them all because of one bad specimen. I've agreat admiration for men. As a whole they are _bigger_ than women--Imean mentally bigger--freer from mean little faults. As a rule theyhave a stricter sense of honour. That's an old-fashioned attitude, Isuppose, but I don't care; it's been my experience, and I can only speakwhat I know. The average man _is_ honourable, _is_ faithful!"

"Ah, you are speaking of your experience as a leisured girl--a girlliving at home with her mother behind her. It's a different story whenyou are on your own. A man finds it pleasant enough to be friends witha bachelor girl, to take her about, give her little presents, and playthe fairy prince generally. The dear little soul is so grateful"--Cecil's voice took a bitter note--"so appreciative of his condescension!He can enjoy her society without being bothered with chaperons andconventions. It is really an uncommonly jolly way of passing the time. But, when it comes to _marrying_, does he want to _marry_ the bachelorgirl?"

Claire pushed her chair from the table, her face looked suddenly whiteand tired, there was a suspicious quiver in her voice. 

"Oh, Cecil, don't, don't! You are poisoning me again. Leave me _some_faith! If I can't believe in my fellow-creatures, I'd rather die atonce, and be done with it. It stifles me to breathe the atmosphere ofdistrust and suspicion. And it isn't true. There _are_ good men, whowould be all the more chivalrous because a girl was alone. I know it!I'm sure of it! I refuse to believe that every man is a blackguardbecause you have had an unfortunate experience. "

Mary Rhodes stared, abashed. Since the night when Claire had imploredher not to poison her mind, she had never seen her merry, easy-goingcompanion so aroused; but for the moment regret was swamped incuriosity. Ostensibly Claire was arguing in the plural, but in realityshe was defending a definite man; Cecil was sure of it; saw hersuspicion confirmed in the paling cheeks and distended eyes; heard itconfirmed in the shaking voice. But who could the man be? Claire wasthe most candid, the most open of colleagues; she loved to talk anddescribe any experiences which came her way; every time she returnedfrom an afternoon in town she had a dozen amusing incidents to recount, which in themselves constituted a guide to her doings. Cecil feltsatisfied that Claire had had no masculine escort on any of theseoccasions, and with the one exception of Mrs Willoughby's "At Home" shehad paid no social visits. Yet there did exist a man on whose honourshe was prepared to pin her faith; of that Cecil was convinced. Probably it was someone in Brussels whom she was still hoping to meetagain!

"Well, don't get excited, " she said coolly. "If you choose to look uponlife as a fairy tale, it's not my business to wake you up. The SleepingBeauty position is very soothing while it lasts. Don't say I didn'twarn you, that's all! I don't call it exactly `poisonous' to try toprevent another girl from suffering as badly as one has sufferedoneself. "

"Perhaps not--certainly not, but it was the way you did it. Sorry, Cecil, if I was cross! I hope _this_ time, dear, all will go well, andthat you'll be very, very happy. Do tell me anything you can. I won'task questions, but I'd love to hear. "

Cecil's laugh had rather a hard intonation. 

"Oh, well! once bitten, twice shy. I'm older this time, and it's adifferent thing. Perhaps I shall be all the happier because I don'texpect too much. He's very devoted, and he'll be rich some day, but hisfather gives him no allowance, which makes things tight just now. He isan erratic old man, almost a miser, but there are pots of money in thefamily. Frank showed me the name in _Landed Gentry_; there's quite aparagraph about them, and I've seen a picture of the house, too. Abeautiful place; and he's the eldest son. It's in Surrey--quite neartown. "

"He hasn't taken you down to see it?"

"Not yet. No. It's a private engagement. His father doesn't know. Heis waiting for a chance to tell him. "

"Wouldn't the father be glad for his heir to marry?"

"He wouldn't be glad for him to marry _me_! But the estate is entailed, so Frank can do as he likes. But the old man is ill, always havingasthma and heart attacks, so it wouldn't do to upset him, and of coursetill he knows, Frank can't tell any other members of the family. "

Claire, standing by the fireplace, gave a vague assent, and was gladthat her face was hidden from view. For Cecil's sake she intenselywanted to believe in Major Carew and his account of his own position, but instinctively she doubted, instinctively she feared. She rememberedthe look of the man's face as he had stood facing her across the littleroom, and her distrust deepened. He did not look straight; he did notlook true. Probably the old father had a good reason for keeping himshort of money. If he were really in love with Cecil, and determined tomarry her, that was so much to his credit; but Claire hated the idea ofthat secrecy, marvelled that Cecil could submit a second time to sohumiliating a position. Poor Cecil! how _awful_ it would be if she wereagain deceived! A protective impulse stirred in Claire's heart. "Sheshan't be, if I can help it!" cried the inner voice. At that moment shevowed herself to the service of Mary Rhodes. 

"A big country house in Surrey! That's the ideal residence of theheroine of fiction. It does sound romantic, Cecil! I should love tothink of you as the mistress of a house like that. Come and sit by thefire, and let us talk. It's so exciting to talk of love affairs insteadof exercises and exams... Let's pretend we are just two happy, ordinarygirls, with no form-rooms looming ahead, and that one of us is justengaged, and telling the other `all about it. ' Now begin! Begin at thebeginning. How did you meet him first?"

But there a difficulty arose, for Cecil grew suddenly red, and stumbledover her words. 

"Oh--well--I-- We _met_! It was an accident--quite an accident--rathera romantic accident. I was coming home one Sunday evening a year ago. I had been to church in my best clothes, and when I was halfway here theskies opened, and the rain _descended_. Such rain! A deluge! Dancingup from the pavement, streaming along the gutters. I hadn't anumbrella, of course--just my luck!--and I'd had my hat done up that veryweek. I tore it off, and wrapped it in the tails of my coat, and justas that critical moment Frank passed, saw me doing it, and stopped. Then he asked if I would allow him to shelter me home beneath hisumbrella. Well! I'm _not_ the girl to allow men to speak to me in thestreet, but at that moment, in that deluge, when he'd just seen me takeoff my hat, _could_ a gentleman do less than offer to shelter me? Wouldit have been sane to refuse?"

"No; I don't think it would. I should certainly have said yes, too. That's the sort of thing that would have been called chivalry in oldentimes. It's chivalry _now_. He was quite right to offer. It wouldhave been horrible if he had passed by and left you to be drenched. "

Cecil brightened with relief. 

"That's what _I_ thought! So I said `Yes'; and, of course, while wewalked we talked, and the wind blew my hair into loose ends, and thedamp made them curl, and the excitement gave me a colour; and it was sonice to talk to a man again, Claire, after everlasting women! I _did_look pretty when I saw myself in the glass when I came in, almost as Iused to look years before. And he looked handsome, too, big and strong, and so delightfully like a man, and unlike a member of staff! We likedeach other very much, and when we got to this door--"

Silence. Mary Rhodes waited wistfully for a helping word. Clairestared into the fire, her brows knitted in suspense. 

"Well, naturally, we were sorry to part! He asked if I usually went toSaint C--- for the evening service. I didn't, but I said `Yes. ' I knewhe meant to meet me again, and I _wanted_ to be met. "

Claire sent her thoughts back and recalled a certain Sunday evening whenshe had offered to accompany Cecil to church, and had been bluntlyinformed that her company was not desired. She had taken the hint, andhad not offered it again. She was silent, waiting for the revelationswhich were still to come. 

"So after that it became a regular thing. He met me outside the churchdoor, and saw me home. He often asked me to go out with him during theweek, but I always refused, until suddenly this term I was so tired, sohungry for a change that I gave in, and promised that I would. Isuppose that shocks you into fits!"

"It does rather. You see, " explained Claire laboriously, "I've beenbrought up on the Continent, where such a thing would be impossible. Itwould be an insult to suggest it. Even here in England it doesn't seemright. Do you think a really nice man who was attracted by a girlwouldn't find some other way--get an introduction _somehow_?"

"How? It's easy to talk, but _how_ is he to do it? We live indifferent worlds. I am a High School teacher, living in rooms inLondon, without a relation or a house open to me where I am intimateenough to take a friend. He is an officer in a crack regiment, visitingat fashionable houses. Can't you imagine how his hostesses would stareif he asked them to call upon me here, in this poky room! And if heloves me, if I interest him more than the butterflies of Society, if hewants to know me better, what is he to do? Tell me that, my dear, before you blame me for taking a little bit of fun when I get thechance!"

But Claire had no suggestion to make. She herself had been strongenough to refuse a friendship on similar lines, but she had been livinga working life for a bare four months, while Cecil had been teaching fortwelve years. Twelve years of a second-hand life, living in otherwomen's houses, teaching other women's children, obeying other women'srules; with the one keen personal experience of a slighted love!

The tale of close on four thousand nights represented a dreary parlourand a pile of exercise books. For twelve long years this woman hadworked away, losing her youth, losing her bloom, cut off from all thatnature intended her to enjoy; and then at the end behold a change in themonotony, the sudden appearance of a man who sought her, admired her, craved her society as a boon!

The tears came to Claire's eyes as she put herself in such a woman'splace, and realised all that this happening would mean. Renewal ofyouth, renewal of hope, renewal of interest and zest... 

"I don't know! I don't know!" she said brokenly. "It's all wrong, somehow. You ought not to be forced into such a position, but I don'tblame you, Cecil. It's the _other_ women who deserve the blame, thewomen who are better off, and could have opened their houses. You havebeen so drearily dull all these long years that you would have been morethan human to refuse. But now, dear, now that you are engaged, surelyhe has some friends to whom he could introduce you?"

Mary Rhodes shook her head. 

"Not till his people know. It might come round to their ears, and thatwould make things more difficult still; but I am hoping it won't belong. Now, Claire, I've told _you_, because you are such a kindunderstanding little soul, and it's a comfort to talk things out; butI'll kill you if you dare to breathe a word to another soul--SophieBlake, or Mrs Willoughby, or even your mother when you write to her. You can never tell how these things are repeated, and Frank would neverforgive me if it came out through me. Promise faithfully that you'llnever mention his name in connection with me. "

"Of course I will. What do you take me for? I shouldn't dream of doingsuch a thing!"

"Of course, at the Willoughbys', for instance, if anyone _did_ mentionhis name--they might, quite well, for I should think they were in muchthe same set--there would be no harm in saying that you'd heard of him. I should rather like to hear what they said. "

Cecil's face looked wistful as she spoke these last words, but the nextmoment her expression changed to one of pure amazement as the whirr ofthe cuckoo clock made itself heard, and the little brown bird hopped outof its niche, and sounded five clear notes. 

"Gracious, what's that? Where did that come from?"

"It was a Christmas present to me from abroad. "

Claire added the last words in the fond hope that they would savefurther criticism, and Cecil rose from her seat, and stood in front ofthe hanging clock examining it with critical eyes. 

"It's a good one. Most of them are so gimcrack. From abroad? One ofyour Belgian friends, I suppose? Does it make that awful row everyhour? I can't stand it here, you know, if it does. "

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll take it upstairs. I _like_ the `awfulrow. ' I put it here because I thought it would be a pleasure to you aswell as to myself. I'm sorry. "

"What a tantrum! Evidently the clock is a tender point. Better leaveit here and stop the gong. It will keep you awake all night. "

"I won't stop the gong! I--I like to be waked!" declared Claireobstinately. She lifted the clock from its nail, and stalked out of theroom, head in air. 

Cecil whistled softly between pursed lips. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

AN UNPLEASANT TEA-PARTY. 

In the inevitable fatigue which had marked Claire's first experience ofregular work, she had looked forward with joy to the coming of theholidays when she would be able to take her ease, and for a month on endlaze through the hours at her own sweet will. A teacher scores aboveother workers in the length of holidays she enjoys. Several months inthe year contrasts strongly with the fortnight or three weeks enjoyed bya female clerk or typist; in no other profession is so large aproportion of the year given to rest. 

Claire had condemned the staff at Saint Cuthbert's for want ofappreciation of this privilege; but, before the four weeks of theChristmas holidays were over, her eyes were opened to the other side ofthe picture. Holidays were horribly expensive! Living "at home" meantan added bill for fire and light to add to the necessary expensesabroad; that the last items were necessary could hardly be denied, for agirl who had been shut up in a schoolroom through three months of term, naturally wished to amuse herself abroad during holiday time, and inLondon even the most carefully planned amusement has a habit of costingmoney. 

Even that mild dissipation of shop-gazing, enjoyed by Sophie Blake, plusthe additional excitement of choosing an imaginary present from everywindow, could only be enjoyed at the price of two Tube or omnibus fares. Boots wore out, too, and gloves grew shabby, and the January salesfurnished a very fire of temptation. Claire had never before seen suchbargains as confronted her down the length of Oxford and Regent Streets, and, though she might be firm as adamant on Monday or Tuesday, Wednesdaywas bound to bring about a weak moment which carried her over thethreshold of a shop, and once inside, with sensational sacrificesdangling within reach, resistance melted like wax. 

"Where do you suppose you are going to wear that concoction?" MaryRhodes asked blightingly as Claire opened a cardboard box which hadarrived by the morning delivery, and displayed a blue muslin dress insetwith lace. "Lords, I suppose, or Ascot, or Ranelagh, or Hurlingham, orHenley... They come on in June and July, just as poor High School-mistresses are in the thick of cramming for the Matric. But _no_ doubtyou are the exception to the rule! ... You must think you are, atleast, to have bought a frock like that!"

"Cecil, it was wickedly cheap--it was, indeed! It was one of a fewsummer dresses which were positively given away, and it's made in thesimple, picturesque style which I love, and which does not go out ofdate. I hadn't the least intention of buying anything, until I saw ithanging there, at that price, and it looked at me so longingly, as if it_wanted_ to come!"

"It's well to be rich! It might have longed at me as much as it liked, I couldn't have bought it, if it had been two-and-six! I need all mymoney for necessities, " Mary Rhodes said, sighing; and Claire felt apang of reproach, for, since her return, Cecil had indeed seemedpainfully short of loose cash. The debt still outstanding had beenincreased by various small borrowings, insignificant in themselves, yetimportant as showing how the wind blew. Claire wondered if perchancethe poor soul had crippled herself by presenting her lover with aChristmas gift which was beyond her means. 

The third week of the holidays arrived; in another week school wouldbegin. Claire succumbed to temptation once more, purchased two goodtickets for an afternoon concert at the Queen's Hall, and invited Cecilto be her guest. Cecil hesitated, evidently torn between twoattractions, asked permission to defer her answer until the next day, but finally decided to accept. From remarks dropped from time to timeClaire had gathered that Major Carew was not fond of indoorentertainments, and somewhat disappointed his _fiancee_ by hisunwillingness to indulge her wishes in that respect. In this instanceshe had evidently balanced the concert against an afternoon in theMajor's society, and the concert had won. Claire found herselfcordially in agreement. 

When the afternoon arrived the two girls arrayed themselves in theirbest clothes, and set off in high spirits for their afternoon'samusement. Their seats were in a good position, and the concert was oneof the best of the season. All went as happily as it could possibly go, until the last strains of "God save the King" had been played, and theaudience filed out of the hall on to the crowded pavement, and then, with a throb of disgust, Claire recognised the figure of a man who wasstanding directly beneath a lamp-post, his black eyes curiously scanningthe passing stream--Major Carew! He had evidently been told of thegirls' destination, and had come with the express purpose of meetingthem coming out. For the moment, however, they were unrecognised, andClaire gave a quick swerve to the right, hurrying out of the patch oflight into the dimness beyond. The street was so full that, given aminute's start, it would surely be easy to escape. She slid her handthrough Cecil's arm, drawing her forward. 

"Come along! Come along! Let's hurry to Fuller's before all the tablesare taken!"

"Fuller's? Tea? How scrumptious! Just what I longed for. Listeningto classical music _is_ thirsty work!" Cecil replied, laughing. Shewas so lively, so natural and unconcerted that Claire absolved her onthe moment from any arrangement as to a _rendez-vous_. In her anxietyto secure the longed-for cup of tea she broke into a half-run, but itwas too late; the sharp black eyes had spied them out, the tall figureloomed by their side, the large face, with its florid colouring, smileda broad smile of welcome. 

"Hulloa, Mary! Thought it was you. I was just passing along. Goodafternoon, Miss Gifford. It _is_ Miss Gifford, isn't it? Had a goodconcert, I hope--a pleasant afternoon?"

"Very good, thank you, " said Claire shortly. 

Mary cried, "Oh, Frank! _You_! How did you come? I didn't expect--"And the tone of her voice showed that the surprise was hardly moreagreeable to her than to her companion. However welcome her lover mightbe on other occasions, it was obvious that she had not wished to see himat this particular moment. 

"Well, well, we must move on; we mustn't block up the pavement, " theMajor said hastily. He took his place by the kerb, which placed himnext to Claire, and bent over with an assiduous air. "You must let meescort you! Where were you bound for next?"

Claire hesitated. She wished with all her heart that she had notmentioned Fuller's, so that she could reply that they were bound for theTube. Oxford Circus was only a step away; in five minutes they couldhave been seated in the train; but Cecil had declared that she waslonging for tea, so it would be ungracious to withdraw the invitation. 

"We were going to Fuller's. "

"Right!" The Major's tone was complacent. "Good idea! How shall wego? Taxi? Tube? Which do you prefer?"

Claire stared at him in surprise. 

"But it's here! Quite close. We're nearly there. "

He looked disconcerted, unnecessarily disconcerted, Claire thought; forit was surely no disgrace for a man to be ignorant of the locality of aconfectioner's shop! From the other side came Cecil's voice, cool andconstrained--

"If you were going anywhere, Frank, you needn't stay with us. We canlook after each other. We are accustomed to going about alone. "

"Please allow me the pleasure. There's plenty of time. I should enjoysome tea immensely. Always take it when I get the chance!"

The block on the pavement made consecutive conversation impossible, andthe three edged their way in and out in silence until Fuller's wasreached, and one of the last tables secured. The room looked verybright and dainty, the Christmas garlands still festooning the walls andframing the mirrors, the hanging lights covered by rose-coloured shades. The soft pink light was very kind to the complexions of the visitors, nevertheless Claire felt a guilty pang as she looked into the nearestmirror and beheld the reflection of herself and her friend as they satside by side. As a rule, it was pure pleasure to realise her own fairlooks; but for the moment they were of no importance, whereas poor dearCecil had a lover to please, and there was no denying Cecil was notlooking her best! Her expression was frowning and dissatisfied. Shehad taken off her veil in the hall and her hair was disarranged;compared with the fashionable groups round the other tables, she lookedsuddenly shabby and insignificant, her little attempts at decorationpitifully betraying the amateur hand. 

"Oh, dear me, why _won't_ she smile? She looks quite pretty when shesmiles. I'll hold her before a mirror some day and show her thedifference it makes. Ten years disappear in a flash! Now what in theworld had I better be--agreeable and chatty, or cold and stand-off?I'll do anything to please her, but it _is_ hard lines having ourafternoon spoiled, and being sulked at into the bargain. Cakes, please--lots of sweet, sugary cakes! Won't that do, Cecil? We can havebread-and-butter at home!"

"Cecil! Cecil! Her name is Mary. Why do you call her Cecil?" criedthe Major quickly, looking from one girl to another. Claire fanciedthere was a touch of suspicion in his voice, and wondered that he shouldshow so much interest in a mere nickname. 

"Because she is `Rhodes, ' of course. "

For a moment his stare showed no understanding, then, "Oh! that fellow!"he said slowly. "I see! It's a pretty name anyway. Beats Mary tofits. Mary is so dull and prosaic. Too many of them about. One getssick of the sound. "

"Is that intended for me by any chance?" asked Cecil in her most acidtones, whereupon the Major cried, "Oh! Put my foot in it that time, didn't I?" and burst into a long guffaw of laughter, which brought onhim the eyes of the surrounders. 

Claire's interest had already been aroused by a little party of two menand two women who were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, andwho were, to her thinking, by far the most attractive personalitiespresent. The men were tall, well set up, not especially handsome in anyway, but possessing an unmistakable look of breeding. One of the womenwas old, the other young, and it would have been hard to say which wasthe more attractive of the two. They were quietly but very elegantlydressed, handsome furs being thrown back, to show pretty bodices ofninon and lace. 

When Major Carew gave that loud unrestrained laugh, the four members ofthis attractive party turned to see whence the sound arose; but whereasthree faces remained blankly indifferent, the fourth was in the momenttransformed into an expression of the liveliest surprise. He stared, narrowing his eyes as if doubting that they were really seeing aright, twisted his head to get a fuller view, and, obtaining it, twisted backinto his original position, his lips twitching with laughter. Then hespoke a few words, his companions leant forward to listen, and to twofaces out of the three, the laughter spread on hearing what he had tosay. 

Only the elder of the two ladies retained her gravity. Her sweet glancerested on Claire's face, and her brow contracted in distress. In theMajor and Cecil she showed no interest, but Claire's appearanceevidently aroused curiosity and pity. "What is _she_ doing in that_galere_?" The question was written on every line of the sweet high-bred face, and Claire read its significance and flinched with distaste. 

"How they stare!" cried Mary Rhodes. "The man looked as if he knew you, Frank. Do you know who he is?"

"He's a member of the Club. His name is Vavasour. We know each otherby sight. " Major Carew's florid colour had grown a shade deeper, he wasevidently disconcerted by the encounter; but he made a strong effort toregain his composure, smiled at the two girls in turn, and criedlightly, "Envies me, I suppose, seeing me with two such charmers!"

"He didn't look exactly envious!" Cecil said drily. She also hadnoticed that reflection in the mirror, and it had not helped to sootheher spirits. She felt an unreasoning anger against Claire for appearingmore attractive than herself, but it did not occur to her that she washeightening the contrast by her own dour, ungracious manner. Altogetherthat tea-party was a difficult occasion, and as it proceeded, Claire'sspirits sank ever lower and lower. She had spent more than she had anyright to afford on those two expensive tickets, hoping thereby to givepleasure, and now Cecil was in a bad temper, and would snap for days tocome. --It was not a cheerful outlook, and for the second time a feelingof restiveness overtook her, a longing for a companion who would helpthe gaiety of life--such a companion as pretty, lively, happy-go-luckySophie Blake, for example. How refreshing it would be to live withSophie! Just for a moment Claire dwelt wistfully on the possibility, then banished it with a loyal "She doesn't need me, and Cecil does. She's fond of me in her funny way. She must be, for she has confided inme already, more than in any of the others whom she's known for years, and perhaps I may be able to help... "

The Major passed his cup for a second supply; a waitress brought a plateof hot cakes; the occupants of the corner table stood up, fastening fursand coats, and passed out of the door. With their going Major Carewregained his vivacity, chaffed the girls on their silence, recounted thelatest funny stories, and to Claire's relief addressed himself primarilyto his _fiancee_, thus putting her in the place of honour. 

Nevertheless Claire was conscious that from time to time keen glanceswere cast in her own direction. She had a feeling that no detail of herattire escaped scrutiny, that the black eyes noted one and all, wondered, and speculated, and appraised. She saw them dwell on thehandsome fur stole and muff which Mrs Judge bequeathed to her daughteron sailing for India, on the old diamond ring and brooch which had beenhanded over to her on her twenty-first birthday; she had an instinctivefeeling that she rose in the man's estimation because of her air ofprosperity. He made tentative efforts to arrange a further meeting. "Where do _you_ go on Sundays, Miss Gifford? I say, we must arrangeanother tea like this. Lots of good tea places in town. We must samplethem together. What do you say, Miss Gifford?"

Claire's answers were politely evasive, and presently he began to growrestless, and finally pulled out his watch, and jumped to his feet. 

"How time flies! I had no idea it was so late. I must run. So sorryto leave you like this. "

Mary Rhodes stared in surprise. 

"Leave! Frank! But you said--I thought we were going--"

"Yes, I know, I know. I'm sorry, I thought I was free--but--aregimental engagement! Can't get out of it. I'll fix up another night. I'll write. "

There was no doubt that he was genuinely disconcerted at the lateness ofthe hour, and his leave-taking was of the most hasty description, thoughhe found time to give a lingering pressure to Claire's hand; then he wasgone, and the waitress came across the room and presented the bill. 

Cecil flushed uncomfortably. 

"I must pay this. Frank has forgotten. He rushed off in such a hurry. "

She pulled out her shabby purse, and Claire made no protest. In asimilar position she herself would have wished to pay, but it wasinconceivable that she should ever be in such a position. Howeverhurried a man might be-- She rubbed her hand on her knee with a littleshudder of distaste. "Wretch! He would make love to me, too, if Iwould allow it! How can Cecil possibly care for such a man?"

And then she forgot Cecil's feelings to ponder on a more perplexingproblem. 

Why had the man called Vavasour looked so amused, and why had the sweet-faced woman looked so distressed?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

A DOUBLE INVITATION. 

Janet Willoughby sent Claire a picture postcard, all white snow andstrong shadow, and dazzling blue sky, and little black figurespirouetting on one leg with the other raised perilously in the rear. "This is me!" was written across the most agile of the number, while ascrawling line across the top ran, "Happy New Year! Returning onTuesday. Hope to see you soon. " Tuesday was the day on which schoolre-opened; but Janet's holiday was year long, not a short four weeks. 

Cecil moaned loudly, but Claire was tired of aimless days, and welcomedthe return to work. She determined to throw her whole heart into hertask, and work as no junior French mistress had ever worked before; shedetermined never to lose patience, never to grow cross, never to indulgein a sarcastic word, always to be a model of tact and forbearance. Shedetermined to wield such an ennobling influence over the girls in herform-room that they should take fire from her example, and go forth intothe world perfect, high-souled women who should leaven the race. Shedetermined also to be the life and soul of the staff-room--the generalpeace-maker, confidante, and consoler, beloved by one and all. Shedetermined to seize tactfully upon every occasion of serving the Head, and acting as a buffer between her and disagreeables of every kind. Shearranged a touching scene wherein Miss Farnborough, retiring from workand being asked by the Committee to name a worthy successor, pronouncedunhesitatingly, "Claire Gifford; she is but young, but her wisdom anddiplomacy are beyond all praise. " She saw herself Head of SaintCuthbert's, raised to the highest step of her scholastic ladder, butsomehow the climax was not so exhilarating as the climb itself. To behead mistress was, no doubt, a fine achievement, but it left her cold. 

Inside Saint Cuthbert's all was life and bustle. Girls streaming alongthe corridors, in and out of every room; girls of all ages and sizes andshapes, but all to-day bearing an appearance of happiness and animation. Bright-coloured blouses shone forth in their first splendour; hair-ribbons stood out stiff and straight; many of the girls carried bunchesof flowers to present to the special mistress for whom they cherishedthe fashionable "G. P. " (grand passion) so characteristic of schoollife. 

Flora had a bunch of early daffodils for Claire. Another girl presenteda pot of Roman hyacinths for the decoration of the form-room, a third atiny bottle of scent; three separate donors supplied buttonholes ofviolets. The atmosphere was full of kindness and affection. Girlsencountering each other would fall into each other's arms withexclamations of ecstatic affection. "Oh, you precious lamb!"

"My angel child!"

"You dear, old, darling duck!" Claire heard a squat, ugly girl withspectacles and a turned-up nose addressed as "a princely pet" by anardent adorer of fourteen. The mistresses came in for their own shareof adulation--"Darling Miss Gifford, I _do_ adore you!"

"Miss Gifford, darling, you are prettier than ever!"

"Oh, Miss _Gifford_, I was _dying_ to see you!"

The morning flew past, and lunch-time brought the gathering ofmistresses in staff-room. Mademoiselle's greetings were politelydetached, Fraulein was kindly and discursive, Sophie's smile was asbright as ever, but she did not look well. 

"Oh, I'm all right! It's nothing. Only this horrid old pain!" she saidcheerfully. Into her glass of water she dropped three tabloids ofaspirin. Every one had been away for a longer or shorter time, visitingrelatives and friends; they compared experiences; some had enjoyedthemselves, some had not; but they all agreed that they were refreshedby the change. 

"And where have _you_ been?" asked the drawing mistress of Claire, andexclaimed in surprise at hearing that she had remained in town. "Dearme, I wish I had known! I've been back a fortnight. We might have donesomething together. Weren't you _dull_?" asked the drawing mistress, staring with curious eyes. 

"Very!" answered poor Claire, and for a moment struggled with a horribleinclination to cry. 

After lunch Miss Bates took her cup of coffee to Claire's side, and madean obvious attempt to be pleasant. 

"I feel quite remorseful to think of your holidays. It's astonishinghow little we mistresses know of each other out of school hours. Thefirst school I was in--a much smaller one by the sea, --we were sofriendly and jolly, just like sisters, but in the big towns every oneseems detached. It's hard on the new-comers. I don't know _what_ Ishould have done if I hadn't a brother's house to go to on Sundays andholiday afternoons. Except through him, I haven't made a single friend. At the other place people used to ask us out, and we had quite a goodtime; but in town people are engrossed in their own affairs. Theyhaven't time to go outside. "

"I wonder you ever left that school! What made you want to change?"

"Oh, well! London was a lure. Most people want to come to London, andI had my brother. Do tell me, another time, if you are not going away. It worries me to think of you being alone. How did you come to get thispost, if you have no connections in town?"

"Miss Farnborough came to stay in Brussels, in the _pension_ which mymother and I had made headquarters for some time. She offered me thepost. "

Miss Bates stared with distended eyes. "How long had she known you?"

"About a fortnight, I think. I don't remember exactly. "

"And you had never seen her before? She knew nothing about you?"

"She had never seen me before, but she _did_ know something about me. Professionally speaking, she knew all there was to know. "

"That accounts for it, " said Miss Bates enigmatically. "I wondered--You are not a bit the usual type. "

"I hope that doesn't mean that I can't teach?"

Miss Bates laughed, and shrugged her thin shoulders. "Oh, no. I shouldsay, personally, that you teach very well. That play wasextraordinarily good. It absolutely sounded like French. Can't thinkhow you knocked the accent into them! English girls are so self-conscious; they are ashamed of letting themselves go. Mademoisellethinks that your classes are too like play; but it doesn't matter whatshe thinks, so long as--" she paused a moment, lowered her voice, andadded impressively, "Keep on the right side of Miss Farnborough. Youare all right so long as you are in her good books. Better be careful. "

"What do you mean?" Claire stared, puzzled and discomposed, decidedlyon the offensive; but Miss Bates refused a definite answer. 

"Nothing!" she said tersely. "Only--people who take sudden fancies, cantake sudden dislikes, too. Ask no more questions, but don't say Ididn't warn you, that's all!"

She lifted her coffee-cup, and strolled away, leaving Claire to reflectimpatiently, "_More_ poison! It's too bad. They won't _let_ one behappy!"

Before the end of the week school work settled into its old routine, andthe days passed by with little to mark their progress. The Englishclimate was at its worst, and three times out of four the journey toschool was accomplished in rain or sleet. The motor-'buses were crammedwith passengers, and manifested an unpleasant tendency to skid; pale-faced strap-holders crowded the carriages of the Tube; for days togetherthe sky remained a leaden grey. It takes a Mark Tapley himself to keepsmiling under such conditions. As Claire recalled the days when she andher mother had sat luxuriously under the trees in the gardens of Rivierahotels, listening to exhilarating bands, and admiring the outline of theEsterels against the cloudless blue of the sky, the drab London streetsassumed a dreariness which was almost insupportable. Also, though shewould not acknowledge it to herself, she was achingly disappointed, because something which she had sub-consciously been expecting did notcome to pass. She had expected something to happen, but nothinghappened; all through February the weeks dragged on, unrelieved by anyepisode except the weekly mail from India. 

The little brown bird still industriously piped the hour; but hisappearance no longer brought the same warm thrill of happiness. Andthen one morning came a note from Janet Willoughby. 

"Dear Miss Gifford, --

"I should really like to call you `Claire, ' but I must wait to be asked!I have been meaning to write ever since we returned from Saint Moritz;but you know how it is in town, such a continual rush, that one cannever get through half the things that ought to be done! We should alllike to see you again. Mother has another `At Home' on Thursday eveningnext, and would be glad to see you then, if you cared to come; but what_I_ should like is to have you to myself! On Saturday next I could callfor you, as I did at Christmas, and keep you for the whole day. Then wecould talk as we couldn't do at the `At Homes, ' which are really ratherdull, duty occasions. 

"Let me know which of these propositions suits you best. Lookingforward to seeing you, --

"Your friend, (if you will have me!)

"Janet Willoughby. "

Claire had opened the letter, aglow with expectation; she laid it downfeeling dazed and blank. For the moment only one fact stood out to theexclusion of every other, and that was that Janet did not wish her to bepresent at the "At Home. " Mrs Willoughby had sent the invitation, butJanet had supplemented it by another, which could not be refused. "Iwould rather have you to myself. " How was it possible to refuse aninvitation couched in such terms? How could one answer with any show ofcivility, "I should prefer to come with the crowd?"

Claire carried the letter up to her cold bedroom, and sat down to do alittle honest thinking. 

"It's very difficult to understand what one really wants! We deceiveourselves as much as we do other people... Why am I so hideouslydepressed? I liked going to the `At Home, ' I liked dressing up, anddriving through the streets, and seeing the flowers and the dresses, andhaving the good supper; but, if that were all, I believe I'd prefer thewhole day with Janet. I suppose, really, it's Captain Fanshawe that'sat the bottom of it. I want to meet him, I thought I should meet him, and now it's over. I shan't be asked again when there's a chance of hiscoming. Janet doesn't want me. She's not jealous, of course--that'sabsurd--but she wants to keep him to herself, and she imagines somehowthat I should interfere--"

Imagination pictured Janet staring with puzzled, uneasy eyes across thetables in the dining-room, of Janet drearily examining the piled-uppresents in the boudoir, and then, like a flash of light, showed thepicture of another face, now eager, animated, admiring, again grave andwistful. "Is your address still the Grand Hotel?--_My_ address is stillthe Carlton Club. "

"Ah, well, well!" acknowledged Claire to her heart, "we _did_ like eachother. We did love being together, and he remembered me; he sent me theclock when he was away. But it's all over now. That was our lastchance, and it's gone. He'll go to the At Home, and Mrs Willoughbywill tell him I was asked, but preferred to come when they were alone, and he'll think it was because I wanted to avoid him, and--and, oh, goodness, goodness, goodness! how _miserable_ I shall feel sitting hereall Thursday evening, imagining all that is going on! Oh, mother, mother, your poor little girl is _so_ lonesome! Why did you go so faraway?"

Claire put her head down on the dressing-table, and shed a few tears, aweakness bitterly regretted, for like all weaknesses the consequenceswrought fresh trouble. Now her eyelids were red, and she was obliged tohang shivering out of the window, until they had regained their naturalcolour, before she could face Cecil's sharp eyes. 

Janet arrived soon after eleven o'clock on Saturday morning, and wasshown into the saffron parlour where Claire sat over her week's mending. She wore a spring suit purchased in Paris, and a hat which was probablysmart, but very certainly was unbecoming, slanting as it did at aviolent angle over her plump, good-humoured face, and almost entirelyblinding one eye. She caught sight of her own reflection in theovermantel and exclaimed, "What a fright I look!" as she seated herselfby the table, and threw off her furs. "Don't hurry, please. Let mestay and watch. What are you doing? Mending a blouse? How clever ofyou to be able to use your fingers as well as your brains! I never sew, except stupid fancy-work for bazaars. So this is your room! You toldme about the walls. Can you imagine any one in cold blood choosing sucha paper? But it looks cosy all the same. I _do_ like little rooms witheverything carefully in reach. They are ever so much nicer than bigones, aren't they?"

"No. "

Janet pealed with laughter. 

"That's right, snub me! I deserve to be snubbed. Of course, I meantwhen you have big ones as well! Who is the pretty girl in the carvedframe? Your mother! Do you mean it, really? What a ridiculous mamma!I'm afraid, Claire, I'm afraid she is even prettier than you!"

"Oh, she is; I know it. But I have more charm, " returned Clairedemurely, whereat they laughed again--a peal of happy girlish laughter, which reached Lizzie's ears as she polished the oilcloth in the hall, and roused an envious sigh. 

"It's well to be some folks!" thought poor Lizzie. "Motor-cars, andfine dresses, and nothing to do of a Saturday morning but sit still andlaugh. I could laugh myself if I was in her shoes!"

Claire folded away her blouse, and took up a bundle of gloves. 

"These are your gloves. They have been such a comfort to me. There's abutton missing somewhere. Tell me all about your holiday! Did you havea good time? Was it as nice as you expected?"

"Yes. No. It _was_ a good time, but--do you think anything ever_quite_ comes up to one's expectation? I had looked forward to thatmonth for the whole year, and had built so many fairy castles. You havestayed in Switzerland? You know how the scene changes when the sunsinks, how those beautiful alluring rose-coloured peaks become in aminute awesome and gloomy. Well, it was rather like that with me. Idon't mean that it was gloomy; that's exaggerating, but it was prose, and I had pictured it poetry. Heigho! It's a weary world. "

Claire's glance was not entirely sympathetic. 

"There are different kinds of prose. You will forgive my saying thatyour especial sort is an _Edition de luxe_. "

"I know! I know! You can't be harder on me than I am on myself. Mydear, I have a most sensible head. I'm about as practical and long-headed as any woman of forty. It's my silly old heart which handicapsme. It _won't_ fall into line... Have you finished your mending? MayI come upstairs and see your room while you dress?"

For just the fraction of a moment Claire hesitated. Janet saw thedoubt, and attributed it to disinclination to exhibit a shabby room; butin reality Claire was proud of her attic, which a little ingenuity hadmade into a very charming abode. Turkey red curtains draped the window, a low basket-chair was covered in the same material, a red silkeiderdown covered the little bed. On the white walls were a profusionof photographs and prints, framed with a simple binding of leatheraround the glass. The toilet table showed an array of well-polishedsilver, while a second table was arranged for writing, and held a numberof pretty accessories. A wide board had been placed over the narrowmantel, on which stood a few good pieces of china and antique silver. There was nothing gimcrack to be seen, no one-and-elevenpenny ornaments, no imitations of any kind; despite its sloping roof and its whitewashedwalls, it was self-evidently a lady's room, and Janet's admiration wasunfeigned. 

"My dear, it's a lamb! I love your touches of scarlet. Dear me, you'vequite a view! I shall have sloping walls when I change my room. Theyare _ever_ so picturesque. It's a perfect duck, and everything looks sobright. They _do_ keep it well!"

"_I_ keep it well!" Claire corrected. "Lizzie `does' it every morning, but it's not a doing which satisfies me, so I put in a little manuallabour every afternoon as a change from using my brain. I do all thepolishing. You can't expect lodging-house servants to clean silver andbrass. "

"Can't you? No; I suppose you can't. " Janet's voice of a suddensounded flat and absent. There was a moment's pause, then she addedtentatively, "You have a cuckoo clock?"

Claire was thankful that her face was screened from view as she was inthe process of tying on her veil. A muffled, "Yes, " was her only reply. 

Janet stood in front of the clock, staring at it with curious eyes. 

"It's--it's like--there were some just like this in a shop at SaintMoritz. "

"They are all much alike, don't you think?"

"I suppose they are. Yes--in a way. Some are much better than others. This is one of the best--"

"Yes, it is. It keeps beautiful time. I had it in the sitting-room, but Miss Rhodes objected to the noise. "

"Was it in Saint Moritz that you bought it?"

"I didn't buy it. It was a present. "

That finished the cross-questioning, since politeness forbade that Janetshould go a step further and ask the name of the friend, which was whatshe was obviously longing to do. She stood a moment longer, staringblankly at the clock, then gave a little sigh, and moved on to examinethe ornaments on the mantelpiece. Five minutes later the two girlsdescended the staircase, and drove away from the door. 

The next few hours passed pleasantly enough, but Claire wondered if itwere her own imagination which made her think that Janet's manner wasnot quite so frank and bright as it had been before she had caught sightof the cuckoo clock. She never again said, "Claire"; but her brown eyesstudied Claire's face with a wistful scrutiny, and from time to time asharp little sigh punctuated her sentences. 

"But what could I tell her?" Claire asked unhappily of her sub-conscience. "I don't _know_--I only think; and even if he _did_ sendit, it doesn't necessarily affect his feelings towards her. He wasgoing to see her in a few days; and she is rich and has everything shewants, while I am poor and alone. It was just kindness, nothing more. "But though her head was satisfied with such reasoning, her heart, likeJanet's, refused to fall into line. 

At tea-time several callers arrived, foremost among them a tall man whomClaire at once recognised as the original of a portrait which stoodopposite to that of Captain Fanshawe on the mantelpiece of Janet'sboudoir. This was "the kind man, the thoughtful man, " the man whoremembered "little things, " and in truth he bore the mark of it in everyline of his good-humoured face. Apart from his expression, hisappearance was ordinary enough; but he was self-evidently a man totrust, and Claire found something pathetic in the wistful admirationwhich shone in his eyes as they followed Janet Willoughby about theroom. To ordinary observers she was just a pleasant girl with nopretensions to beauty; to him she was obviously the most lovely of hersex. He had no attention to spare for Claire or the other ladiespresent; he was absorbed in watching Janet, waiting for opportunities toserve Janet, listening eagerly to Janet's words. It is not often thatan unengaged lover is so transparent in his devotion, but Malcolm Hewardwas supremely indifferent to the fact that he betrayed his feelings. 

At ten o'clock Claire rose to take leave, and Mrs Willoughby made arequest. 

"I am going to ask you to do me a favour, dear. A friend is having aSale of Work at her house for a charity in which we are both interested, and she has asked me to help. It is on a Saturday afternoon andevening, and I wondered if I might ask you to take part in the littleconcerts. Whistling is always popular, and you do it so charmingly. Iwould send the car for you, and take you home, of course, and be so verymuch indebted. You don't mind my asking?"

"No, indeed; I should be delighted. Please let me help you whenever youcan. "

In the bedroom upstairs Janet deliberately introduced Malcolm Heward'sname. 

"That was the man I told you about at Christmas. He was one of theparty at Saint Moritz. What did you think of him?"

"I liked him immensely. He looks all that you said he was. He has afine face. "

"He wants to marry me. "

Claire laughed softly. 

"That's obvious! I never saw a man give himself away so openly. "

"Do you think I ought to accept him?"

"Oh, how can I say? It's not for me to advise. I hope, whoever youmarry, you'll be very, very happy!"

Suddenly Janet came forward and laid her hands on Claire's arm. 

"Oh, Claire, I do like you! I do want to be friends, but sometimes Ihave the strangest thoughts. " Before Claire had time to answer, she haddrawn back again, and was saying with a little apologetic laugh, "I amsilly! Take no notice of what I say. Here's your fur; here's yourmuff. Are you quite sure you have all your possessions?"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

A QUESTION OF MONEY. 

The next week was memorable to Claire as marking the beginning ofserious anxiety with regard to Sophie. She had looked ill since thebeginning of the term, and the bottle of aspirin tabloids had becomequite an accustomed feature on the luncheon table; but when questionedshe had always a smile and an easy excuse. 

"What can you expect in this weather? No one but a fish could helpaching in these floods. I'm perfectly all right!"

But one morning this week, meeting her on an upper landing, Clairediscovered Sophie apparently dragging herself along with her hands, andpunctuating each step with a gasp of pain. She stood still and stared, whereupon Sophie instantly straightened herself, and ascended theremaining steps in a normal manner. 

"Sophie, " cried Claire sternly, "don't pretend! I heard you; I saw you!My dear girl, is the rheumatism so bad?"

Sophie twisted her head this way and that, her lips pursed in warning. 

"S-sh! Be careful! You never know who is about. I _am_ rather stiffto-day. This raw fog has been the last straw. I shall be all rightwhen we get through this month. I hate March! It finds out all theweak spots. Please, Claire, don't take any notice. A Gym. Mistress hasno business to have rheumatism. It's really very good for me to beobliged to keep going. It is always worse at the beginning of the day. "

Claire went away with a pain in her heart, and the pain grew steadily asshe watched Sophie throughout the week. The pretty face was often drawnwith pain, she rose and sat down with an obvious effort; and still therain poured, and the dark fog enveloped the city, and Sophie struggledto and from her work in a thin blue serge suit which had already seenthree winters' wear. 

One day the subject came up for discussion in the staff-room, and Clairewas shocked and surprised at the attitude of the other teachers. Theywere sorry for Sophie, they sympathised, to a certain extent they wereeven anxious on her account, but the prevailing sentiment seemed to bethat the kindest thing was to take no notice of her sufferings. No usepitying her; that would only make her more sorry for herself. No usesuggesting cures; cures take time, not to speak of money. The Easterholidays would soon be here; perhaps she might try something then. Inthe meantime--_tant pis_! she must get along as best she could. Therewas simply no time to be ill. 

"I've a churchyard cough myself, " declared the Arts mistress. "I stayedin bed all Saturday and Sunday, and it was really a little better, butit was as bad as ever after a day in this big draughty hole. "

"And I am racked with neuralgia, " chimed in Miss Bates. The subject ofSophie was lost in a general lamentation. 

Friday evening came, and after the girls had departed Claire went insearch of Sophie, hoping tactfully to be able to suggest remedialmethods over the week-end. She peeped into several rooms before atlast, in one of the smallest and most out-of-the-way, she caught sightof a figure crouched with buried head at the far end of the table. Itwas Sophie, and she was crying, and catching her breath in a weakexhausted fashion, pitiful to hear. Claire shut the door tightly, andput her arms round the shaking form. 

"Miss Blake--Sophie! You poor, dear girl! You are tired out. You havebeen struggling all the week, but it's Friday night, dear, rememberthat! You can go home and just tumble into bed. Don't give way whenyou've been so brave. "

But for the moment Sophie's bravery had deserted her. 

"It's raining! It's raining! It _always_ rains. I can't face it. Thepain's all over me, and the omnibuses _won't_ stop! They expect you tojump in, and I can't jump! I don't know how to get home. "

"Well, I do!" Claire cried briskly. "There's no difficulty about that. I'm sick of wet walks myself. I'll whistle for a taxi, and we'll drivehome in state. I'll take you home first, and then go on myself; or, ifyou like, I'll come in with you and help you to bed. "

"P-please. Oh, yes, please, do come! I don't want to be alone, "faltered Sophie weakly; but she wiped her eyes, and in characteristicfashion began to cheer up at the thought of the drive home. 

There was a cheerful fire burning in Sophie's sitting-room, and thetable was laid for tea in quite an appetising fashion. The landladycame in at the sound of footsteps, and showed a sympathetic interest atthe sight of Sophie's tear-stained face. 

"I _told_ you you weren't fit to go out!" she said sagely. "Now justsit yourself down before the fire, and I'll take your things upstairsand bring you down a warm shawl. Then you shall have your teas. I'llbring in a little table, so you can have it where you are. " She leftthe room, and Sophie looked after her with grateful eyes. 

"That's what I pay for!" she said eloquently. "She's so kind! I lovethat woman for all her niceness to me. I told you I had no right to payso much rent. I came in just for a few weeks until I could findsomething else, and I haven't had the _heart_ to _move_. I've been insuch holes, and had such awful landladies. They seem divided into twobig classes, kind and dirty, or clean and _mad_! When you get one whois kind _and_ clean, you feel so grateful that you'd pay your last pennyrather than move away. Oh, how lovely! how lovely! how lovely! It'sFriday night, and I can be ill comfortably all the time till Mondaymorning! Aren't we jolly well-off to have our Saturdays to ourselves?How thankful the poor clerks and typists would be to be in our place!"

She was smiling again, enjoying the warmth of the fire, the ease of thecushioned chair. When Mrs Rogers entered she snoodled into the foldsof a knitted shawl, and lay back placidly while the kind creature tookoff her wet shoes and stockings and replaced them by a long pair offleecy woollen bed-socks, reaching knee high. The landlady knelt to hertask, and Sophie laid a hand on the top of starched lace and magentavelvet, and cried, "Rise, Lady Susan Rogers! One of the truest ladiesthat ever breathed... "

"How you do talk!" said the landlady, but her eyes shone. As sheexpounded to her husband in the kitchen, "Miss Blake had such a way withher. When ladies were like that you didn't care what you did, but therewas them as treated you like Kaffirs. "

Tea was quite a cheerful and sociable little meal, during which noreference was made to Sophie's ailments, but when the cups had beenreplaced on the central table, Claire seated herself and said with anair of decision--

"Now we're going to have a disagreeable conversation! I don't approveof the way you have been going on this last month, and it's time it cameto an end. You are ill, and it's your business to take steps to getbetter!"

"Oh!"

"Yes; and you are going to take them, too!"

"What am I going to do?"

"You are going to see a specialist next week. "

"You surprise me!" Sophie smiled with exaggerated lightness. "Whatfunny things one does hear!"

"Why shouldn't you see a specialist? I defy you to give me one sensiblereason?"

"I'll do better than that. I'll give you two. "

"So do, then! What are they?"

"Guineas!" said Sophie. 

For a moment Claire stared blankly, then she laughed. 

"Oh, I see! Yes. It is rather a haul. But it's better to harden yourheart once for all, and pay it down. "

"The two guineas is only the beginning. "

"The beginning of what?"

"Trouble!" said Sophie grimly. "Baths, at a guinea apiece. Massage, half-a-guinea a time. Medicine, liniments, change of air. My dear, it's no use. What's the use of paying two guineas to hear a man tellyou to do a dozen things which are hopelessly impossible? It's payinggood money only to be aggravated and depressed. If it comes to that, Ican prescribe for myself without paying a sou... Knock off all work fora year. Go to Egypt, or some perfectly dry climate, and build up yourstrength. Always get out of London for the winter months. Live in thefresh air, and avoid fatigue... How's that? Doesn't that strike you asadmirable advice?"

She put her head on one side with a gallant attempt at a smile, but herlips twitched, and the flare of the incandescent light showed her facelined and drawn with pain. Claire was silent, her heart cramping withpain. The clock ticked on for several minutes, before she askedsoftly--

"Have you no savings, Sophie? No money to keep you if you _did_ take arest?"

"Not a sou. It's all I can do to struggle along. I told you I had tohelp a young sister, and things run up so quickly, that it doesn't seempossible to save. I suppose many people would say one ought to be ableto do it on a hundred a year; that's all I have left for myself!Hundreds of women manage on less, but as a rule they come from adifferent class, and can put up with a style of living which would beintolerable to us. I don't complain of the pay. I don't think it isbad as things go: it's only when illness comes that one looks ahead andfeels--frightened! Suppose I broke down now, suppose I broke down inten years' time! I should be over forty, and after working hard fortwenty years I should be left without a penny piece; thrown on the scrapheap, as a worn-out thing that was no more use. But I might still liveon, years upon years. Oh, dear! why did you make me think of it? Itdoes no good; only gives one the hump. There _is_ no Pension scheme, soI simply can't afford to be ill. That's the end of it. "

"Don't you think if you went to Miss Farnborough, and explained toher--"

Sophie turned a flushed, protesting face. 

"Never! Not for the world, and you mustn't either. Promise mefaithfully that you will never give so much as a hint. Miss Farnboroughis a capital head, but her great consideration is for the pupils; weonly count in so far as we are valuable to them. She'd be sorry for me, of course, and would give me quite a lot of advice, but she'd think atonce, `If she's rheumatic, she won't be so capable as a Gym. Mistress; Imust get some one else!' No, no, my dear, I must go on, I must fight itout. You'd be surprised to see how I _can_ fight when Miss Farnboroughcomes on the scene!"

"Very well. You have had your say, now I'm going to have mine! If yougo on as you have been doing the last month, growing stiffer week byweek, you won't be _able_ to hide it! The other mistresses talk aboutit already. They were discussing you in staff-room last week. If yougo on trusting to chance, you are simply courting disaster. Now I'lltell you what I am going to do. I'm going to find out the address of agood specialist, and make an appointment for next Saturday morning. Youshan't have any trouble about it, and I'll call in a taxi, and take youmyself, and bring you safely back. And it will be the wisest and thecheapest two guineas you ever spent in your life. Now! What have yougot to say to that?"

"Oh, I don't know, I don't know! You are very kind. I suppose I oughtto be grateful. I suppose you are right. Oh, I'll go, I suppose, Imust go. _Bother_!" cried Sophie ungraciously, whereupon Claire hastilychanged the conversation, and made no further reference to health duringthe rest of her visit. 

Mrs Willoughby supplied the name of a specialist; the specialistgranted an appointment for the following Saturday at noon, when the twogirls duly appeared in his consulting-room; and Sophie underwent theusual examination, during which the great doctor's face assumed aserious air. Finally he returned to the round-backed chair which stoodagainst the desk, and faced his patient across the room. Sophie waslooking flushed and pretty, she was wearing her best clothes, and shewore them with an air which might well delude a masculine eye intobelieving them much better than they really were. Claire had her usualsmart, well-turned-out appearance. They seemed to the doctor's eyes twoprosperous members of Society. 

"I fear, " he said gravely, "I fear that there is no doubt that yourrheumatism is the sort most difficult to treat. It is a clear case ofrheumatoid arthritis, but you are young, and the disease is in an earlystage, so that we must hope for the best. In olden times it wassupposed to be an incurable complaint, but of late years we have hadoccasional cures, quite remarkable cures, which have mitigated thatdecision. You must realise, however, that it is a difficult fight, andthat you will need much patience and perseverance. "

"How soon do you think you can cure me?"

The doctor looked into Sophie's face, and his eyes were pitiful. 

"I wish I could say, but I fear that's impossible. Different people areaffected by different cures. You must go on experimenting until youfind one that will suit your case; meanwhile there are certain definiteinstructions which you would do well to observe. In what part of Londondo you live?" He pursed-up his lips at the reply. "Clay! Heavy clay. The worst thing you could have. That must be altered at once. It isessential that you live on light, gravelly soil, and even then youshould not be in England in winter. You should go abroad for four orfive months. "

Sophie cast a lightning glance at her companion. "It's impossible!" shesaid shortly. "I can't move. I can't go abroad. I am a High School-mistress. I am obliged to stay at my work. I am dependent on mysalary. I knew it was stupid to come. I knew what you would say. Itold my friend. It was her doing. She made me come--"

"I am very much indebted to your friend, " the doctor said genially. "She was quite right to insist that you should have advice, and now thatI know the circumstances, I'll try not to be unreasonable. I know howaggravating it must be to be ordered to do things which are clearlyimpossible; but you are young, and you are threatened with a diseasewhich may cripple your life. I want to do all that is in my power tohelp you. Let's talk it over quietly, and see what can be done. "

"I'm in school every day until half-past four, except on Saturdays, andI can't afford to wait. I _must_ get better, and I must be quick aboutit, or I shall lose my post. If I leave this school through rheumatism, it will go down in my testimonial, and I should never get anotheropening. I'm the Gym. Mistress. "

"Poor girl!" said the doctor kindly. "Well, " he added, "I can say onething for your encouragement; you could not help yourself more than bypreserving your present attitude of mind. To determine to get better, and to get better quickly, is a very valuable aid to material means. And now I will tell you what I propose. "

He bent forward in his chair, talking earnestly and rapidly. There wasno time to be lost, since the disease was apt to take sudden leapsforward; at this stage every day was of value; the enemy must beattacked before he had made good his hold. There was a new treatmentwhich, within his own experience, had had excellent results. It was nota certainty; it was very far from a certainty, but it was a chance, andit had this merit, that a month or six weeks would prove its efficacy inany special case. If this failed, something else must be tried, butmost cures were very long, very costly. He would propose in the firstinstance giving two injections a week; later on three or even four. There might be a certain amount of reaction. 

"What do you mean by reaction?" Sophie asked. 

"Fever, headache. Possibly sickness, but not lasting for more thantwenty-four hours. "

Sophie set her lips. 

"I have no time to be ill!"

The doctor looked at her with deliberate sternness. 

"You will have all your life to be ill, if you do not take care now! Iwill do what I can to help you; we will arrange the times mostconvenient to you. You might come to me at first direct from school onWednesdays and Saturdays. Later on the system will accustom itself, andyou will probably feel no bad effects. I should like to undertake yourcase myself. My charge to you will be a quarter of my ordinary fee. "

"Thank you very much, " stammered Sophie, "but--"

Claire jumped up, and hastily interposed. 

"Thank you so very much! We are most grateful, but it's--it's beenrather a shock, and we have not had time to think. Will you allow us towrite and tell you our decision?"

"Certainly. Certainly. But be quick about it. I am anxious to help, but every week's delay will make the case more difficult. Try toarrange for Wednesday next. "

As he spoke he led the way towards the door. He had been all that waskind and considerate, but there were other patients waiting; all daylong a procession of sufferers were filing into that room. He had nomore time to give to Sophie Blake. The two girls went out into thestreet, got into a taxi and were driven swiftly away. Neither spoke. They drew up before the door of Sophie's lodgings, entered the cosysitting-room and sat down by the fire. 

"Well!" Sophie's face was flushed, her eyes were dry and feverishlybright. "I hope you are satisfied, my dear. I've been to a specialistto please you, and a most depressing entertainment it has been. Arthritis! That's the thing people have who go about in Bath chairs, and have horrible twisted fingers. It was supposed to be incurable, butnow they have `an occasional cure, ' so I must hope for the best! I dothink doctors are the stupidest things! They have no tact. He couldtell me that in one breath, and in the other that it was most importantthat I should have hope. Well! I _have_ hope. I _have_ faith, butit's not because of his stupid injections. I believe in God, and Godknows that I need my health, and that other people need it too. Mylittle sister! What would happen to her if I crocked now? I don'tbelieve He will _let_ me grow worse!"

"That's all right, Sophie dear, but oughtn't you to use the means? Idon't call it trusting in the right sense if you set yourself againstthe help that comes along. God doesn't work miracles as He did in theold way; the world has progressed since those old times, and now Heworks through men. It is a miracle just the same, though it showsitself in a more natural fashion. Don't you call it a miracle that abusy doctor should offer to treat you himself, at the hours mostconvenient to you, and to do it at a quarter of his usual fees?"

"His fee for to-day was two guineas. They always charge that, Isuppose--these specialist people. A quarter of that would mean half-a-guinea a visit. Two half-guineas equal one guinea. Later on, three orfour half-guineas a week would equal one-and-a-half to two guineas. Twoguineas equal my whole income. Very kind, no doubt--very kind indeed. And just about as feasible as if he'd said a thousand pounds. "

Claire was busy calculating, her fingers playing upon her knee. Tenguineas ought to pay for the six weeks which would test the efficacy ofthe vaccine. Surely there could not be any serious difficulty about tenguineas?

"Wouldn't your brother?"

Sophie shook her head. 

"I wouldn't ask him. He has four small children, and he does so muchfor Emily. More than he can afford. He works too hard, poor fellow. If it were a certainty, perhaps it might be managed somehow; but it'sonly a chance, and six weeks won't see the end. "

"But the end will be quicker if you begin at once. The doctor said thatevery day was of importance. Sophie, listen! I've got the money. I'vegot it lying in the bank. I'll lend it to you. I'd love to lend it. If you'll let me, I'll send you a cheque to-night; that will pay for thefirst six weeks--"

Sophie stretched out her hand, and gave a momentary clasp to Claire'sfingers. 

"You _are_ a good soul! Fancy offering that to a stranger like me!It's noble of you, my dear. Perfectly sweet! I'm awfully grateful, butit's absolutely impossible that I could accept. When could I pay youback? I've never been able to save, but I _have_ kept out of debt, andit would worry me to death to have ten pounds hanging round my neck. Besides, we shouldn't be any further. At the end of the six weeks Ishould either be better, in which case he would certainly want me to goon; or worse, when I should have to try something else! You don'tpropose that I should go on borrowing from you at the rate of one or twoguineas a week?"

"I--I'm afraid I haven't got it to give. "

"Very well, then--there you are! What's the good of beginning at all?"

Claire put her hands over her face and thought with that intense andselfless thought which is as a prayer for help. The future seemed darkindeed, and the feeling of helplessness was hard to bear. Two lonelygirls, with no one to help, and so much help that was needed! Here wasindeed the time for prayer. 

"Sophie, it's horribly difficult; we can't see ahead. We can only `dothe next thing. ' It is your duty to take this cure _now_, and the wayhas opened for that. When we've come to the end of the six weeks, itmay open again. You said you have trust in God. It's no use talkinggeneralities, if you are not prepared to put your faith into practice. The question for to-day is, _Can you trust Him for the beginning ofMay_?"

Sophie smiled. 

"I like that! That's a nice way of putting it. Yes, I can; but, Claire(I must call you Claire, you are such a dear!), I wish it didn't meanborrowing other people's money! It will be years before I can pay youback. It may be that I can never do it. "

"I would have said `give, ' but I was afraid it would hurt your pride. My stepfather gave me some money to buy jewellery for a wedding present, and as a pure matter of selfishness I'd get more pleasure out of helpingyou than out of a stupid brooch. And listen, Sophie, listen! I'm goingto explain. --I chose to take up teaching because I wanted to beindependent, and I knew my mother would be happier without me during thefirst years of her marriage; but she is devoted to me, and I know intime she will crave to have me back. She isn't strong, and she findsthe Indian climate trying, so very likely she may _need_ my help. Ishall never be sorry that I came to London, for work is a splendidexperience, and I am glad to have it; but I have never the feeling thatit is going to _last_. Mother comes first, and my stepfather is quitewell-off, and can afford to keep me; so if I were _needed_, I should notfeel that I was sacrificing my independence in letting him do it. Soyou see I am not quite in the same position as the other mistresses, andmoney is not of the same importance. If you were in my place, Sophie, would you hesitate to lend me a ten-pound note?"

"Guineas, please!" cried Sophie, laughing to hide her tears. "Allright, my dear, all right! I give in. I lie down. You've beaten me. I've nothing more to say. I'll take the horrid old injections, and payfor them with your money, and--and--I think I'll go to bed now, please!I've had about as much as I can bear for one short day!"

"And I'll go home and have a rest myself. I am to help at a bazaar thisafternoon, and I don't feel at all in my full beauty. Good-bye, Sophie. Cheer up! There's a good time coming!"

"There's a good time coming for _you_!" predicted Sophie confidently. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

"LEND ME FIVE POUNDS!"

The contrasts of life seemed painfully strong to Claire Gifford thatSaturday afternoon as she seated herself in the luxurious car by MrsWilloughby's side, and thought of Sophie Blake obliged to borrow tenpounds to pay for a chance of health, and the contrast deepened duringthe next few hours, as she watched beautifully gowned women squanderingmoney on useless trifles which decked the various "stalls. " Embroideredcushions, painted sachets, veil cases, shaving cases, night-dress cases, bridge bags, fan bags, handkerchief bags, work bags; bags of every size, of every shape, of every conceivable material; bead necklaces, mats--awilderness of mats--a very pyramid of drawn-thread work. Claire found aseat near the principal stall, where she caught the remarks of thebuyers as they turned away. "... I detest painted satin! Can't think whyI bought that ridiculous sachet. It will have to go on to the nextbazaar. "

"... That makes my twenty-third bag! Rather a sweet, though, isn't he?It will go with my grey dress. "

"This is awful! I'm not getting on at all. I can't decently spend lessthan five pounds. For goodness' sake tell me what to buy!"

"Can't think why people give bazaars! Such an upset in the house. Forsome charity, I believe--I forget what. She asked me to come... "

So on and so on; scores of women surging to and fro, swinging bags ofgold and silver chain, buying baubles for which they had no use;occasionally--very occasionally, for love of the cause; often--veryoften because Lady --- had sent a personal invitation, and Lady --- wasa useful friend, and gave such charming balls!

At the two concerts Claire had a pleasant success, which she enjoyedwith all her heart. Her whistling performance seemed to act as ageneral introduction, for every listener seemed to be anxious to talk toher, and to ask an infinitude of questions. Was it difficult? How longdid it take to learn? Was she nervous? Wasn't it difficult not tolaugh? How did she manage not to look a fright? Did she do it often?Did she _mind_? This last question usually led up to a tentativemention of some entertainment in which the speaker was interested, butafter the first refusal Claire was on guard, and regretted that her timewas filled up. She was eager to help Mrs Willoughby, but had no desireto be turned into an unpaid public performer!

Janet did not appear at the bazaar, so the drive home was once more a_tete-a-tete_, during which Mrs Willoughby questioned Claire as to thecoming holidays, and expressed pleasure to hear that they were to bespent in Brussels. She was so kind and motherly in her manner thatClaire was emboldened to bespeak her interest on Sophie's behalf. 

"I suppose, " she said tentatively, "you don't know of any family goingabroad to a dry climate--it must be a very dry climate--who would liketo take a girl with them to--er--to be a sort of help! She's a prettygirl, and very gay and amusing, and she's had the highest possibletraining in health exercises. She would be splendid if there was adelicate child who needed physical development, and, of course, she isquite well educated all round. She could teach up to a certain point. She is the Gym. Mistress in my school, and is very popular with thegirls. "

"And why does she want to leave?"

"She's not well. It's rheumatism--a bad kind of rheumatism. It is justbeginning, and the doctor says it ought to be tackled at once, and thatto live on clay soil is the worst thing for her. If she stays at SaintCuthbert's she's practically bound to live on clay. And he says sheought to get out of England for the next few winters. She has not apenny beyond her salary, but if she could find a post--"

"Well, why not?" Mrs Willoughby's voice was full of a cheerfuloptimism. "I don't know of anything at present, but I'll make inquiriesamong my friends. There ought not to be any difficulty. So many peoplewinter abroad; and there is quite a craze for these physical exercises. Oh, yes, my dear, I am sure I can help. Poor thing! poor girl! it's soimportant to keep her health. I must find some one who will beconsiderate, and not work her too hard. "

She spoke as if the post were a settled thing; as if there were severalposts from which to choose. Probably there were. Among her largecircle of wealthy friends this popular and influential woman, given alittle trouble, could almost certainly find a chance for Sophie Blake. _Given a little trouble_! That was the rub! Five out of six of thewomen who had thronged Lady ---'s rooms that afternoon would havedismissed Sophie's case with an easy sympathy, "Poor creature! Quitetoo sad, but really, you know, my dear, it's a shocking mistake torecommend any one to a friend. If anything goes wrong, you get blamedyourself. Isn't there a Home?" Mrs Willoughby was the exception tothe rule; she helped in deed, as well as in word. Claire looked at thelarge plain face with a very passion of admiration. 

"Oh, I wish all women were like you! I'm so glad you are rich. I hopeyou will go on growing richer and richer. You are the right person tohave money, because you help, you _want_ to help, you remember otherwomen who are poor. "

"My dear, " said Mrs Willoughby softly, "I have been poor myself. Myfather lost his money, and for years we had a hard struggle. Then Imarried--for love, my dear, not money, but there was money, too, --moremoney than I could spend. It was an intoxicating experience, and Ifound it difficult not to be carried away. My dear husband had settleda large income on me, for my own use, so I determined, as a safeguard, to divide it in two, and use half for myself and half for gentlewomenlike your friend, who need a helping hand. I have done that now fortwenty-five years, but I give out of my abundance, my dear; it is easyfor me to give money; I deserve no credit for that. "

"You give time, too, and sympathy, and kindness. It's no use, MrsWilloughby. I've put you on the topmost pinnacle in my mind, andnothing that you can say can pull you down. I think you are the bestwoman in London!"

"Dear, dear, you will turn my head! I'm not accustomed to suchwholesale flattery, " cried Mrs Willoughby, laughing; then the carstopped, and Claire made her adieux, and sprang lightly to the ground. 

The chauffeur had stopped before the wrong house, but he did notdiscover his mistake as Claire purposely stood still until he had turnedthe car and started to retrace his way westward. The evening was finethough chill, and the air was refreshing after the crowded heat of Lady---'s rooms. Claire had only the length of a block to walk, and shewent slowly, drawing deep breaths to fill her tired lungs. 

The afternoon had passed pleasantly enough, but it had left her feelingflat and depressed. She questioned herself as to the cause of herdepression. Was she jealous of those other girls who lived lives ofluxury and idleness? Honestly she was not. She was not in the positionof a girl who had known nothing but poverty, and who therefore felt agirl's natural longing for pretty rooms, pretty clothes, and a taste ofgaiety and excitement. Claire had known all these things, and couldknow them again; neither was she in the position of a working girl whohas no one to help in the day of adversity, for a comfortable home wasopen to her at any moment. No! she was not jealous: she probed stilldeeper, and acknowledged that she was disappointed! Last time that shehad whistled in public--

Claire shook her head with an impatient toss. This was feeble. Thiswas ridiculous. A man whom she had met twice! A man whose mother hadrefused an introduction. A man whom Janet--

"I must get to work, and prepare my lesson for Monday. Nothing likegood work to drive away these sentimental follies!"

But Fate was not kind, for right before her eyes were a couple of loversstrolling onward, the man's hand through the girl's arm, his head bentlow over hers. Claire winced at the sight, but the next moment herinterest quickened in a somewhat painful fashion, as the manstraightened himself suddenly, and swung apart with a gesture ofoffence. The lovers were quarrelling! Now the width of the pavementwas between them; they strode onward, ostentatiously detached. Clairesmiled to herself at the childishness of the display. One momentembracing in the open street, the next flaunting their differences soboldly that every passer-by must realise the position! Surely a grownman or woman ought to have more self-control. Then suddenly the lightof a lamp shone on the pair, and she recognised the familiar figures ofMary Rhodes and Major Carew. He wore a long light overcoat. Cecil hadevidently slipped out of the house to meet him, for she was attired inher sports coat and knitted cap. Poor Cecil! The interview seemed tobe ending in anything but a pleasant fashion. 

Claire lingered behind until the couple had passed her own doorway, letherself in with her latch-key, and hastened to settle down to work. When Cecil came in, she would not wish to be observed. Claire carriedher books to the bureau, so as to have her back to the fire, but beforeshe had been five minutes writing, she heard the click of the lock, andCecil herself came into the room. 

"Halloa! I saw the light go up. I thought it must be you. " She wassilent for a couple of minutes, then spoke again in a sharp, summoningvoice: "Claire!"

"Yes?"

Claire turned round, to behold Cecil standing at the end of the dining-table, her bare hands clasping its rim. She was so white that her lipslooked of a startling redness; her eyes met Claire with a defianthardness. 

"I want you to lend me five pounds _now_!"

Claire's anxiety was swallowed in a rising of irritation which broughtan edge of coldness into her voice. 

"Five pounds! What for? Cecil, I have never spoken of it, I have neverworried you, but I've already paid--"

"I know! I know! I'll pay you back. But I must have this to-night, and I've nowhere else to go. It's important. I would lend it to you, Claire, if it were in my power. "

"Cecil, I hate to refuse, but really--I _need_ my money! Just now Ineed it particularly. I can't afford to go on lending. I'm dreadfullysorry, but--"

"Claire, please! I implore you, just this one time! I'll pay youback... There's my insurance policy--I can raise something on that. For pity's sake, Claire, help me this time!"

Claire rose silently and went upstairs. It was not in her to refusesuch a request while a five-pound note lay in her desk upstairs. Sheslipped the crackling paper into an envelope, and carried it down to theparlour. Cecil took it without a word, and went back into the night. 

When she had gone, Claire gathered her papers together in a neat littleheap, ranged them in a corner of the bureau, and seated herself on astiff-backed chair at the end of the table. She looked as if she weremounted on a seat of justice, and the position suited her frame of mind. She felt angry and ill-used. Cecil had no right to borrow money from afellow-worker! The money in the bank was dwindling rapidly; the tenguineas for Sophie would make another big hole. She did not grudgethat--she was eager and ready to give it for so good a cause; but _what_was Cecil doing with these repeated loans? To judge from appearances, she was rather poorer than richer during the last few months, whilebills for her new clothes came in again and again, and received nosettlement. An obstinate look settled on Claire's face. She determinedto have this thing out. 

In ten minutes' time Cecil was back again, still white, still defiant, meeting Claire's glance with a shrug, seating herself at the oppositeend of the table with an air of callous indifference to what should comenext. 

"Well?"

"Well?"

"You look as if you had something to say!"

"I have. Cecil, what are you doing with all this money?"

"That's my business, I suppose!"

"I don't see it, when the money is mine! I think I have the right toask?"

"I've told you I'll pay you back!"

"That's not the question. I want to know what you are doing _now_! Youare not paying your bills. "

"I'll sell out some shares to-morrow, and--"

"You shall do no such thing. I can wait, and I will wait, but I can'tgo on lending; and if I did, it could do you no good. Where does themoney go? It does _you_ no good!"

"I am the best judge of that. "

"Cecil, _are you lending money to that man_?"

The words leapt out, as on occasion such words will leap, withoutthought or premeditation on the speaker's part. She did not intend tospeak them; if she had given herself one moment for reflection she darednot have spoken them; when their sound struck across the quiet room shewas almost as much startled as Cecil herself; yet heart and brainapproved their utterance; heart and brain pronounced that she haddiscovered the truth. 

Cecil's face was a deep glowing red. 

"Really, Claire, you go too far! Why in the world should you think--"

"I saw you with him now in the street. I could see that you werequarrelling; you took no pains to hide it. You left him to come in tome, and went back again. It seems pretty obvious. "

"Well! and if I did?" Cecil had plainly decided that denial wasuseless. "I am responsible for the loan. What does it matter to youwho uses it?"

But at that Claire's anger vanished, and she shrank back with a cry ofpain and shame. 

"And he _took_ it from you? Money! Took it from a girl he professes tolove--who is working for herself! Oh, Cecil, how _could_ he? How couldyou allow him? How can you go on caring for such a man?"

"Don't get hysterical, Claire, please. There's nothing so extraordinaryin a man being hard up. It's happened before now in the history of theworld. Frank has a position to keep up, and his father--I've told youbefore how mean and difficult his father is, and it's so important thatFrank should keep on good terms just now. --He dare not worry him formoney. When he is going to make me a rich woman some day, why should Irefuse to lend him a few trifling pounds when he runs short? He's in anexpensive regiment; he belongs to an expensive Club; he is obliged tokeep up with the other men. If I had twice as much I would lend it withpleasure. "

Claire opened her lips to say that at least no more borrowed moneyshould be supplied for Major Carew, but the words were never spoken. Pity engulfed her, a passion of pity for the poor woman who a secondtime had fallen under the spell of an unscrupulous man. Cecil'sexplanation had fallen on deaf ears, for Claire could accept no excusesfor a man who borrowed from a woman to ensure comfort and luxury forhimself. An officer in the King's army! The thing seemed incredible;so incredible that, for the first time, a rising of suspicion mingledwith her dislike. Mentally, she rehearsed the facts of Major Carew'shistory as narrated by himself, and found herself doubting every one. The beautiful house in the country--did it really exist? The eccentricold father who refused to part with his gold--was he flesh and blood, ora fictitious figure invented as a convenient excuse? The fortune whichwas to enrich the future--_was_ there such a fortune? Or, if therewere, was Major Carew in truth the eldest son? Claire felt adevastating helplessness her life abroad had left her ignorant of manyBritish institutions; she knew nothing of the books in which she mighthave traced the Carew history; she had nothing to guide her but her ownfeminine instinct, but if that instinct were right, what was to becomeof Mary Rhodes?

Her face looked so sad, so downcast, that Cecil's conscience waspricked. 

"Poor old Claire!" she said gently, "how I do worry you, to be sure!Never mind, my dear, I'll make it up to you one day. You've been abrick to me, and I shan't forget it. And I'll go to my mother's for thewhole of the Easter holidays, and save up my pennies to pay you back. The poor old soul felt defrauded because I stayed only a week atChristmas, so she'll be thankful to have me. You can go to Brusselswith an easy mind, knowing that I'm out of temptation. That will bekilling two birds with one stone. What do you say to having cocoa now, instead of waiting till nine o'clock? We've tired ourselves out withall this fuss?"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

THE MEETING IN HYDE PARK. 

It was the end of May. The weather was warm and sunny, the windows ofthe West End were gay with flowers; in the Park the great beds ofrhododendrons blazed forth in a glow of beauty. It was the season, anda particularly gay and festive season at that. "Everybody" was in town, including a few million "nobodies. " There were clerks toiling by theirthousands in the City, chained all day long to their desks; there wereclerks' wives at home in the suburbs, toiling all day too, and sometimesfar into the night; there were typists, and shop assistants, andprosperous heads of households, who worked steadily for five and a halfdays a week, in order that their families might enjoy comfort and ease, condensing their own relaxation into short Saturday afternoons. Andthere were school-mistresses, too, who saw the sun through form-roomwindows, but felt its call all the same--the call of the whole gladspring--and grew restless, and nervous, and short in temper. It was notthe leaders of society whom they envied; they read of Court balls, andgarden parties, of preparations for Ascot and Henley with a serenedetachment, just as they read with indifference in the fashion page of adaily newspaper that "Square watches are the vogue this season, and our_elegantes_ are ordering several specimens of this dainty bauble tomatch the prevailing colours of their costumes, " the while they sufferedreal pangs at the sight of an "alarming sacrifice" at twenty-nine andsix. The one was almost within their grasp; the other floated in thenebulous atmosphere of a different sphere. 

In the staff-room at lunch-time the staff grew restless and critical. The hot joints no longer appealed to their appetites, the wateryvegetables and heavy puddings became things abhorred. They thought ofcool salads and _compotes_ on ice, and hated the sight of the greasybrown gravy. They blamed the cook, they blamed the Committee, they saidrepeatedly, "Nobody thinks of _us_!" and exchanged anecdotesillustrative of the dulness, the stupidity of their pupils. As for theMatric. Candidates, they would _all_ fail! There wasn't a chance for asingle one. The stupidest set of girls the school had ever possessed!Oh, certainly they would all fail!

"And then, " said Mary Rhodes bitterly, "_we_ shall be blamed. "

The Arts mistress said with a sigh--

"Oh, wouldn't it be heavenly to run away from it all, and have a week-end in the country! The gorse will be out, and the hawthorn still inblossom. What's the very cheapest one could do it on for two days?"

Mademoiselle said--

"Absolutely, _ma chere_, there is no help for it. It is necessary thatI have a distraction. I must buy a new hat. "

Sophie Blake said defiantly to herself--

"Crippled? Ridiculous! I _refuse_ to be crippled. I want to run, andrun, and run, and run, and dance, and sing, and jump about! I feelpent! I feel caged! And all that precious money squandered oninjections... "

The six weeks' course of treatment had been, from the doctor's point ofview, a complete success; from Sophie's a big disappointment. Sheargued that she was still stiff, still in pain, that the improvement wasbut small; he pointed out that without the injections she would of acertainty have been worse, and since in arthritis even to remainstationary was a success, to have improved in the smallest degree in sixweeks' time might be regarded as a triumph. He prescribed a restfulholiday during the Easter vacation, and a second course of treatment onher return. Sophie resigned herself to do without new clothes for thesummer, and sold her most treasured possession, a diamond ring which hadbelonged to her mother, so that the second ten pounds was secure. Buthow was she to pay back the original loan?

Meanwhile Mrs Willoughby was inquiring among her friends for a suitablepost, and had played the good fairy by arranging to send Sophie for theEaster holidays to a country cottage on the Surrey heights, which sheran as a health resort for gentlewomen. Here on a fine dry soil, theair scented with the fragrant breath of the pines, with nothing to do, and plenty of appetising food to eat, the Gym. Mistress's general healthimproved so rapidly that she came back to school with her thin cheeksquite filled out. 

"Very satisfactory, " said the doctor. "Now I shall be able to get on tostronger doses!"

"What's the good of getting better, only to be made worse?" cried Sophiein rebellion. 

Cecil's loan remained unpaid. She had spent her holidays with hermother as arranged, but her finances did not appear to have profitedthereby. Dunning for bills became so incessant that the landlady spokeseverely of the "credit of the house. " She went out constantly in theevening, and several times Claire heard Major Carew's voice at the door, but he never came into the house, and there was no talk of an openengagement. 

As for Claire herself, she had had a happy time in Brussels, stayingwith both English and Belgian friends and re-visiting all the oldhaunts. She thoroughly enjoyed the change, but could not honestly saythat she wished the old life to return. If she came back with a heavyheart, it was neither poverty nor work which she feared, but rather thewant of that atmosphere of love and kindliness which make the veryessence of home. At the best of times Mary Rhodes was a difficultcompanion and far from affectionate in manner, but since the giving ofthat last loan, there had arisen a mental barrier which it seemedimpossible to surmount. It had become difficult to keep up aconversation apart from school topics, and both girls found themselvesdreading the evening's _tete-a-tete_. 

Claire felt like a caged bird beating against the bars. She wanted anoutlet from the school life, and the call of the spring was insistent toone who until now had spent the summer in wandering about some of theloveliest scenes in Europe. She wearied of the everlasting streets, anddiscovered that by hurrying home after afternoon school, making a quickchange of clothing, and catching a motor-'bus at the corner of the road, she could reach Hyde Park by half-past five, and spend a happy hoursitting on one of the green chairs, enjoying the beauty of the flowers, and watching the never-ending stream of pedestrians and vehicles. Sometimes she recognised Mrs Willoughby and Janet bowling past in theirluxurious motor, but they never saw her, and she was not anxious thatthey should. What she wanted was to sit still and rest. Sometimes asmartly-dressed woman, obviously American, would seat herself on thenext chair, and inquire as to the best chance of seeing the Queen, andthe question being amiably answered, would proceed to unaskedconfidences. She thought England "sweet. " She had just come over tothis side. She was staying till the fall. Who was the lady in theelegant blue auto? The London fashions were just too cute! When theyparted, the fair American invariably said, "Pleased to have met you!"and looked as though she meant it into the bargain, and Claire whole-heartedly echoed the sentiment. She liked these women with their keen, child-like enthusiasm, their friendly, gracious ways. In contrast tothem the ordinary Englishwoman seemed cold and aloof. 

One brilliant afternoon when the Park was unusually bright and gay, Claire was seated near the Achilles statue, carelessly scanning thepassers-by, when, with a sudden leap of the heart, she saw ErskineFanshawe some twenty yards ahead, strolling towards her, accompanied bytwo ladies. He was talking to his companions with every appearance ofenjoyment, and had no attention to spare for the rows of spectators onthe massed green chairs. Claire felt the blood rush to her face in theshock of surprise and agitation. She had never contemplated thepossibility of such a meeting, for Captain Fanshawe had not appeared thetype of man who would care to take part in a fashionable parade, and thesudden appearance of the familiar face among the crowd made her heartleap with a force that was physically painful. Then, the excitementover, she realised with a second pang, almost as painful as the first, that in another minute he would have passed by, unseeing, unknowing, todisappear into space for probably months to come. At the thoughtrebellion arose in her heart. She felt a wild impulse to leave her seatand advance towards him; she longed with a sudden desperation of longingto meet his eyes, to see his smile, but pride held her back. She satmotionless watching with strained eyes. 

One of Captain Fanshawe's companions was old, the other young--a pretty, fashionably-dressed girl, who appeared abundantly content with herescort. All three were watching with amusement the movements of a stoutelderly dame, who sauntered immediately ahead, leading by a leash aFrench poodle, fantastically shaved, and decorated with ribbon bows. The stout dame was evidently extravagantly devoted to her pet, andviewed with alarm the approach of a jaunty black and white terrier. 

The terrier cocked his ears, and elevating his stump of a tail, yappedat the be-ribboned spaniel with all a terrier's contempt, as he advancedto the attack. The stout dame screamed, dropped the leash, and hit atthe terrier with the handle of her parasol. The poodle evidentlyconsidering flight the best policy, doubled and fled in the direction ofthe green chairs, to come violently to anchor against Claire's knee. The crowd stared, the stout dame hurried forward. Claire, placing asoothing hand on the dog's head, lifted a flushed, smiling face, and inso doing caught the lift of a hat, met for the moment the glance ofstartled eyes. 

The stout lady was not at all grateful. She spoke as sharply as thoughClaire, and Claire alone, had been the cause of her pet's upset. Shestrode majestically away, leaving Claire trembling, confused, livingover again those short moments. She had seen him; he had seen her! Hewas alive and well, living within a few miles of herself, yet as farapart as in another continent. It was six months since they had lastmet. It might be six years before they met again. But he had seemedpleased to see her. Short as had been that passing glance, there was nomistaking its interest. He was surprised, but pleasure had overriddensurprise. If he had been alone, he would have hurried forward withoutstretched hand. In imagination she could see him coming, his graveface lightened with joy. Oh, if _only, only_ he had been alone! But hewas with friends; he had the air of being content and interested, andthe girl was pretty, far prettier than Janet Willoughby. 

"Good afternoon!"

She turned gasping; he was standing before her, holding out his hand. He had left his companions and come back to join her. His face lookedflushed, as though he had rushed back at express speed. He had seemedinterested and content, and the girl was pretty, yet he had come back toher! He seated himself on the chair by her side, and looked at her witheager eyes. 

"I haven't seen you for six months!"

"I was just--" Claire began impulsively, drew herself up, and finisheddemurely--"I suppose it is. "

"You haven't been at either of Mrs Willoughby's `At Homes. '"

"No; but I've seen a good deal of them all the same. They have been sokind. "

"Don't you care for the `At Homes'? I asked Mrs Willoughby about you, and she seemed to imply that you preferred not to go. "

"Oh, no! Oh, no! That was quite wrong. I _did_ enjoy that evening. It was a--a misunderstanding, I think, " said Claire, much exercised tofind an explanation of what could really not be explained. Of the third"At Home" she had heard nothing until this moment, and a pang ofretrospective disappointment mingled with her present content. "I havebeen to the house several times when they were alone, " she continuedeagerly. "They even asked me on Christmas Day. "

"I know, " he said shortly. "I was in Saint Moritz, skating in thesunshine, when I heard how you were spending _your_ Christmas holidays. "His face looked suddenly grim and set. "A man feels pretty helpless ata time like that. I didn't exactly enjoy myself for the rest of thatafternoon. "

"That was stupid of you, but--but very nice all the same, " Claire saidsoftly. "It wouldn't have made things easier for me if other people hadbeen dull, and, after all, I came off better than I expected. "

"You were all alone--in your Grand Hotel?"

"Only for a week. " Claire resolutely ignored the hit. "Then my friendcame back, and we made some little excursions together, and enjoyedbeing lazy, and getting up late, and reading lots of nice books. I hadmade all sorts of good resolutions about the work I was going to getthrough in the holidays, but I never did one thing. "

"Do you often come to the Park?"

Claire felt a pang of regret. Was it possible that even this simplepleasure was to be denied her? She knew too well that if she said"yes, " Captain Fanshawe would look out for her again, would come withthe express intention of meeting her. To say "yes" would be virtuallyto consent to such meetings. It was a temptation which took all herstrength to reject, but rejected it must be. She would not stoop to themaking of a rendez-vous. 

"I have been several times, but I shan't be able to come any more. Weget busier towards the end of the term. Examinations--"

Captain Fanshawe straightened himself, and said in a very stiff voice--

"I also, unfortunately, am extremely busy, so I shall not be able to seethe rhododendrons in their full beauty. I had hoped you might be morefortunate. "

Claire stared at a passing motor, of which she saw nothing but a movingmass; when she turned back it was to find her companion's eyes fixed onher face, with an expression half guilty, half appealing, altogetheringratiating. At the sight her lips twitched, and suddenly they werelaughing together with a delicious consciousness of understanding. 

"Well!" he cried, "it's true! I mean it! There's no need to stay awaybecause of me; but as I _am_ here to-day, and it's my last chance, won'tyou let me give you tea? If we walk along to Victoria Gate--"

Claire thought with a spasm of longing of the little tables under theawning; of the pretty animated scene; but no, it might not be. Heracquaintance with this man was too casual to allow her to accept hishospitality in a public place. 

"Thank you very much, but I think not. I would rather stay here. "

"Well, at any rate, " he said defiantly, "I've paid for my chair, and youcan't turn me out. Of course, you can move yourself. "

"But I don't want to move. I like being here. I'm very glad to seeyou. I should like very much to have tea, too. Oh, if you don'tunderstand I can't explain!" cried poor Claire helplessly; and instantlythe man's expression altered to one of sympathy and contrition. 

"I do understand! Don't mind what I say. Naturally it's annoying, butyou're right, I suppose--you're perfectly right. I am glad, at anyrate, that you allow me to talk to you for a few minutes. You arelooking very well!" His eyes took her in in one rapid comprehensivesweep, and Claire thanked Providence that she had put on her prettiestdress. "I am glad that you are keeping fit. Did you enjoy your holidayin Belgium?"

"How did you know I was in Belgium?"

He laughed easily, but ignored the question. 

"You have good news of your mother, I hope?"

"Very good. She loves the life, and is very happy and interested, andmy stepfather writes that his friends refuse to believe in the existenceof a grown-up daughter. He is so proud of her youthful looks. "

"How much did you tell her about your Christmas holidays?"

"All the nice bits! I don't approve of burdening other people!"

"Evidently not. Then there have been burdens? You've implied that!Nothing by any chance, in which a man--fairly intelligent, and, in thisinstance, keen after work--could possibly be of some use?"

The two pairs of eyes met, gazed, held one another steadily for a longeloquent moment. 

"Yes, " said Claire. 

Captain Fanshawe bent forward quickly, holding his stick between hisknees. The side of his neck had flushed a dull red colour. For severalmoments he did not speak. Claire had a curious feeling that he couldnot trust his voice. 

"Good!" he said shortly at last. "Now may I hear?"

"I should like very much to ask you some questions about--about a manwhom I think you may know. "

The grey eyes came back to her face, keen and surprised. 

"Yes! Who is he?"

"A Major Carew. His Christian name is Frank. He belongs to your Club. "

"I know the fellow. Yes! What do you want to know about him?"

"Everything, I think; everything you can tell me!"

"You know him personally, then? You've met him somewhere?"

"Yes, " Claire answered to the last question, "and I'm anxious--I'minterested to know more. Do you know his people, or anything abouthim?"

"I don't know them personally. I know Carew very slightly. Goodfamily, I believe. Fine old place in Surrey. "

The Elizabethan manor house was true, then! Claire felt relieved, butnot yet satisfied. Her suspicion was so deep-rooted that it was noteasily dispelled. She sat silent for a moment, considering her nextquestion. 

"Is he the eldest son?"

"I believe he is. I've always understood so. "

The eldest son of a good family possessing a fine old place! Clairesummoned before her the picture of the coarse florid-faced man who hadtried to flirt with her in the presence of the woman to whom he wasengaged; a man who stooped to borrow money from a girl who worked forher own living. _What_ excuse could there be for such a man? She drewher brows together in puzzled fashion, and said slowly--

"Then surely, if he is the heir, he ought to be rich!"

"It doesn't necessarily follow. I should say Carew was not at allflush. Landed property is an expensive luxury in these days. I'veheard, too, that the father is a bit of a miser. He may not be generousin the matter of allowance!"

Claire sat staring ahead, buried in thought, and Captain Fanshawe staredat her in his turn, and wondered once more why this particular girl wasdifferent from every other girl, and why in her presence he felt afullness of happiness and content. She was very pretty; but prettygirls were no novelty in his life; he knew them by the score. It wasnot her beauty which attracted him, but a mysterious affinity which madeher seem nearer to him than he had hitherto believed it possible for anyhuman creature to be. He had recognised this mysterious quality attheir first meeting; he had felt it more strongly at Mrs Willoughby's"At Home"; six months' absence had not diminished his interest. Justnow, when he had caught sight of her flushed upturned face, his hearthad leapt with a violence which startled him out of his ordinary calm. Something had happened to him. When he had time he must think the thingout and discover its meaning. But how did she come to be so uncommonlyinterested in Carew? He met Claire's eyes, and she asked falteringly--

"I wish you would tell me what you think of him personally! Do youthink he is--nice?"

"Tell me first what you think yourself. "

"Honestly? You won't mind?"

"Not one single little bit! I told you he is a mere acquaintance. "

"Then, " said Claire deliberately, "I think he is the most horrible, detestable, insufferable, altogether despicable creature I have ever metin the whole of my life!"

"What! What! I say, you _are_ down on him!" Captain Fanshawe stared, beamed with an obvious relief, then hastened to defend an absent man. "You're wrong, you know; really you're wrong! I don't call Carew themost attractive fellow you can meet; rather rough manners, don't youknow, but he's all right--Carew's all right. You mustn't judge byappearances, Miss Gifford. Some of the most decent fellows in the Clubare in his set. Upon my word, I think he is quite a good sort. "Captain Fanshawe waxed the more eloquent as Claire preserved herexpression of incredulous dislike. He looked at her curiously, andsaid, "I suppose I mustn't ask--I suppose you couldn't tell me exactlywhy you are so interested in Carew?"

"I'm afraid not. No; I'm afraid I can't, " Claire said regretfully. Then suddenly there flashed through her mind a remembrance of the manytangles and misunderstandings which take place in books for want of alittle sensible out-speaking. She looked into Captain Fanshawe's facewith her pretty dark-lashed eyes and said honestly, "I wanted to knowabout him for the sake of--another person? _Nothing_ to do with myself!I have only met him twice. I hope I shall never meet him again!"

"Thank you, " said the man simply, and at the time neither of the tworealised the full significance of those quiet words. It was only onliving over the interview on her return home that Claire remembered andunderstood!

For the next quarter of an hour they abandoned the personal note, anddiscussed the various topics of the hour. They did not always agree, and neither was of the type to be easily swayed from a preconceivedopinion, but always they were interested, always they felt a sympathyfor the other view, never once was there a fraction of a pause. Theyhad so much to say that they could have talked for hours. 

Gradually the Park began to empty, the string of motors grew less, thecrowd on the footpath no longer lounged, but walked quickly with adefinite purpose; the green chairs stood in rows without a singleoccupant. Claire looked round, realised her isolation, drew aninvoluntary sigh, and rose in her turn. 

"It's getting late. I must be hurrying home. I go to the Marble Archand take a motor-'bus. Please don't let me take you out of your way!"

He looked at her straightly but did not reply, and they paced togetherdown the broad roadway, past the sunken beds of rhododendrons with thefountain playing in the centre, towards the archway which seemed to bothso unnecessarily near! Claire thought of the six months which laybehind, saw before her a vision of months ahead unenlightened by anothermeeting, and felt suddenly tired and chill. Captain Fanshawe frownedand bit at his lower lip. 

"I am going away to-morrow. We shall be in camp. In August I am takingpart of my leave to run up to Scotland, but I can always come to town ifI'm needed, or if there's a special inducement. I came up for both theWilloughbys' `At Homes. '"

"Did you?" Claire said feebly, and fell a-thinking. The inference wastoo plain to be misunderstood. The "special inducement" in thisinstance had been the hope of meeting herself. Actually it would appearthat he had travelled some distance to ensure this chance, but thechance had been deliberately denied. Kind Mrs Willoughby would havewelcomed her with open arms; it was Janet who had laid the ban. Janetwas friendly, almost affectionate. As spring progressed she hadrepeatedly called at Saint Cuthbert's after afternoon school and carriedClaire off for refreshing country drives. Quite evidently she enjoyedClaire's society, quite evidently also she preferred to enjoy it whenother visitors were not present. Claire was not offended, for she knewthat there was no taint of snobbishness in this decision; she was justsorry, and, in a curious fashion, remorseful into the bargain. She didnot argue out the point, but instinctively she felt that Janet, notherself, was the one to be pitied!

They reached the end of the footpath: in another minute they would be inthe noise and bustle of Oxford Street. Erskine Fanshawe came to anabrupt halt, faced Claire and cried impulsively--

"Miss Gifford!"

"Yes?"

Claire shrank instinctively. She knew that she was about to be asked aquestion which it would be difficult to answer. 

Erskine planted his stick on the ground, and stared straight into hereyes. 

"Why are you so determined to give me no chance of meeting you again?"

"I--I'm _not_ determined! I hope we _shall_ meet. Perhaps nextwinter--at Mrs Willoughby's. "

He laughed grimly. 

"But if I were not content to wait for `perhaps next winter--at MrsWilloughby's. ' ... What then?"

Claire looked at him gravely. 

"What would you suggest? I have no home in London, and no relations, and your mother, Captain Fanshawe, would not introduce me to you whenshe had the chance!"

He made a gesture of impatience. 

"Oh, my mother is the most charming of women--and the most indiscreet. She acts always on the impulse of the moment. She introduced you toMrs Willoughby, or asked Mrs Willoughby to introduce herself, whichcomes to the same thing. Surely that proves that she--she--"

He broke off, finding a difficulty in expressing what he wanted to say;but Claire understood, and emphatically disagreed. To enlist a friend'ssympathy was a very different thing from running the risk of entanglingthe affections of an only son! Obviously, however, she could notadvance this argument, so they stood, the man and the girl, looking atone another, helpless, irresolute, while the clock opposite tickedremorselessly on. Then, with an abruptness which lent added weight tohis words, Erskine said boldly--

"I want to meet you again! I am not content to wait upon chance. "

Claire did not blush; on the contrary, the colour faded from her cheeks. Most certainly she also was not content, but she did not waver in herresolution. 

"I'm afraid there's nothing else for it. It's one of the hardships of aworking girl's life that she can't entertain or make plans. It seemsmore impossible to me, perhaps, from having lived abroad whereconventions are so strict. English girls have had more freedom. Idon't see what I can do. I'm sorry!"--she held out her hand infarewell. "I hope some day I _shall_ see you again!"

Quite suddenly Captain Fanshawe's mood seemed to change. The set lookleft his face; he smiled--a bright confident smile. 

"There's not much fear about that! I shall take very good care that wedo!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

GOD'S OPPORTUNITY. 

After the meeting with Captain Fanshawe in the Park, Claire'srelationship with Mary Rhodes sensibly improved. In the first place, her own happiness made her softer and more lenient in her judgment, forshe _was_ deeply, intensely happy, with a happiness which all herreasonings were powerless to destroy. 

"My dear, what nonsense!" she preached to herself in elderlyremonstrating fashion. "You met the man, and he was pleased to seeyou--he seemed quite anxious to meet you again. Perfectly natural!Pray don't imagine any special meaning in _that_! You looked quite anattractive little girl in your pretty blue dress, and men like to talkto attractive little girls. I dare say he says just the same to dozensof girls!" So spake the inner voice, but spoke in vain. The bestthings of life are beyond reasoning. As in religion reason leads us, asit were, to the very edge of the rock of proven fact, then faith takeswing, and soars above the things of earth into the great silence wherethe soul communes with God, so in love there comes to the heart asweetness, a certainty, which no reasoning can shake. As Erskine's eyeshad looked into hers in those moments of farewell, Claire had realisedthat between this man and herself there existed a bond which wasstronger than spoken word. 

So far as she could foresee, they were hopelessly divided by thecircumstances of life, but in the first dawn of love no lover troubleshimself about what the future may bring; the sweetness of the present isall-sufficient. Claire was happy, and longed for every one else to beas happy as herself. Moreover, her suspicions concerning Major Carewhad been lulled to rest by Erskine's favourable pronouncement. Personally she did not like him, but this was, after all, a matter oftaste; she could not approve his actions, but conceivably there might beexplanations of which she was unaware. Her manner to Cecil regained itsold spontaneous friendliness, and Cecil responded with almost patheticreadiness. In her ungracious way she had grown fond of her pretty, kindly companion, and had missed the atmosphere of home which herpresence had given to the saffron parlour. As they sat over theirsimple supper, she would study Claire's face with a questioning glance, and one night the question found vent in words. 

"You look mightily pleased with yourself, young woman! Your eyes aresparkling as if you were having a firework exhibition on your ownaccount. I never saw a school-mistress look so perky at the end of thesummer term! Look as if you'd come into a fortune!"

"Wish I had!" sighed Claire, thankful to switch the conversation on to asafe topic. "It would come in most usefully at the moment. What areyou going to do for the summer hols, Cecil? Is there any possibilityof--"

"No, " Cecil said shortly. "And the regiment is going into camp, so hewill be out of town. I'm not bothering my head about holidays--quiteenough to do with this wretched Matric. The Head is keen to make a goodshow this year, for the Dulwich School beat us last year, and, as usual, all the responsibility and all the blame is put on the poor mistresses. You can't make girls work if they don't want, you can't cram theirbrains when they've no brains to cram; but those wretched examiners senda record of all the marks, so you can see exactly where they fall short. Woe betide the mistress who is responsible for that branch! I wouldn'tmind prophesying that if the German doesn't come out better than lastyear, Fraulein will be packed off. I wouldn't be too sure of myself. I've done all right so far, but the Head is not as devoted to me as shemight be. I don't think she'd be sorry to have an excuse for gettingrid of me. That's one of the delightful aspects of our position--we areabsolutely at the mercy of a woman who, from sheer force ofcircumstances, becomes more of an autocrat every year. The Committeelisten to her, and accept every word she says; the staff know betterthan to dispute a single order. We'd stand on our head in rows if shemade it a rule! The pupils scuttle like rabbits when they see hercoming, and cheer themselves hoarse every time she speaks. No humanwoman can live in that atmosphere for years and keep a cool head!"

"She's rather a dear, though, all the same!" Claire said loyally. Shehad been hurt by the lack of personal interest which Miss Farnboroughshowed in the different members of her staff, but she was unwilling tobrand her as a heartless tyrant. "Anyway, " she added hastily, "you arenot satisfied here. If you were going on teaching I should have thoughtyou'd be glad of a change. It would be easy to get another school. "

Mary Rhodes looked at her; a long eloquent glance. 

"With a good testimonial--yes! Without a good testimonial--no! Atestimonial for twelve years' work depends on one woman, remember--onher prejudice or good nature, on the mood in which she happens to be onone particular day. It might read quite differently because shehappened to have a chill on her liver. "

"My dear! there _is_ a sense of justice! There is such a thing ashonesty. "

"My dear, I agree. Even so, would you dare to say that the wording of atestimonial would be unaffected by the writer's mood?"

"Surely twelve years in one school--"

"No, it wouldn't! Not necessarily. `Miss Rhodes has been EnglishMistress at Saint Cuthbert's for twelve years. Of late has been erraticin temper. Health uncertain. Examination records less satisfactory. 'Well! If you represented another school, would _you_ engage MissRhodes?"

Claire was silent. For the first time she realised the danger of thissingle-handed power. It meant--what might it not mean? It might meanthat the mistress who was unfortunate enough to incur the dislike of herchief, might _never_ be able to procure another post! She might beefficient, she might be hard-working; given congenial surroundings shemight develop into a treasure untold, yet just because of a depreciatingphrase in the wording of a testimonial, no chance would be vouchsafed. No doubt the vast majority of head mistresses were women of judgment, possessing a keen sense of justice and responsibility, yet the factremained that a hasty impulse, a little access of temper in penningthose all-important lines, might mean the end of a career, might meanpoverty, might mean ruin!

Claire shivered, looked across the table at the thin, fretted face andmade a hesitating appeal--

"Cecil dear, I know you are a good teacher. I just love to hear youtalking over your lessons, but you _are_ irritable! One of my girls wascrying the other day. You had given so much homework, and she didn'tunderstand what was to be done, and said she daren't ask. You had been`so cross!' I made a guess at what you wanted, and by good chance I wasright; but if I'd been wrong, the poor thing would have been indisgrace, and honestly it wasn't her fault! She was willing enough. "

"Oh, that imbecile Gladys Brown! I know what you mean. I'd explainedit a hundred times. If she'd the brains of a cow she'd have understood. No wonder I was cross. I should have been a saint if I wasn't, and noone can be a saint in the summer term. Did--did any one else see hercry?"

"I think not. No, I managed to comfort her; but if Miss Farnborough hadhappened to come in just at that moment--"

Cecil shrugged and turned the subject, but she took the hint, to thebenefit of her pupils during the next few weeks. 

July came in, and with it a spell of unbearable heat. In country placesand by the seashore there was space and air, and clean fragrantsurroundings; but over London hung a misty pall, and not a branch of thedusty trees quivered to the movement of a passing breeze. It was athunderous, unnatural heat which sapped every scrap of vitality, andmade every movement a dread. 

Claire was horrified at the effect of this heat wave on Sophie Blake. In superficial fashion she had always believed that rheumatism must bebetter in hot weather; but, according to the specialist, such heat asthis was more trying than damp or cold, and Sophie's stiffness increasedwith alarming suddenness. 

There came a day when by no effort of will could she get through herclasses, when sheer necessity drove her to do the thing she had dreadedmost of all--inform the Head that she could not go on with her work. 

Miss Farnborough was seated in her private room, and listened with graveattention to what the Games mistress had to say. Her forehead puckeredin surprise as she noted Sophie's halting gait, and the while shelistened, her keen brain was diving back into the past, collectingimpressions. She had seen less than usual of Miss Blake during theterm; once or twice she had received the impression that Miss Blakeavoided her approach; Miss Blake had been looking pale. She waiteduntil Sophie had finished speaking, her hands folded on her knee, herpenetrating eye fixed on the girl's face. Then she spoke--

"I am sorry to hear this, Miss Blake. Your work has been excellenthitherto, but rheumatism is a serious handicap. You say that this heatis responsible for the present attack? Am I to understand that it is afirst attack--that you have had no threatening before?"

"I have been rheumatic all winter, more or less. Before the Easterholidays it was pretty bad. I began to feel stiff. "

Miss Farnborough repeated the word gravely. 

"Stiff! That was bad; that was very bad! How could you take yourclasses if you were feeling stiff?"

"I managed somehow!" Sophie said. 

For a moment she had imagined that the Head Mistress's concern had beenon her account; she believed it no longer when she saw the flash ofindignation which lighted the grey eyes. 

"Managed--_somehow_? And you went on in that fashion--you were contentto go on!"

"No. I was not content. I was very far from content. I sufferedhorrible pain. I went to a specialist and paid him two guineas for hisadvice. Since then I have paid twenty pounds for treatment. "

On Miss Farnborough's face the disapproval grew more and morepronounced. 

"Miss Blake, I am afraid you have not been quite straightforward in thismatter. It appears that you have been ill for months, with an illnesswhich must necessarily have interfered with your work, and this is thefirst time I hear about it. I am Head Mistress of this school; ifanything is wrong with a member of the staff, it is her first duty tocome to me. You tell me now that you have been ill for three months, since before the last holidays, and acknowledge that you can go on nolonger. "

"In ten days we break up. I ask you to allow me ten extra days. Theweather is so hot that the girls would be thankful to escape theexercises. By the end of the holidays I hope to be quite better. "

"The Easter holidays do not seem to have done you much good, " MissFarnborough said cruelly. Then, seeing the girl flush, she added, "Ofcourse you shall have your ten days. I can see that you are unfit forwork, and we must manage without you till the end of the term. I amvery sorry for you, Miss Blake; very sorry, indeed. It is very tryingand upsetting and--and expensive into the bargain. Twenty pounds, didyou say? That is surely a great deal! Have you tried the shillingbottles of gout and rheumatic pills? I have been told they are quiteexcellent. But I must repeat that you have been wrong in not coming tome sooner. As a pure matter of honesty, do you think that you werejustified in continuing to take classes for which you were unfit?"

The tears started to Sophie's eyes; she lowered her lids to hide themfrom sight. 

"The girls did not suffer, " she said deeply. "I did the suffering!"

Miss Farnborough moved impatiently. She was intensely practical andmatter-of-fact, and with all her heart hated any approach to sentiment. 

"You suffered _because_ you were unfit, " she repeated coldly, "and yourobvious duty was to come to me. You must have known that under thecircumstances I should not have wished you to continue the classes!"

Sophie was silent for a moment, then she said very quietly, verydeliberately--

"Yes, I did know; but I also knew that if I could nerve myself to bearthe pain and the fatigue, I _could_ train the girls as well as ever, andI knew, too, that if you sent me away in the middle of term you would beless likely to take me back. It means everything to me, you see. Whatwould happen to me if I were permanently invalided--without a pension--at thirty-one?"

"You have been paid a good salary, Miss Blake--an exceptionally goodsalary--because it is realised that your work is especially wearing. You ought to have saved--"

"If I had had no home claims I might have been able to save one or twohundred pounds--not a very big life provision! As it happens, however, I have given thirty pounds a year towards the education of a youngsister, and it has been impossible to save at all. "

"But now, of course, your sister will help _you_, " Miss Farnboroughsaid, and turned briskly to another topic. "You said that you have beento a specialist? Will you give me his address? I should like tocommunicate with him direct. You understand, Miss Blake, that if thisstiffness continues, it will be impossible for you to continue yourduties here?"

"Quite impossible, " faltered Sophie, in low tones. 

Miss Farnborough pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet. 

"But one hopes, of course, that all may go well. I have never had anycomplaint to make with respect to your work. You have been verysuccessful, very popular with the girls. I should be sorry to lose you. Be sure to let me know how you go on. Perhaps I had better be guidedby Dr Blank. I should try the pills, I think; they are worth trying. And avoid the sea; sea air is bad for rheumatism. Try some high inlandplace. We had better say good-bye, now, I suppose, as you will not comeback after to-night. Good-bye, my dear. Let me hear soon. All goodwishes for your recovery. "

Sophie left the room, and made her way upstairs to the Staff-Room. Shemoved very slowly, partly because every movement was an effort, partlybecause the familiar objects on which her eyes rested became suddenlyinstinct with new interest. For ten long working years she had passedthem daily with indifference, but this afternoon it was borne in uponher that she would never see them again, and the conviction brought withit a bitter pang. After all, they had been happy years, spent in abustle of youthful life and energy, in an atmosphere of affection, too, for the girls were warm-hearted, and the "Gym. Mistress" had beenuniversally popular. Even as the thought passed through Sophie's mind, one of her special adorers appeared suddenly at the far end of thecorridor and hurried forward to meet her. 

"Miss Blake! Darling! You look so white. Are you faint? Take my arm;lean on me. Were you going to lie down?"

"I'm going to the Staff-Room. I can manage myself; but, Gladys, findMiss Gifford, and ask her to come to me as soon as she is free. Tellher I'm not well. You're a dear girl, Gladys. Thank you for being sokind to me all these years. "

Gladys rolled adoring blue eyes, and sped on her mission. The nextmorning she realised that those thanks had been darling Miss Blake'sfarewell, and shed bitter tears; but for the moment she was filled withcomplaisance. 

Claire appeared in due time, heard what had happened, and helped Sophieto collect her various small belongings. The other teachers had alreadydispersed, so the ordeal of leave-taking was avoided. 

"You can explain when you meet them next term!" said Claire. 

"I can write my good-byes, " corrected Sophie. She blinked away a fewtears and said piteously, "Not much chance for me if she consults DrBlank! He's as much discouraged as I am myself. What do you suppose hewill advise now? I suppose I'll have to see him to-morrow. "

"And lie awake all to-night, wondering what he will say! We'll dobetter than that--we'll call this very afternoon. If he is in, I'm surehe will see us, and a day saved is a day gained. I'll get a taxi. "

"Another taxi! I'm ruining you, Claire. How I do hate sponging onother people!"

"Wouldn't you do it for me, if things were reversed?"

"Of course I should, but it's so much more agreeable to help than to behelped. It's ignoble, I suppose, but I do hate to feel grateful!"

"Well! No one could by any possibility call you _gracious_, my dear. Is that any consolation?" cried Claire mischievously, and Sophie wassurprised into the travesty of a smile. 

Dr Blank was at home, and listened to what Sophie had to tell him withgrave attention. He expressed satisfaction to hear that her holidayshad begun, but when questioned as to his probable report to MissFarnborough, had no consolation to offer. 

"I am afraid I must tell you honestly that you are not fit for the work. Of course, it is quite possible that there may be a great improvementby September, but, even so, you would be retarding your recovery bygoing on with such exhausting work. You must try to find somethinglighter. "

Sophie laughed, and her laugh was not good to hear. 

Claire said firmly--

"She _shall_ find it! I will find it for her. There's no need to worryabout September. What we want to know is what she is to do _now_?--to-morrow--for the rest of the holidays?"

"I can't afford any more injections! They've done me no good, and theycost too much. I can't afford any more treatments. I can only takemedicines. If you will give me some medicines--"

Dr Blank sat silent; tapping his desk with noiseless fingers; staringthoughtfully across the room. It was evident that he had a propositionto make; evident also that he doubted its reception. 

"The best thing under the circumstances--the wisest thing, " he saidslowly at last, "would be for you to go into hospital as an ordinarypatient. I could get you a bed in one of my own wards, where I couldlook after you myself, in consultation with the first men in town. Youcould have massage, electricity, radium, heat baths, every appliancethat could possibly be of use, and you could stay on long enough to givethem a chance. It would be an ordinary ward, remember, an ordinary bedin an ordinary ward, and your neighbours would not be up to Newnhamstandard! You would be awakened at five in the morning, and settled forthe night at eight. You would have to obey rules, which would seem toyou unnecessary and tiresome. You would be, I am afraid, profoundlybored. On the other hand, you would have every attention that skill andscience can devise. You would not have to pay a penny, and you wouldhave a better chance than a duchess in a ducal palace. Think it over, and let me know! If you decide to go, I'll manage the rest. Take aday--a couple of days. "

"I won't take two minutes, thank you! I'll decide now. I'll go, ofcourse, and thank you very much!"

Dr Blank beamed with satisfaction. 

"Sensible girl! Sensible girl! That's right! That's right! That'svery good! You are doing the right thing, and we'll all do our best foryou, and your friend here will come to see you and help to make the timepass. Interesting study, you know; valuable opportunity of studyingcharacter if you look at it in that light! Why not turn it intoliterary capital? `Sketches from a Hospital Bed, ' `My Neighbours in BWard, ' might make an uncommonly good series. Who knows? We may haveyou turning out quite a literary star!"

Sophie smiled faintly, being one of the people who would rather walkfive miles than write the shortest letter. Many unexpected thingshappen in this world, but it was certain that her own rise to literaryeminence would never swell the number! But she knew that Dr Blank wastrying to cheer her, so she kept that certainty to herself. 

The two girls made their way back to Sophie's lodgings, and discussedthe situation over the ever-comforting tea. 

"I shall have to give my landlady notice, " Sophie said, lookingwistfully round the little room which had been so truly a home. "If I'mto be in hospital for many weeks, it's folly to go on paying the rent;and in any case I can't afford so much now. One can't have doctor'sbills, and other luxuries as well. What shall I have to take intohospital? Will they allow me to wear my own things? I don't think I_could_ get better in a calico night-dress! Pretty frills and a blueribbon bow are as good as a tonic, but will the authorities permit?Have you ever seen ribbon bows in a hospital bed?"

"I haven't had much experience, but I should think they would beencouraged, as a ward decoration! I hope so, I'm sure, for I mean topresent you with a duck of a dressing-jacket!"

"Oh, nothing more, Claire; don't give me anything more. I shall neverbe able to pay you back, " cried Sophie; then, in a voice of poignantsuffering, she cried sharply, "Oh, Claire, my little sister! _What_ isto become of my little sister? If I am not able to help, if I need tobe helped myself, her education will be interrupted, for it will beimpossible to go on paying. Oh, it's too hard--too dreadful!Everything seems so hopeless and black!"

"Yes, it does. The way seems blocked. One can't see a step ahead. _Man's extremity_, Sophie!" cried Claire deeply--"_Man's extremity_;"and at that a gleam of light came into Sophie's eyes. 

"Yes, yes! That's just what it is. Thanks for reminding me. _God'sopportunity_!" Sophie leant back in her chair, staring dreamily intospace, till presently something of the old bright look came back to herface. "And that, " she said softly, "that's the kind of help it is sweetto accept!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

AN INVITATION. 

With Sophie in hospital, pathetically anxious for visits, with the rentof the Laburnum Road lodgings to pay whether one lived in them or not, Claire nerved herself to spend August in town, with the prospect of aSeptember holiday to cheer her spirits. Through one of the othermistresses she had heard of an ideal farmhouse near the sea where thekindly housewife "mothered" her guests with affectionate care, wherefood was abundant, and cream appeared upon the table at every meal--thick, yellow, country cream in which a spoon would stand upright. There was also a hammock swung between two apple-trees in the orchard, abalcony outside the bedroom window, and a shabby pony-cart, with a ponywho could really go. What could one wish for more?

Claire planned a lazy month, lying in that hammock, reading storiesabout other people, and dreaming still more thrilling romances aboutherself; driving the pony along country lanes, going out on to thebalcony in the early morning to breathe the scent of honeysuckle, andsweetbriar, and lemon thyme, and all the dear, old-world treasures to befound in the gardens of well-conducted farmhouses. She had a cravingfor flowers in these hot summer days; not the meagre sixpennyworth whichadorned the saffron parlour, but a wealth of blossom, bought withoutconsideration of cost. And one day, with the unexpectedness of a fairygift, her wish was fulfilled. 

It lay on the table when she returned from school--a long cardboard boxbearing the name of a celebrated West End florist, the word "fragile"marked on the lid, and inside were roses, magnificent, half-opened roseswith the dew still on their leaves, the fat green stalks nearly a yardin length--dozens of roses of every colour and shade, from the lustrouswhiteness of Frau Carl to the purple blackness of Prince Camille. Claire gathered them in her arms, unconscious of the charming picturewhich she made, in her simple blue lawn dress, with her glowing facerising over the riot of colour, gathered them in a great handful, andran swiftly upstairs. 

There was no card inside the box, no message of any kind, but her heartknew no doubt as to the sender, and she dare not face the fire of MaryRhodes' cross-examination. In the days of daffodils she had treatedherself to a high green column of a vase, which was an ideal receptaclefor the present treasures. When it was filled there were still nearlyhalf the number waiting for a home, so these were plunged deep into theewer until the morrow, when they would be taken to Sophie in hospital. The little room was filled with beauty and fragrance, and Claire knewmoments of unclouded happiness as she looked around. 

Presently she extracted two roses from the rest, ran downstairs tocollect box, paper and string, and handed rubbish and roses together toLizzie at the top of the kitchen stairs. Lizzie received her share ofthe treasures with dignity, cut off the giant stems, which sheconsidered straggly and out of place, and crammed the two heads into abrown cream-jug, the which she deposited on a sunny window-ledge. Claire saw them as she next left the house and shrugged resignedly, forshe was beginning to learn the lesson which many of us take a lifetimeto master, the wisdom of allowing people to enjoy themselves in theirown fashion!

The Willoughbys were leaving town in mid July, _en route_ forSwitzerland, and later on for a Scottish shooting-box. Claire receivedan invitation to tea on their last Saturday afternoon, and arrived tofind the drawing-room full of visitors. 

Malcolm Heward was assisting Janet at the tea-table, but with thisexception she recognised no one in the room, and was thankful for theattentions of Master Reginald, who hailed her as an old acquaintance, and reproached her loudly for not turning up at "Lord's. "

"I looked out for you, you know!" he said impressively, and Claire wasthe more gratified by his remembrance because Malcolm Heward hadrequired a second introduction to awaken his recollection. It is nodoubt gratifying to the object of his devotion when a man remains blindto every other member of her sex, but the other members may feel anatural objection to be so ignored! Claire was annoyed by the necessityof that second introduction, and as a consequence made herself sofascinating to the boy who _had_ remembered, that he hugged the sweetdelusion that she considered him a man, and was seriously smitten by hischarms. He waited upon her with assiduity, gave her exclusive tips asto her choice of cakes, and recited the latest funny stories which werealready stale in his own circles, but which came to her ears withagreeable freshness. 

It was while the two were laughing together over an unexpected_denouement_ that the departure of two guests left a space across whichClaire could see a far corner of the room, and perceived that a ladyseated on a sofa had raised a tortoiseshell-bound _lorgnon_, to stareacross at herself. She was an elderly lady, and at first sight herappearance awoke no recollection. She was just a grey-haired woman, attired in handsome black, in no way differentiated from one or twoother visitors of the same age: even when the _lorgnon_ dropped to herside, disclosing a pair of very bright, very quizzical grey eyes, it wasa full moment before Claire realised that this was her acquaintance ofthat first eventful journey to London, none other than Mrs Fanshaweherself. There she sat, smiling, complacent, _grande dame_ as ever, nodding with an air of mingled friendliness and patronage, laying onehand on the vacant place by her side, with an action which was obviouslysignificant. Claire chose, however, to ignore the invitation, and aftera grave bow of acknowledgment, turned back to Reginald, keeping her eyesresolutely averted from that far corner. It was Mrs Fanshawe herselfwho was finally compelled to cross the room to make her greetings. 

"Miss Gifford! Surely it is Miss Gifford? Mrs Willoughby told me sheexpected you this afternoon. And how are you, my dear, after this longtime?"

The tone was all that was cordial and friendly. 

Claire stood up, tall and stately, and extended a perfectly gloved hand. It was not in human nature to be perfectly natural at that moment. Sub-consciously she was aware that, as the Americans would express it, she was "putting on frills"; sub-consciously she was amused at theartificiality of her own voice. 

"Quite well, thank you. Exceedingly flourishing!"

"You look it, " Mrs Fanshawe said, and seated herself ruthlessly inReginald's chair. "Tell me all about it! You were going to work, weren't you? Some new-fangled idea of being independent. So ridiculousfor a pretty girl! And you've had--how long--nearly a year? Haven'tgot tired of it yet, by any chance?"

"Oh, yes; quite often I feel very tired, but I should have felt the sameabout pleasuring, and work is more worth while. It has been veryinteresting. I have learnt a great deal. "

"More than the pupils--hey?" chuckled Mrs Fanshawe shrewdly. "Don'ttry to pretend that you are a model school-mistress. I know better! Iknew you were not the type when I saw you on that journey, and after ayear's trial you are less the type than ever. " She screwed up her eyesand looked Claire over with deliberate criticism up and down, down andup. "No, my dear! Nature did _not_ intend you to be shut up in agirls' school!" Suddenly she swerved to another topic. "What a journeythat was! I nearly expired. If it hadn't been for you, I should neverhave survived. I told my son you had saved my life. That was my sonwho met me on the platform!"

Was it fancy that an expression of watchfulness had come into the gayeyes? Claire imagined that she recognised such an expression, but, being prepared for some such reference, had herself well in command. Not a nicker of embarrassment passed over her face as she said quietly--

"Yes, I knew it was your son. I met Captain Fanshawe here one eveninglast winter, so I have been introduced. "

Mrs Fanshawe waved her _lorgnon_, and murmured some vague words whichmight, or might not, have been intended as an apology. 

"Oh, yes. So nice! Naturally, that morning I was worn-out. I did notknow what I was doing. I crawled into bed. Erskine told me aboutmeeting you, and of your pretty performance. Quite a professional_siffleuse_! More amusing than school teaching, I should say. _And_more profitable. You ought to think of it as a profession. Erskine wasquite pleased. He comes here a great deal. Of course--"

Mrs Fanshawe's smile deepened in meaning fashion, then suddenly shesighed. "Very delightful for them, of course; but I see nothing of him. We mothers of modern children have a lonely time. I used to wish for adaughter, but perhaps, if I'd had one, _she_ would have developed afancy to fly off to India!"

That was a hit at Claire, but she received it in silence, being a littletouched by the unaffected note of wistfulness in the other's voice asshe regretted her lonely estate. It _was_ hard to be a widow, and tosee so little of an only child, especially if that only child happenedto be so altogether charming and attractive!

Mrs Fanshawe glanced across at the tea-table where Janet and hercavalier were still busy ministering to the needs of fresh arrivals. 

"I asked Janet Willoughby to take pity on me for a few weeks thissummer, but she's too full up with her own plans. Says so, at least;but I dare say it would have been different if-- Well, well! I havebeen young myself, and I dare say I shouldn't have been too keen toaccept an invitation to stay in the country with only an old woman ascompanion. Enjoy yourself while you are young, my dear. It gets moreand more difficult with every year you live. "

Claire made a protesting grimace. 

"Does it? That's discouraging. I've always flattered myself that itwould grow easier. When one is young, everything is vague andunsettled, and naturally one feels anxious about what is to happen next. It is almost impossible to be philosophical about the unknown, but whenyour life has shaped itself, it ought to be easy to settle down and makethe best of it, and cultivate an easy mind. "

Mrs Fanshawe laughed. 

"Well reasoned, my dear, well reasoned! Most logical and sound. Andjust as futile in practice as logical things usually are! You wouldn'tbelieve me if I told you that it is the very uncertainty which makes thecharm of youth, or that being certain is the bane of old age, but it'sthe truth, all the same, and when you are sixty you will have discoveredit for yourself. Well! so my letter to Mrs Willoughby was of some useafter all? She did send you a card!"

Claire looked across the room to where Mrs Willoughby sat. Hero-worship is an instinct in hearts which are still fired with youth'senthusiasm, and this stout, middle-aged woman was Claire's heroine _parexcellence_. She was _kind_, and to be kind is in good truth thefulfilment of Christ's law. Among Claire's favourite books wasProfessor Drummond's "The Greatest Thing in the World, " with itswonderful exposition of the thirteenth chapter of 1st Corinthians. Whenshe read its pages, her thoughts flew instinctively to this rich womanof society, who was not puffed up, thought no evil, was not easilyprovoked, suffered long, _and was kind_. 

The girl's eyes were eloquent with love and admiration as they rested onthe plain, elderly face, and the woman who was watching felt a stab ofenvy at the sight. The old crave for the love of the young, and cherishit, when found, as one of their dearest possessions, and despite thenatural gaiety of her disposition there were moments when Mrs Fanshawefelt the burden of loneliness press heavily upon her. 

"She has done much more than send me a card!" Claire said deeply. "Shehas been a friend. She has taken away the terrible feeling ofloneliness. If I were in trouble, or needed any help, I _know_ that shewould give it!"

"Oh, yes, yes, naturally she would. So would any one, my dear, who hadthe chance. But she's a good creature, of course; a dear creature. I'mdevoted to her, and to Janet. Janet and I are the best of friends!"

Again the meaning look, the meaning tone, and again in Claire's heartthe same sweet sense of certainty mingled with a tender compassion forJanet, who was less fortunate than herself. It was a help to lookacross at the tea-table, and to realise that consolation was waiting forJanet if she chose to take it. 

Suddenly Mrs Fanshawe switched off on to yet another topic. 

"And where are you going to spend your summer holidays, my dear?"

"In September I am probably going to a farmhouse near the sea. "

"And in August?"

"In town, I think. I have an invalid friend--"

Mrs Fanshawe swept aside the suggestion with an imperious hand. 

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense! _Nobody_ stays in town in August, my goodchild. The thing's impossible. I've passed through once or twice, _enroute_ for country visits, and it's an unknown place. The wierdestpeople walking up and down! Where they come from I can't conceive; butyou never saw anything more impossible. And the shops! I knew a poorgirl who became engaged at the end of July, and had to get her trousseauat once, as they sailed in September. She was in despair. _Nothing_ tobe had. She was positively in tears. "

"I shall get engaged in June, " Claire said firmly, "and take advantageof the summer sales. I call it most thoughtless of him to have waitedtill the end of July. "

But Mrs Fanshawe was not attending; her eyes had brightened with asudden thought; she was saying to herself, "Why not? I should be alone. There would be no danger of complications, and the child would be adelightful companion, good to look at, plenty to say for herself, and amind of her own. Quite useful in entertaining, too. I could play offsome of my duty debts, and she could whistle to us after dinner. Quitea novelty in the country. It would be quite a draw... A capital idea!I'll say a week, and if it works she can stay on--"

"No, my dear, you cannot possibly endure town in August, at least notthe entire month. Run down to me for a break. Quite a short journey;an hour and a half from Waterloo, and the air is delightfully fresh. Ishall be alone, so I can't offer you any excitement, but if you are fondof motoring--"

The blood rushed into Claire's face. She was so intensely, overpoweringly surprised, that, for the moment, all other feelings werein abeyance. The last thing in the world which she had expected wasthat Erskine's mother should invite her to visit her home. 

"I don't know if you care for gardening. I'm mad about it myself. Mygarden is a child to me. I stand no interference. The gardeners arepaid to obey me, and carry out my instructions. If they get upsetting, off they go. You'd like my garden. It is not cut out to a regulationpattern; it has a personality of its own. I have all my meals on theverandah in summer. We could get you some tennis, too. You wouldn't beburied alive. Well? What do you say? Is it worth while?"

"It's exceedingly kind. It's awfully good of you. I--I am socompletely taken by surprise that I hardly know--I shall have to think. "

"Nonsense, my dear; what is there to think about? You have no otherengagement, and you need a change. Incidentally also _I_ want acompanion. You would be doing me a good turn as well as yourself. I'msure your mother would wish it!"

No doubt about that! Claire smiled to herself as she realised how MrsJudge would rejoice over the visit; turning one swallow into a summer, and in imagination beholding her daughter plunged into a very vortex ofgaiety. She was still smiling, still considering, when Janet camestrolling across the room, and laid her hand affectionately on MrsFanshawe's shoulder. 

"I haven't had a word with you all afternoon! Such a rush of people. You had tea comfortably, I hope: and you, too--Claire!" There was justa suspicion of hesitation before the Christian name. 

"I have just been asking Miss Gifford to take pity on my loneliness forpart of August. She is not knee-deep in engagements, as you are, mydear, and that precious son of mine; so we are going to amuse eachother, and see how much entertainment we can squeeze out of thecountryside!"

"But I haven't--I didn't--I'm not sure, " stammered Claire, acutelyconscious of the hardening of Janet's face, but once again Mrs Fanshawewaved aside her objections. 

"But _I_ am sure! It's all settled, my dear--all but the day. Put youraddress on this silly little tablet, and I'll write as soon as I'velooked over my dates. Now, Janet, I'm ready for a chat. Take me out tothe balcony, away from this crowd. "

"And I must go, I think. I'll say good-bye. " Claire held out her handto the daughter of the house. "I hope you may have a delightfulsummer. "

"Oh, thanks so much. Oh, yes, yes, I'm quite sure I will, " Janetanswered mechanically. She touched Claire's hand with her fingers, andturned hastily aside. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

ERSKINE FANSHAWE'S HOME. 

Claire dreaded Mary Rhodes' curiosity on the subject of her proposedvisit, but in effect there was none forthcoming. Cecil was too muchengrossed in her own affairs to feel anything but a passing interest. 

"Some one you met at the Willoughbys'? Only the old lady? Rather youthan me! Nice house though, I suppose; gardens, motors, that kind ofthing. Dull, but luxurious. Perhaps you'll stay on permanently as hercompanion. "

"That, " Claire said emphatically, "will never happen! I was thinking ofclothes... I am quite well-off for evenings, and I can manage forafternoons, but I do think I ought to indulge in one or two `drasticbargains' for morning wear. I saw some particularly drastic specimensin Knightsbridge this week. Cecil ... Could you--I hate asking, but_could_ you pay me back?"

Cecil's stare of amazement was almost comical under the circumstances. 

"My--good--girl! I was really pondering whether I dare, I'm horriblyhard up, and that's the truth. I've had calls... "

"Not Major Carew again? I can't understand it, Cecil. You know Iinquired about him, you told me to ask if I had a chance, and his father_is_ rich. He might fly into a rage if he were asked for money, but hewould give it in the end. Major Carew might have a bad half-hour, butwhat is that compared with borrowing from you! And from a man's pointof view it's so little, such very small sums!" She caught a change ofexpression on the other's face, and leapt at its meaning. "Cecil! Youhave been giving more! Your savings!"

"And if I have, Claire Gifford, what business is it of yours? What wasI saving for? To provide for my old age, wasn't it? and now that theneed has gone, why shouldn't I lend it, if I chose? Frank happens to behard up for a few months, and besides, there's a reason! ... We aregetting tired of waiting... You must never, never breathe a word to asoul, but he wants me ... He thinks it might be better... "

Claire stared with wide eyes, Cecil frowned, and finished the sentencein reckless tones--

"We shall probably get married this autumn, and tell his fatherafterwards. "

"Oh, Cecil, no! Don't do it! It's madness. It's folly. He ought notto ask you. It will make things fifty times more difficult. "

"It would make things _sure_!" Mary Rhodes said. 

The words were such an unconscious revelation of her inner attitudetowards her lover, that Claire was smitten with a very passion of pity. She stretched out her hand, and cried ardently. "Cecil, I am thinkingof your happiness: I long for you to be sure, but a private marriage isan insult to a girl. It puts her into a wrong position, and no man hasthe right to suggest it. Where is your pride?"

"Oh, my dear, " interrupted Cecil wearily, "I'm past worrying aboutpride. I'm thirty-three, and look older, and feel sixty at the least. I'm tired out in body and soul. I'm sick of this empty life. I want ahome. I want rest. I want some one to care for me, and take aninterest in what I do. Frank isn't perfect, I don't pretend that he is. I wish to goodness he _would_ own up, and face the racket once for all, but it's no use, he won't! Between ourselves I believe he thinks theold man won't live much longer, and there will be no need to worry himat all. Any way there it is, he won't tell at present, however much Imay beg, but he will marry me; he wants to be married in September, andthat proves that he _does_ care! He is looking out for a flat, andpicking up furniture. _We_ are picking up furniture, " Cecil correctedherself hastily. "I go in and ask the prices, and he sends his servantsthe next week to do the bargaining. And there will be my clothes, too... I'll pay you back in time, Claire, with ten per cent, interestinto the bargain, and perhaps when I'm a rich woman the time may comewhen you will be glad to borrow from me!"

The prospect was not cheering, but the intention was good, and as suchhad to be suitably acknowledged. Claire adjourned upstairs to consulther cheque-book, and decided bravely that the drastic bargains could notbe afforded. Then, being a very human, and feminine young woman shetold herself that there could be no harm in going to look at the dressesonce more, just to convince herself that they were not so very drasticafter all, and lo! close inspection proved them even more drastic thanshe had believed, and by the evening's delivery a choice specimen wasspeeding by motor van to Laburnum Road. 

On visiting days Claire went regularly to visit Sophie, who, by her ownaccount, was being treated to seventeen different cures at the sametime, and was too busy being rubbed, and boiled, and electrified, anddosed, and put to bed in the middle of the afternoon, and awakened inthe middle of the night, to have any time to feel bored. She took akeen interest also in her fellow patients, and was the confidante ofmany tragic stories which made her own lot seem light in comparison. Altogether she was more cheerful and hopeful than for months back, butthe nurses looked dubious, and could not be induced to speak of herrecovery with any certitude. 

On the tenth of August, Claire packed her boxes with the aid of a verymountain of tissue paper, and set forth on her journey. The traindeposited her at Hazlemere station, outside which Mrs Fanshawe waswaiting in a big cream car, smiling her gay, quizzical smile. She wasone of the fortunate women who possess the happy knack of making a guestfeel comfortable, and at home, and her welcome sent Claire's spiritsracing upwards. 

Many times during the last fortnight had she debated the wisdom ofvisiting Erskine Fanshawe's home, but the temptation was so strong thatat every conflict prudence went to the wall. It was not in girl natureto resist the longing to see his home and renew her acquaintance withhis mother; and as it had been repeatedly stated that he himself was tospend most of August in Scotland, she was absolved from any ulteriordesign. Janet Willoughby had obviously looked upon the visit withdisfavour, but Claire was too level-headed to be willing to victimiseherself for such a prejudice. Janet would have a fair field inScotland. She could not hold the whole kingdom as a preserve!

"You are looking charming, my dear, " Mrs Fanshawe said. "I always sayit is one of the tests of a lady to know how to dress for a journey. Alittle pale, perhaps, but we shall soon change that. This high air isbetter than any tonic. I laze about during the heat of the day, andhave a two hours' spin after tea; I never appear until eleven, and Irest in my own room between lunch and tea, so you won't have too much ofmy society, but I've a big box of new books from Mudie's for you toread, and there's a pony-cart at your disposal, so I dare say you canamuse yourself. I love companionship, but I couldn't talk to thecleverest woman in Europe for twelve hours at a stretch. "

"Nor I!" agreed Claire, who to tell the truth was more elated at theprospect of so much time to herself than she felt it discreet to betray. She was enchanted with her first view of the beautiful Surreylandscape, and each turn of the road as they sped uphill seemed to openout more lovely vistas. They drove past spinneys of pine trees, pastpicturesque villages, consisting of an old inn, a few scatteredcottages, a pond and a green, along high roads below which the greatplain of thickly-treed country lay simmering in a misty haze. Thenpresently the road took a sudden air of cultivation, and Claire staringcuriously discovered that the broad margin of grass below the hedge oneither side, was mown and rolled to a lawn-like smoothness, the edgesalso being clipped in as accurate a line as within the most carefullytended garden. For several hundred yards the margin stretched ahead, smooth as the softest velvet, a sight so rare and refreshing to the eyethat Claire could not restrain her delight. 

"But how charming! How unexpected! I never saw a lane so swept andgarnished. It has a wonderful effect, those two long lines of sward. It _is_ sward! grass is too common a word. But what an amount of work!Twenty maids with twenty mops sweeping for half a year. --I think thewhole neighbourhood ought to be grateful to the owner of this land. "

Mrs Fanshawe beamed, complacently. 

"I'm glad you think so. _I_ am the owner! This is my property, minefor my lifetime, and my son's after me. It's one of my hobbies to keepthe lane mown. I like to be tidy, outside as well as in. Erskine beganby thinking it a ridiculous waste of work, but his friends are soenthusiastic about the result, that he is now complacently convincedthat it was entirely his own idea. That's a man, my dear! Illogical, self-satisfied, the best of 'em, and you'll never change them till theend of time... What's your opinion of men?"

"I rather--like them!" replied Claire with a _naivete_ which kept herlistener chuckling with amusement until the lodge gates were reached, and the car turned into the drive. 

The house was less imposing than the grounds, just a large comfortableEnglish country house, handsome and dignified, but not venerable in anyway. The hall was good, running the entire length of the house, andopening by tall double doors on to the grounds at the rear. In summerthese doors were kept open, and allowed a visitor a charming vista ofrose pergolas and the blue-green foliage of an old cedar. All the wallsof the house from top to bottom were painted a creamy white, and therewas noticeable a prevailing touch of red in Turkey carpets, cushion-covers, and rose-flecked chintzes. 

Tea was served on a verandah, and after it was over Mrs Fanshaweescorted her visitor round the flower gardens, and finally upstairs toher own bedroom, where she was left with the announcement that dinnerwould be served at eight o'clock. After dinner the ladies playedpatience, drank two glasses of hot-water, and retired to bed at teno'clock. It was not exciting, but on the other hand it was certainlynot dull, for Mrs Fanshawe's personality was so keen, so youthful inits appreciation, that it was impossible not to be infected, and sharein her enjoyment. 

The next week passed quickly and pleasantly. The weather was good, allowing long drives over the lovely country, a tennis party at home, and another at a neighbouring house introduced a little variety into theprogramme, and best of all Mrs Fanshawe grew daily more friendly, evenaffectionate in manner. She was a woman of little depth of character, whose main object in life was to amuse herself and avoid trouble, butshe had humour and intelligence, and made an agreeable companion for asummer holiday. As her intimacy with her guest increased she spokecontinually of her son, referring to his marriage with Janet Willoughbywith an air of complacent certitude. 

"Of course he will marry Janet. They've been attached for years, butthe young men of to-day are so deliberate. They are not in a hurry togive up their freedom. Janet will be just the right wife for Erskine, good tempered and yielding. He is a dear person, but obstinate. Whenhe once makes up his mind, nothing will move him. It would never do forhim to have a high-spirited wife. "

"I disapprove of pandering to men, " snapped Claire in her most HighSchool manner, whereupon the conversation branched off to a discussionon Women's Rights, which was just what she had intended and desired. 

On the seventh afternoon of her visit, Claire was in her room writing aletter to Sophie when she heard a sudden tumult below, and felt herheart bound at the sound of a familiar voice. The pen dropped from herhand, and she sat transfixed, her cheeks burning with excitement. Itcould not be! It was preposterous, impossible. He was in Scotland. Only that morning there had been a letter. --It was impossible, impossible, and then again came the sound of that voice, that laugh, andshe was on her feet, running across the floor, opening the door, listening with straining ears. 

A voice rose clear and distinct from the hall beneath, the deep, strongvoice about which there could be no mistake. 

"A perfect flood! The last five days have been hopeless. I was tiredof being soaked to the skin, and having to change my clothes every twohours, so I cut it, picked up Humphreys in town, and came along home. And how have you been getting on, mater? You look uncommonly fit!"

"I'm quite well. I am perfectly well. You need not have come home onmy account, " Mrs Fanshawe's voice had a decided edge. "I suppose thisis just a flying visit. You will be going on to pay another visit. Ihave a friend with me--a Miss Gifford. You met her at theWilloughbys'. "

"So I did! Yes. That's all right. I'm glad you had company. Isuppose I _shall_ be moving on one of these days. I say, mother, whatabout tea?"

Claire shut the door softly, and turned back into the room. Erskine'svoice had sounded absolutely normal and unmoved: judging by it no onecould have imagined that Miss Gifford's presence or absence afforded himthe slightest interest, and yet, and yet, the mysterious inner voice wasspeaking again, declaring that it was not the wet weather which haddriven him back ... That he had hurried home because he knew, he knew--

In ten minutes' time tea would be served. Claire did not change herdress or make any alteration in her simple attire, her energies duringthose few minutes were chiefly devoted to cooling her flushed cheeks, and when the gong sounded she ran downstairs, letters in hand, andevinced a politely impersonal surprise at the sight of Captain Erskineand his friend. 

Mrs Fanshawe's eyes followed the girl's movements with a keen scrutiny. It seemed to her that Claire's indifference was a trifle overdone:Erskine also was unnaturally composed. Under ordinary circumstancessuch a meeting would have called forth a frank, natural pleasure. Sheset her lips, and determined to leave nothing to chance. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

THE FLOWERY WAY. 

Only a few hours before her son's unexpected arrival, Mrs Fanshawe hadwarmly pressed Claire to extend her visit to a fortnight at least, andClaire had happily agreed. Mrs Fanshawe recalled the incident as shepoured out tea, and rated herself for her imprudence, but the deed wasdone; there was the girl, looking pretty enough to turn any young man'shead, and there, alas! was Erskine, who should, by all the laws of whatwas right and proper, be even now making love to Janet Willoughby inScotland! Janet was rich, Janet was well born, Janet was amiable andeasily led, for years past Mrs Fanshawe had set her heart on Janet as adaughter-in-law, and she was not easily turned from her purpose. Throughout that first afternoon her thoughts were busily engagedplanning ahead, striving to arrange the days to the hindrance ofdangerous _tete-a-tetes_, Erskine appeared to have returned in ignoranceof Miss Gifford's presence. Mrs Fanshawe had been careful to avoid allreference to the girl in her letters, and was unable to think how theinformation could have leaked out, nevertheless the choice of MajorHumphreys as a companion filled her with suspicion. Never before hadsuch an invitation been given on Erskine's initiative; on more than oneoccasion, indeed, he had confessed that he found the Major a bore, andhad expressed surprise at his mother's liking for so dull a man. 

Mrs Fanshawe had never found the Major dull, since he shared withenthusiasm her own passion for gardening, and was a most valuableadviser and assistant. Together they had planned the flagged pathwinding low between the high banks of the rock garden, together they hadplanted the feathery white arenaria calearica in the crevices of thesteps leading upward to the pergola, together they had planned theeffect of clusters of forget-me-not, and red tulips among the longgrasses in the orchard. There was never any dearth of conversationbetween Major Humphreys and Mrs Fanshawe, and a stroll round the rosegarden might easily prolong itself into a discussion lasting a couple ofhours. Hence came the suspicion, or Erskine knew as much, and haddeliberately invited this man before any one of his own friends. Despite all appearance to the contrary, Mrs Fanshawe felt convincedthat "the bore" had been brought down to engage her own attention, andso leave her son free to follow his own devices. She set her lips, anddetermined on a counter move. 

A _partie carree_ was dangerous under the circumstances; safety lay in acrowd. That evening when Mrs Fanshawe retired to dress for dinner, thetelephone in her boudoir was used to ring up all the big houses in theneighbourhood, invitations were given galore for tennis, for dinner, forlunch; and return invitations were accepted without consultation withher son. At the end of half an hour she hung up the receiver, satisfiedthat Erskine's opportunities for _tete-a-tetes_ would be few. Perhapsalso time would suggest some excuse for shortening the girl's visit tothe ten days originally planned. She must think it out, put her wits towork. Claire was a pretty creature and a delightful companion, but anobody, and poor into the bargain. She could not be allowed to upset acherished plan!

During dinner Mrs Fanshawe alluded casually to the coming gaieties, andmentally paid a tribute of admiration to the _aplomb_ with which Clairelistened, and smiled, betraying not a flicker of surprise at the suddenchange of programme. The good lady was so pleased with the result ofher own scheming, that when later on the Major proposed a game ofpatience, she accepted at once, and viewed with equanimity the sight ofthe two young people strolling down the garden path. It would be thelast night when such an escape would be possible!

It was an exquisite moonlight night, clear enough to show the colour ofthe flowers in the beds and borders. Claire's white dress took on aghostly hue against the deep background of the trees, her cheeks werepale, too, and the long line of eyelash showed dark against her cheeks. She felt very happy, very content, just the least little bit in theworld, afraid! Captain Fanshawe was smoking a cigarette, and in theintervals drawing deep sighs of enjoyment. 

"There's only one thing that worries me--why didn't I come back lastweek? To think of rain, and mist, and smoky fires, and then--This! Ifeel like a man who has been transported into fairyland!"

Claire felt as if she also was in fairyland, but she did not say so. There are things that a girl does not say. They paced up and down thewinding paths, and came to the flight of steps leading to the pergola, "The Flowery Way" as Mrs Fanshawe loved to call it, where the arenariacalearica shone starry white in the moonlight. Erskine stopped short, and said urgently--

"Would you mind walking on alone for a few yards? I'll stand here ... While you go up the steps. Please!"

Claire stared in surprise, but there seemed no reason to deny so simplea request. 

"And what am I to do when I get there?"

"Just stand still for a moment, and then walk on... I'll come after!"

Claire laughed, shrugged, and went slowly forward along the flaggedpath, up the flower-sprinkled stair, to pause beneath an arch of pinkroses and look back with an inquiring smile. Erskine was standing whereshe had left him, but he did not smile in response, while one might havecounted twenty, he remained motionless, his look grave and intent, thenhe came quickly forward, leapt up the shallow steps and stood by herside. 

"Thank you!" he said tersely, but that was all. Neither then or latercame any explanation of the strange request. 

For a few moments there was silence, then Erskine harked back to hisformer subject. 

"Scottish scenery is very fine, but for restful loveliness, Surrey ishard to beat. You haven't told me yet how you like our little place, Miss Gifford! It's on a very modest scale, but I'm fond of it. There'sa homey feeling about it that one misses in bigger places, and the materis a genius at gardening, and gets the maximum of effect out of thespace. Are you fond of a garden?"

"I've never had one!" Claire said, and sighed at the thought. "That'sone of the Joys that does _not_ go with a roving life! I've never beenable to have as many flowers as I wanted, or to choose the right foliageto go with them, or to pick them with the dew on their leaves. " Shepaused, smitten with a sudden recollection. "One day this year, aclose, smouldering oven-ey day, I came in from school and found--a boxfull of roses! There were _dewdrops_ on the leaves, or what looked likedewdrops. They were as fresh as if they had been gathered an hourbefore. Dozens of roses, with great long stems. They made my room intoa bower. "

"Really! Did they? How very jolly, " was Erskine's comment. 

His voice sounded cool and unperturbed, and Claire did not venture tolook at his face. She thought with a pang, that perhaps after all shehad been mistaken. Perhaps Mrs Willoughby had been the real donor ... Perhaps he had never thought... She hurried on terrified lest herthoughts might be suspected. 

"Mrs Fanshawe has been so kind, allowing me to send boxes of fruit andflowers to a friend in hospital. One of our mistresses, who is beingtreated for rheumatism. "

"Poor creature!" said the Captain with careless sympathy. "Dull workbeing in hospital in this weather. How have you been getting on with mymother, Miss Gifford? I'm awfully glad to find you down here, though Ishould have enjoyed showing you round myself. I'm a bit jealous of themater there! She's a delightful companion, isn't she? So keen andalert. I don't know any woman of her age who is so young in spirit. It's a great gift, but--" he paused, drew another cigarette from hiscase, and stared at it reflectively, "it has its drawbacks!"

"Yes. I can understand that. It must be hard to feel young, to _be_young in heart and mind, and to be handicapped by a body that persistsin growing old. I've often thought how trying it must be. "

"I suppose so. Yes. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking about it in thatlight. I was not discussing the position from my mother's point ofview, but from--her son's! It would be easier sometimes to deal with aplacid old lady who was content with her knitting, and cherished an old-fashioned belief in the superiority of man! Well! let us say theequality. But the mater won't even grant that. By virtue of hersuperior years she is under the impression that she can still manage myaffairs better than I can myself, which, of course, is a profounddelusion!"

Looking at the firmly cut profile it seemed ridiculous to think of anyone managing this man if it were not his will to be managed. Mother andson were alike in possessing an obstinate self-will. A conflict betweenthem would be no light thing. Woman-like, Claire's sympathies leant tothe woman's side. 

"It must be very difficult for a mother to realise that her son isreally past her control. And when she _does_, it must be a painfulfeeling. It isn't painful for the son; it's only annoying. The motherfares worst!"

Captain Fanshawe laughed, and looked down at the girl's face withadmiring eyes. 

"What a faculty you have of seeing the other side! Do you always takethe part of the person who isn't here? If so, all the better for methis last week, when the mater has been spinning stories of myobstinacy, and pig-headedness, and general contradictiveness. I thoughtI had better hurry home at once, before you learnt to put me down as ahopeless bad lot!"

Claire stood still, staring with widened eyes. 

"Hurry home--hurry home before--" She stopped short, furious withherself for having taken any notice of the slip, and Erskine gave ashort embarrassed laugh, and cried hastily--

"Oh, I knew; of course I knew! The rain was only an excuse. The realreason was that as soon as I knew you were staying here, I hadn'tpatience to stay on. I stood it for exactly three hours, thinking ofyou in this garden, imagining walking about as we are walking now, andthen--I bolted for the afternoon train!"

Claire felt her cheeks flame, and affected dignity to hide her deep, uncontrollable joy. 

"If _I_ had been your hostess--"

"But you weren't, you see... You weren't! For goodness' sake don't putyourself in her place next. Be Claire Gifford for once, and say you areglad to see me!" His eyes met hers and twinkled with humour as he addedsolemnly. "There's not a single solitary convention that could possiblybe broken by being civil to a man in his own home! Even your ultrasensitive conscience--"

"Never mind my sensitive conscience. What I want to know is, how didyou know? Who told you that I was here?"

It was significant that the possibility that Mrs Fanshawe had writtenof her guest never occurred to Claire's mind; that Erskine like herselfdiscounted such a possibility. He replied with a matter-of-factsimplicity which left Claire marvelling at the obtuseness of mankind--

"Janet, of course. Janet Willoughby. We were staying in the samehouse. We were talking of you yesterday morning, and comparing notesgenerally. She said you were--oh! quite a number of agreeable things--and I agreed with her, with just one exception. She considered that youwere responsive. I said I had never found any one less so. She saidyou were always so ready to meet her halfway. I complained that yourefused to meet me at all. I ... Er ... Told her how I felt about it, and she said my chance was waiting if I choose to take it--that you werestaying here keeping the mater company. So--"

Claire said nothing. She was thinking deeply. For how many days hadJanet been staying in the same house with Erskine? Perhaps a week, certainly several days, yet it had been only yesterday morning that shehad given the news. Yesterday morning; and in three hours he had flown!How was Janet faring now, while Claire was walking in fairyland?

"You are not angry? Why do you look so serious? Tell me you are notsorry that I came?" said a deep voice close to her ear, but before shehad time to answer, footsteps approached, and Mrs Fanshawe's voice washeard calling in raised accents--

"Erskine! are you there? Give me your arm, dear; I am so tired. It'ssuch a perfect night, that it seemed a shame to stay indoors. The Majorhas been admiring `The Flowery Way. ' It certainly looks its best to-night. " She turned towards Major Humphreys with her light, cynicallaugh. "My son declares that it is profanation to allow ordinary, commonplace mortals to walk up those steps! He always escorts myvisitors round by another way. He is ungallant enough to say that hehas never yet seen a girl whom he would care to watch walk up thosesteps in the moonlight. She would have to be quite ideal in everyrespect to fit into the picture. We'll go round by the lily garden, Erskine, and then I think Miss Gifford and I will be off to bed. Youmen will enjoy a smoke. "

For the next ten minutes Mrs Fanshawe kept tight hold of her son's arm, and Claire talked assiduously to Major Humphreys. She knew now whyErskine had asked her to walk ahead up "The Flowery Way!"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

ALL IN A GARDEN FAIR. 

The next afternoon a party of friends had been bidden for tennis. Forthe morning no plans had been made, but throughout its length MrsFanshawe fought a gallant fight against overwhelming odds, and washopelessly beaten for her pains. It was her strong determination thather son should be prevented from holding another _tete-a-tete_ withClaire Gifford. Erskine actively, and Claire passively, desired andintended to bring about just that very consummation, while MajorHumphreys, shrewdly aware of the purpose for which he had been invited, aided and abetted their efforts by the development of a veritable frenzyof gardening enthusiasm. He questioned, he disputed, he meeklyacknowledged his mistakes; he propounded schemes for fresh developments, the scenes of which lay invariably at the opposite end of the groundsfrom that in which the young people were ensconced. 

Mrs Fanshawe struggled valiantly, but the Triple Entente won the day, and for a good two hours before lunch, Erskine and Claire remainedhappily lost to sight in the farthest recesses of the grounds. They hadleft behind the region of formal seats and benches, and sat on the grassat the foot of a great chestnut, whose dark green foliage made a havenof shade in the midst of the noonday glare. Claire wore her bargainfrock, and felt thankful for the extravagant impulse of that Januarymorn. Erskine was in flannels, cool and becoming as a man's _neglige_invariably is; both had discarded hats, and sat bareheaded in theblessed shade, and Erskine asked questions, dozens of questions, a very_viva voce_ examination, the subject being the life, history, thoughts, hopes, ambitions, and dreams of the girl by his side. 

"You were an only child. So was I. Were you a lonely little kiddie?"

"No, I don't think I was. My mother was a child with me. We wereblissfully happy manufacturing a doll's house out of a packing chest, and furnishing it with beds made out of cardboard boxes, and sofas madeout of pin-cushions. I used to feel other children a bore because theydistracted her attention. "

"That would be when you were--how old? Six or seven? And you are now--what is it? Twenty-two? I must have been a schoolboy of seventeen atthat time, imagining myself a man. Ten years makes a lot of differenceat that age. It doesn't count so much later on. At least I shouldthink not. Do I appear to you very old?"

"Hoary!"

"No, but I say... Honestly!"

"Don't be conceited. You know perfectly well--"

"But I wanted to make sure! And then you went to school. Did you havea bad time at first among the other girls?"

"No. I'm afraid the other girls had a bad time with me. I was veryuppish and British, and insisted on getting my own way. Did _you_ havea bad time?"

"Yes, I did, " he said simply. "Small boys have a pretty stiff time ofit during their first term, and my time happened to be stiffer thanmost. I may be as miserable again. I hope I never may be! But I'mpretty sure it's impossible to be _more_ miserable than I was at nineyears old, bullied on every side, breaking my heart with home sickness, and too proud to show a sign. "

"Poor little lad!" sighed Claire softly, and for a long minute the twopairs of eyes met, and exchanged a message. "But afterwards? It grewbetter after that?"

"Oh, yes. I learnt to stand up for myself, and moved up in the school, and began to bully on my own... Did you make many real friends in yourschool days?"

"No real lasting friends. They were French girls, you see, and therewas the difference of race, and religion, to divide us as we grew up. And we were birds of passage, mother and I; always moving about. "

"You felt the need of companionship?"

"No. I had mother, and we were like girls together. " The twin dimplesshowed in a mischievous smile. "You seem very anxious to hear that Iwas lonely!"

"Well!" said Erskine, and hesitated as though he found it impossible todeny the accusation. "I wanted to feel that you could sympathise withme! I've been more or less lonely all my life, but I have always feltthat a time would come when it would be all right--when I'd meet someone who'd understand. I was great chums with my father, but he diedwhen I was twelve, and my school chum went off to China, and comes homefor a few months every three years, when it has usually happened thatI've been abroad. There are nice enough fellows in the regiment, but Isuppose I'm not quick at making friends--"

Strive as she would Claire could not resist a twinkle of amusement, their eyes met, and both went off into a peal of laughter. 

"Oh, well, there are exceptions! That's different. I felt that I knewyou at once, without any preliminary stages. It must always be likethat when people really fit. " And then after a short pause he added inboyish, ingenuous tones, "Did you feel that you knew me?"

"I--I think I did!" Claire acknowledged. To both it seemed the mostwonderful, the most absorbing of conversations. They were blissfullyunconscious that it was old as the hills themselves, and had beenrepeated with ceaseless reiteration from prehistoric periods. Only oncewas there an interruption of the deep mutual happiness and that camewithout warning. Claire was smiling in blissful contentment, unconscious of a care, when suddenly a knife-like pain stabbed herheart. Imagination had wafted her back to Staff-Room. She saw thefaces of the fifteen women seated around the table, women who were withbut one exception past their youth, approaching nearer and nearer todreaded age, and an inward voice whispered that to each in her turn hadcome this golden hour, the hour of dreams, of sweet, illuminative hope. The hour had come, and the hour had passed, leaving behind nothing but amemory and a regret. Why should she herself be more blessed thanothers? She looked forward and saw a vision of herself ten years hencestill hurrying along the well-known street looking up at the clock inthe church tower to assure herself that she was in time, still mountingthe same bare staircase, still hanging up her hat on the same peg. Theprose of it in contradistinction with the poetry of the present wasterrifying to Claire's youthful mind, and her look was so white, sostrained, that Erskine took instant alarm. 

"What is it? What is it? Are you ill? Have I said anything to upsetyou? I say, what _is_ the matter!"

"Nothing. Nothing! I had a--thought! Talk hard, please, and make meforget!"

The end of the two hours found the cross-questioning still in fullforce; the man and the girl alike still feeling that the half was notyet told. They resented the quick passage of time, resented thedisturbance of the afternoon hours. 

"What on earth do we want with a tennis party?" grumbled the Captain. "Wish to goodness we could be left alone. I suppose the mater wantedthem to amuse you before I came back. "

Claire murmured incoherently. She knew better, but she was not going tosay so! They turned unwillingly towards the house. 

In the afternoon the guests arrived. They came early, for the Fanshawetennis courts were in fine condition, and the prospect of meeting a newman and a new girl, plus the son of the house, was a treat in itself inthe quiet countryside where the members of the same set met regularly atevery function of the year. One of the courts was reserved for men'sfours, for Mrs Fanshawe believed in giving her guests what they liked, and there is no doubt that men as a rule are ungallant enough to prefertheir own sex in outdoor games. 

In the second court the younger girls took part in mixed fours, whileothers sat about, or took part in lengthy croquet contests on thefurthest of the three lawns. Claire as a member of the house-party hada good deal of time on her hands, and helped Mrs Fanshawe with theentertainment of the older guests, who one and all eyed her withspeculative interest. 

One thin, faded woman had spent a few years in Bombay and was roused tointerest by hearing that Claire's mother was now settled in that city. Yes! she had met a Mr Judge. Robert Judge, was it not? Her husbandknew him quite well. He had dined at their house. Quite a dear man. She had heard of his marriage, "but"--here came a look ofmystification--"to a _young_ wife; very pretty, very charming--"

Claire laughed, and held out a little coloured photograph in a roundglass frame which hung by a chain round her neck. 

"That is my mother. She is thirty-nine, and looks thirty. And she isprettier than that. "

The faded lady looked, and sighed. Mrs Fanshawe brightened into vividinterest. "You know Mr Judge, then? You have met him? That's quiteinteresting. That's very interesting!" Claire realised with someirritability that the fact that one of her own acquaintances knew andapproved, instantaneously raised Mr Judge in her hostess's estimation. Hitherto he had been a name, a nobody; now he became a real man, "quitea dear man, " a man one could know! The result was satisfactory enough, but Claire was irritated by the means. She was irritated also by thesubtle but very real change in her hostess's manner to herself in thelast twenty-four hours; irritated because the precious hours werepassing, and Erskine was surrounded by his guests, playing endless setson the hot lawn. He looked as though he were enjoying himself, too, andthat added to her annoyance, for like many another girl she had not yetrealised that a man can forget even his love in his whole-heartedenjoyment of sport!

At tea-time, however, there was a lull when Erskine carried a chair toClaire's side, and seated himself with an air of contentment. Once andagain as the meal progressed she saw his eyes rove around, and then comeback to dwell upon herself. She knew that he was comparing her with theother girls who were present, knew also by the deep glow of thatreturning glance, that in his eyes she was fairest and best. The formerirritation dropped from her like a cloak. 

Tea was over, the guests rose from their seats. Erskine stood byClaire's side looking down at her with a quizzical smile. 

"Er--did you notice that man who came in just before tea, with the girlin the pink frock? He was sitting over there, on the right?"

"Yes, I noticed him. I could see him quite well. Why?"

"What did you think of him?"

"Quite nice. I liked his face. Good-natured and interesting. "

Erskine laughed. 

"Sure?"

"Quite sure. Why?"

"Don't recognise him at all? Doesn't remind you of any one you know?"

"Not in the least. Why should he?"

Erskine laughed again. 

"I'm afraid your memory is defective. I must introduce you again!" Hewalked away, laid his hand on the arm of the new-comer, and led him backto Claire's side. "Miss Gifford, " he said gravely, "allow me tointroduce--Major Carew!"

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

FOUND OUT. 

The man with the good-natured, interesting face bowed to Claire with thealacrity which the normal man shows at an introduction to a pretty girl;Claire stared blankly, recovered herself, and returned his bow in formalmanner. Erskine looked from one to the other in undisguised surprise. 

"I thought you had met... You told me you had met Carew in town!"

"Not _this_ Major Carew!" Claire could not suppress a tone of regret. With all her heart she wished that the man before her had been Cecil'sfiance. 

"It was the same name, but--"

"Not the same man? It's not an unusual name, I expect there are severalof us knocking about, " the present Major Carew said smilingly. "Do youhappen to know his regiment?"

Claire knew it well, but as she pronounced the name, the hearer's facecrinkled in confusion. 

"But that is my own regiment! There _is_ no other Carew! There's somemistake. You have mixed up the names. "

"Oh no. I've heard it a hundred times. It is impossible to bemistaken. His Christian name is Frank. "

"_My_ name is Frank!" the strange man said, and stared at Claire inincreasing perplexity. "There is certainly not another Frank Carew inthe M---. There is something wrong about this. I don't understand!"

"He is a member of the --- Club, and his people live in Surrey. He hasan old father who is an invalid, and the name of the house is `TheMoat'--"

Major Carew's face turned a deep, apoplectic red, his light eyes seemedto protrude from his head, so violent was his anger and surprise. 

"But--that's _me_! That's my club, my father, my home! Somebody hasbeen taking my name, and passing himself off under false colours forsome mysterious reason. I can't imagine what good it is going to dohim. "

He broke off in alarm, and cast an appealing look at Erskine as Clairesuddenly collapsed on the nearest chair, her face as white as her gown. 

"I say, this is a bad business I'm most awfully sorry. I'm afraid MissGifford is distressed--"

Erskine's lips were set in a fury of anger. He glanced at Claire andturned hurriedly away, as though he could not trust himself to look ather blanched face. To see the glint of his eye, the set of the firmjaw, was to realise that it would fare badly with the masquerader shouldhe come within reach. There was a moment of tense, unhappy silence, then Erskine drew forward two more chairs, and motioned to the Major tobe seated. 

"I think we shall have to thresh this out! It is naturally a shock, butMiss Gifford's acquaintance with this person is very slight. She took aviolent dislike to him at first sight, so you need not fear that shewill feel any personal distress. That is so, isn't it? That's the realposition?"

Claire nodded a quick assent. 

"Yes, yes. I met him twice, and I hated him from the first; but myfriend believes... " Her voice broke, and she struggled for composure, her chin quivering with pitiful, child-like distress. "He is engaged tobe _married_ to my friend!"

A deep murmur of anger came simultaneously from both hearers. The realMajor Carew straightened himself with an air of determination. 

"Engaged to her? Under my name? This is too strong! And in the nameof wonder, what for? I'm nobody. I've nothing. I'm the mostinsignificant of fellows, and chronically hard up. What had he to gainby taking my name?"

"You are a gentleman, and he is not. Everything is comparative. Hewanted to impress my friend, and he knew you so well that it was easy topretend, and make up a good tale. He _said_ he was hard up. He--he--borrowed money!"

"From the girl?" Again came that deep murmur of indignation. "What anunspeakable cur, and--excuse me, what a poor-spirited girl to haveanything to do with him after that! Could you do nothing to prevent hermaking such a fool of herself?"

"Nothing. I tried. I tried hard, but--"

Erskine looked at her with his keen, level glance. 

"And she borrowed from you to supply his needs? No, never mind, I won'task any more questions, but I know! I know!" His eyes hardened againas he turned towards the other man. "Carew, this is pure swindling! Weshall have to worry this out!"

"I believe you, my boy!" said the Major tersely. He turned to Claireand added more gently, "Tell us some more about this fellow, MissGifford! Describe him! Would you recognise him if you met again?"

"Oh, yes. At once. He is tall and dark, good-looking, I suppose, though I detest his type. Very dark eyes. Large features. "

The Major ruminated, finding apparently no clue in the description. 

"Tall. Dark. Large features! I know about a hundred men to whom thatdescription might apply. Could you think of anything more definite?"

Claire ruminated in her turn; recalled the image of Cecil's lover, andtried to remember the details of his appearance. 

"He has very thick hair, and brushes it straight across his forehead. His eyebrows are very short. He has a high colour, quite red cheeks. "

Major Carew made a short, choking sound; lay back in his chair, andstared aghast. This time it was evident that the description awoke adefinite remembrance, but he appeared to thrust it from him, to find itdifficult to give credence to the idea. 

"Impossible!" he murmured to himself. "Impossible! High colour, yousay; short eyebrows. When you say `short, ' what exactly do you mean?"

"They begin by being very thick, then they stop abruptly. They don'tfollow the line of the eye, like most eyebrows. They look--unfinished!"

Major Carew bounced upon his chair. 

"Erskine, I have an idea. --It seems almost incredible, but I'm bound tofind if it is correct! There is a man who is in our camp now. I'llmake an excuse, and send him over to-night, if you can arrange that MissGifford sees him when he comes. I'll give him a message for you. "

"_Send_!" repeated Erskine sharply; then he glanced at Claire, and senta frowning message towards the other man. "That can easily be arranged. We'll leave it till evening, then. We can't get any further now, and Imust get back to my duties. The mater is scowling at me. Go and sootheher like a good fellow, but for your life--not a word of this to her!"

Major Carew rose obediently, perfectly aware that his company was notwanted, and Erskine bent towards Claire with a few earnest words. 

"Don't worry! If this man is an impostor, the sooner it is found out, the better. He _is_ an impostor, there's no getting away from that, andhe is making a dupe of that poor girl for his own ends. If we had notmade this discovery, he would have stuck to her until he had bled her ofher last penny, and then would probably have disappeared into space. She knows nothing of his real name or position, so it would have beendifficult to trace him, and probably nothing to be gained, if he _were_found. One reads of these scoundrels from time to time, but I've neverhad the misfortune to meet one in the flesh. I'd like to horsewhip thefellow for upsetting you like this!"

"Oh, what does it matter about me?" Claire cried impatiently. "It'sCecil I'm thinking about--my poor, poor friend! She's not young, andshe is tired out after twelve years of teaching, and it's the _second_time! Years ago a man pretended to love her, it was only pretence, andit nearly broke her heart. She has never been the same since then. Itmade her bitter and distrustful. "

"Poor creature! No wonder. But that was some time ago, and now she isengaged to this other fellow. Is she in love with him, do you suppose?"

Claire shrugged vaguely. 

"I--don't--know! She is in love with the idea of a home. "

"And he? You have seen them together. He is a cur, there's no gettingaway from that, but he might be attached to the girl all the same. Doyou think he is?"

"Oh, how can I tell?" Claire cried impatiently. "She thinks he is, butshe thought the same about the other man. It doesn't seem possible totell! Men amuse themselves and pretend, and act a part, and then laughat a girl if she is so foolish as to believe--"

Captain Fanshawe bent forward, his arm resting on his knees, his faceupraised to hers; a very grave face, fixed and determined. 

"Do you believe that, Claire? Do you believe what you are saying?"

The grey eyes looked deep into hers, compelling an answer. 

"I--I think many of them--"

"Some of them!" the Captain corrected. "Just as some girls encourage aman to gratify their own vanity. They are the exceptions in both cases;but you speak in generalities, condemning the whole sex. Is it what youreally think--that most men pretend?"

The grey eyes were on her face, keen, compelling eyes from which therewas no escape. Claire flushed and hesitated. 

"No! No, I don't. Not most. But there are some!"

"We are not concerned with `some'!" he said quietly, and straighteninghimself, he cast a glance around. 

The guests were standing about in little groups, aimless, irresolute, waiting to be broken up into twos and fours, and drafted off to theempty lawns; across the deserted tea-tables his mother's eyes met his, coldly reproachful. Erskine sighed, and rose to his feet. 

"I must go. These people need looking after. Don't look so sad. Ithurts me to see you sad. "

Just those few, hastily-spoken words and he was gone, and Clairestrolled off in an opposite direction, anxious to screen herself fromobservation among the crowd. She ached with pity for Cecil, but throughall her distresses the old confidence lay warm at her heart. There wasone man in the world who towered high above the possibility of deceit;and between that man and herself was a bond stronger than spoken word. The future seemed full of difficulties, but Claire did not troubleherself about the future. The present was all-absorbing, full oftrouble; full of joy!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was seven o'clock before the last of the guests had departed, andMrs Fanshawe saw to it that her son was fully engaged until it was timeto dress for dinner. Her keen eyes had noticed signs of agitation asthe two young people sat together at tea. And what had Erskine beentalking about with that tense expression on his face? And what hadhappened to the girl that she looked at one moment so radiant, and atthe next so cast-down? Mrs Fanshawe's affections, like those of mostselfish people, were largely influenced by personal considerations. Aweek before she had felt quite a warm affection for the agreeablecompanion who had rescued her from the boredom of lonely days, now hourby hour, she was conscious of a rising irritation against the girl whothreatened to interfere with her own plans. The verdict of othersconfirmed her own suspicions as to Erskine's danger, for during theafternoon half a dozen intimate friends referred to Claire withsignificant intonation. "Such a graceful creature. No wonder Erskineis _epris_!" ... "Miss Gifford is quite charming. " ... "_So_interested to meet Miss Gifford!" Eyes and voice alike testified to theconviction that if an engagement were not already arranged, it was acertainty in the near future. Mrs Fanshawe set her lips, anddetermined by hook or crook to get Claire Gifford out of the house. 

That evening at nine o'clock the parlour-maid announced that MajorCarew's soldier servant wished to see Captain Fanshawe on a message fromhis master, and Erskine gave instructions that he should be sent roundto the verandah, and stepped out of the window, leaving Claire wonderingand discomfited. What had happened? Was the impostor not to be found?In her present tension of mind any delay, even of the shortest, seemedunbearable. 

The murmur of voices sounded from without, then Erskine stepped backinto the room, and addressed himself pointedly to Claire, but withoutusing her name. 

"Would you come out just for two minutes? It's some plan for to-morrow. "

Claire crossed the room, acutely conscious of Mrs Fanshawe'sdispleasure, stepped into the cool light of the verandah and beheldstanding before her, large and trim in his soldier's uniform, Cecil'slover, the man who had masqueraded under his master's name. 

For one breathless moment the two stood face to face, staring, aghast, too petrified by surprise to be able to move or speak. Claire caughthold of the nearest chair, and clutched at its back; the florid colourdied out of the man's cheeks, his eyes glazed with horror and dismay. Then with a rapid right-about-face, he leapt from the steps, and speddown the drive. Another moment and he had disappeared, and the two whowere left, faced each other aghast. 

"His servant! His _servant_! Oh, my poor Cecil!"

"The scoundrel! It was a clever ruse. No need to invent details: hehad them all ready to his hand. The question is, what next? The gameis up, and he knows it. What will be his next move?"

Claire shook her head. She was white and shaken. The reality was evenworse than she had expected, and the thought of Cecil's bitterness ofdisillusion weighed on her like a nightmare. She tried to speak, buther lips trembled and Erskine drew near with a quick word ofconsolation--

"Claire!"

"What is this plan, Erskine? Am I not to be consulted? Remember thatyou are engaged to lunch with the Montgomerys to-morrow. "

Mrs Fanshawe stood in the doorway, erect, haughty, obviously annoyed. Her keen eyes rested on Claire's face, demanding a reason for herembarrassment. Erskine made a virtue of necessity, and offered a shortexplanation. 

"A disagreeable thing has happened, mother. Miss Gifford has discoveredthrough Major Carew that a friend is in serious trouble. It has beenrather a shock. "

"Dear me. Yes! It would be. Perhaps you would like to go to yourroom, my dear. I'm tired myself, and shall be glad to get to bed. I amsure you must wish to be alone. Shall we go?"

Claire said good night to the two men and went wearily upstairs. Atthis moment even her own inward happiness failed to console. Whencontrasted with her own fate, Cecil's seemed so cruelly unfair!

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

"NO!"

Sleep refused to come to Claire that night. She lay tossing on her bedwhile the old clock in the corridor without struck hour after hour. 

Two, three, four, and still she tossed, and turned, and again and againasked herself the world-old question, "What shall I do? What shall Ido?" and shuddered at the thought of the disillusionment which wascoming to her poor friend. 

What was her own duty in the matter? Obviously Cecil must be told thetruth; obviously she was the one to tell it. Would it be possible to_write_? Inclination clamoured in favour of such a course. It would beso much easier: it would obviate the necessity for a laceratinginterview. Would it not be easier for Cecil, also? Claire felt that ifpositions had been reversed, she would crave above all things to bealone, hidden from the eyes of even the most sympathising of friends;but Cecil's nature was of a different type. Having heard the oneabhorrent fact, she would wish to probe further, to be told details, toask a score of trifling questions. However full a letter might be, shewould not be satisfied without an interview. "But I might write first, and see her afterwards!" poor Claire said to herself. "It would not bequite so bad, when she had got over the first shock. I could _not_ bearto see her face... "

It was five o'clock before at last sleep came to drive away the hauntingquestions, and when she woke it was to find her early tea had grown coldon the table by her side, and to see on looking at her watch that it wasnearly ten o'clock. She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs to findMrs Fanshawe alone in the dining-room, reading the _Morning Post_. Shewaved aside Claire's apologies for her late appearance with easy goodnature. No one was _expected_ to be punctual at breakfast. It wassheer tyranny to decree that visitors should get up at a definite hour. If Claire had slept badly, why didn't she order breakfast in her room, and spend the morning in bed?

"You look a wreck!" she said frankly, and threw down the paper with animpatient gesture. "Such a nuisance about this bad news. Erskine seemsdisgusted with the whole affair. He has gone off with Major Carew tosee what can be done, and is to go straight to the Willoughbys. Sotiresome, for I particularly wanted him to be in good form thisafternoon! What's it all about? As it has happened in my house, Ithink I am entitled to an explanation. Something to do with MajorCarew's servant? How can your friend be associated with a servant? Theman has bolted, it appears. The Major came over half an hour ago to saythat he never returned last night. Thought flight the best policy, Isuppose, but what I am waiting to be told, is--what has he _done_?"

Claire sat down on the nearest chair, feeling more of a wreck than ever. 

"Deserted! A soldier! But if he is found? The punishment... "

"He has already been found out, it appears, so that it was a choicebetween certain punishment if he stayed, or the chance of getting safelyaway. I am waiting to hear what it's all about!"

"Oh, Mrs Fanshawe, it's so difficult. It's not my secret!" cried poorClaire desperately. "He, this man, has been masquerading under hismaster's name. My friend knew him as Major Carew. She, they, becamevery intimate. "

"Engaged, I suppose! It doesn't say much for her discrimination. Herideas of what constitute a gentleman must be somewhat vague!" MrsFanshawe said disagreeably. She felt disagreeable, and she never madeany effort to conceal her feelings, kindly or the reverse. It wasannoying that one of her own guests should be mixed up in an unsavouryscandal with a common soldier: annoying to have people going about withlong faces, when she had planned a festive week. Really this ClaireGifford was becoming more and more of an incumbrance! Mrs Fanshawepaused with her hand on the coffee-pot, to ask a pointed question--

"Have _you_ also known this man under his false name, may I ask?"

Claire flushed uncomfortably. 

"I met him twice. Only twice. For a very short time. "

Mrs Fanshawe did not speak, but she arched her eyebrows in a fashionwhich was more scorching than words. "So you, also, are ignorant ofwhat constitutes a gentleman!" said those eyebrows. "You also have beenincluding my friend's servant among your acquaintances!"

Claire felt the hopelessness of trying to justify herself, and relapsedinto silence also, the while she made a pretence of eating one of themost miserable meals of her life. According to his mother, Erskine was"quite disgusted" with the whole affair! Claire's heart sank at thethought, but she acknowledged that such an attitude would be no morethan was natural under the circumstances. A soldier himself, CaptainFanshawe would be a stern judge of a soldier's fraud, while his _amourpropre_ could not fail to be touched. Claire had too much faith tobelieve that his displeasure would be extended to herself, yet she wasmiserably aware that it was through her instrumentality that he had beenbrought in contact with the scandal. 

In the midst of much confusion of mind only one thing seemed certain, and that was that it was impossible to face a tennis party thatafternoon. Claire made her apologies to Mrs Fanshawe as she rose fromthe table, and they were accepted with disconcerting readiness. 

"Of course! Of course! I never imagined that you would. Under thecircumstances it would be most awkward. I expect by afternoon the storywill be the talk of the place. Your friend, I understand, is stillignorant of the man's real station? What do you propose to do withregard to breaking the news?"

"In. I'm going to write. I thought I would sit in my room and composea letter. --It will be difficult!"

"Difficult!" Mrs Fanshawe repeated the word with disagreeableemphasis. "Impossible, I should say, and, excuse me! cruel into thebargain. To open a letter from a friend, expecting to find the ordinarychit-chat, and to receive a blow that shatters one's life! My dear, it's unthinkable! You cannot seriously intend it. "

"You think it would be better if I _told_, her?" Claire askedanxiously. "I wondered myself, but naturally I dreaded it, and Ithought she might prefer to get over the first shock alone. I haddecided to write first, and see her later on. But you think... "

"I think decidedly that you ought to break the news in person. You canlead up to it more naturally in words. Even the most carefully writtenletters are apt to read coldly; perhaps the more care we spend on them, the more coldly they read. "

"Yes, that's true, that's quite true, but I thought it would be betternot to wait. She is staying at home just now. I don't think he willvisit her there, for he seemed to shrink from meeting her mother, but hemay write and try--" Claire drew herself up on the point of betrayingthat borrowing of money which was the most shameful feature of thefraud, but Mrs Fanshawe was too much absorbed in her own schemes tonotice the omission. She had seen a way of getting rid of an unwelcomeguest, and was all keenness to turn it to account. 

"He is sure to try to see her again while he is at large. He willprobably urge her to marry him at once. You should certainly not deferyour visit if it is to be of any use. How dreadful _it_ would be if shewere to marry him under an assumed name! You mustn't let us interferewith your arrangement, my dear. You only promised me ten days, so Ican't grumble if you run away, and for the short time that Erskine is athome, there are so many friends to fit in... You understand, I am sure, that I am thinking of your own convenience!"

"I understand perfectly, thank you!" Claire replied, her head in theair, the indignant colour dying her cheeks with red. Mrs Fanshawe'sarguments in favour of haste might be wise enough, but her personaldesire was all too plainly betrayed. And she pointedly ignored the factthat the proposed interview need not have interrupted Claire's visit, since it and the journey involved could easily have been accomplished inthe course of a day. "I understand perfectly, thank you. I will goupstairs and pack now. Perhaps there is a train I could catch beforelunch?"

"The twelve-thirty. That will give you the afternoon in town. I'llorder a fly from the inn. I'm _so_ sorry for you, dear! Most nerve-racking to have to break bad news, but you'll feel happier when it'sdone. Perhaps you could take the poor thing with you to that sweetlittle farm!"

Not for the world would Claire have spent the next hour in MrsFanshawe's company. She hurried to her room, and placing her watch onthe dressing-table, so timed her packing that it should not be completeda moment before the lumbering country "fly" drove up to the door. Then, fully dressed, she descended the staircase, and held out a gloved handto her hostess, apparently unconscious of an offered kiss. 

It was some slight consolation to note the change of bearing which hadcome over Mrs Fanshawe during the last hour, and to realise that thesuccess of her scheme had not brought much satisfaction. She wasnervous, she was more than nervous, she was afraid! The while Clairehad been packing upstairs, she had had time to realise Erskine's return, and his reception of the news she would have to break. As she droveaway from the door, Claire realised that her hostess would have paid alarge sum down to have been able to undo that morning's work!

For her own part, Claire cared nothing either way: literally andtruthfully at that moment even the thought of leaving Erskine had nopower to wound. The quickly-following events of the last twenty-fourhours had had a numbing effect on her brain. She was miserable, sore, and wounded; the whole fabric of life seemed tumbling to pieces. Love, for the moment, was in abeyance. As the fly passed the last yard ofmown grass which marked the boundary of the Fanshawe property, she threwout her arms with one of the expressive gestures, which remained withher as a result of her foreign training. "_Fini_!" she cried aloud. Mentally at that moment, she swept the Fanshawes, mother and son, fromthe stage of her life. 

Where should she go next? Back to solitude, and the saffron parlour?London in August held no attraction, but the solitary prospect of beingable to see Sophie, and at the moment Claire shrank from Sophie's sharpeyes. Should she telegraph to the farm, and ask how soon she could bereceived; and at the same time telegraph to Mary Rhodes asking for animmediate interview? A few minutes' reflection brought a decision infavour of this plan, and she drew a pocket-book from her dressing-bag, and busied herself in composing the messages. One to the farm, a secondto Laburnum Crescent announcing her immediate return, then came a pause, to consider the difficult wording of the third. Would it be possible todrop a word of warning, intelligible to Cecil herself, but meaninglessto anyone else who might by chance open the wire?

"Back in town. Have important news. Imperative to see you to-day, ifpossible. Appoint meeting. Delay dangerous. "

It was not perfect, but in Claire's dazed condition it was the best shecould concoct, and it left a tactful uncertainty as to whether the newsaffected herself or Cecil, which would make it the easier to explain. Claire counted the words and folded the three messages in her hand-bag, ready to be sent off the moment she reached the station. 

The fly lumbered on; up a toilsome hill, down into the valley, upanother hill on the farther side; then came a scattering of houses, achurch, a narrow street lined with shops, and finally the stationitself, the clock over the entrance showing a bare four minutes tospare. 

The porter labelled the luggage, and trundled it down the platform. Claire hurried through her business in the telegraph office, and ranafter him just as the train slowed down on the departure platform. Onecarriage showed two empty corner places on the nearest side, Claireopened the door, seated herself facing the engine, and spread herimpedimenta on the cushions. But few passengers had been waiting, forthis was one of the slowest trains in the day, but now at this lastmoment there came the sound of running footsteps, a man's footsteps, echoing in strong heavy beats. With a traveller's instinctive curiosityClaire leant forward to watch the movements of this late comer, andputting her head out of the window came face to face with ErskineFanshawe himself. 

At sight of her he stopped short, at sight of him she stood up, blockingthe window from sight of the other occupants of the carriage; by acertain defiance of pose, appearing to defend it also against his ownentrance. But he did not attempt to enter. Though he had been running, it was his pallor, not his heat, which struck Claire in that firstmoment. He was white, with the pallor of intense anger; the flash ofhis eyes was like cold steel. He rested his hands on the sill of thewindow, and looked up into her face. 

"This is my mother's doing!"

It was a statement, not a question, and Claire made no reply. She stoodstiff and silent, while down the length of the platform sounded thequick banging of doors. 

"I got through sooner than I expected and went home to change. I didnot waste time in talking... I could guess what had happened. She madeit impossible for you to stay on?"

Still silence. The guard's whistle sounded shrilly. Erskine came astep nearer. His white tense face almost touched her own. 

"Claire!" he whispered breathlessly, "will you marry me?"

"Stand back there! Stand back!" cried an authoritative voice. Thewheels of the carriage rolled slowly forward. Claire bent forward, andgave her answer in one incisive word--

"No!"

The wheels rolled faster and faster: left the station, whirled out intothe green, smiling plain. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

A RUPTURE. 

In after days Claire often looked back upon that journey to London, andtried to recall her own feelings, but invariably the effort ended infailure. She could remember nothing but a haze of general misery andconfusion, which deepened with every fresh mile, and reached its acutestpoint at the moment of arriving "home. "

The landlady was flustered at having to prepare for so hasty a return, and did not scruple to show her displeasure. She took for granted thatClaire had had lunch, and the poor girl had not the courage to undeceiveher. A telegram was lying on the dining-room table which announcedCecil's arrival at four o'clock. Claire ordered tea to be ready at thathour, and stretched herself on her bed in the room upstairs which lookedso bare and cold, denuded of the beautifying personal touches. She feltincredibly tired, incredibly lonely; she longed with a very passion oflonging for some one of her own, for the dear, beautiful mother, who ifshe did not always understand, was always ready to love. Oh, it washard, unnatural work, this fighting the world alone! Did the girls whogrew weary of the restraints of home, ever realise how their workingsisters sickened with longing for some one who cared enough even to_interfere_!

Three o'clock, half-past three, a quarter to four. Claire was faint forwant of food, and had enough sense to realise that this was a poorpreparation for the ordeal ahead; she went downstairs, and threw herselfupon Lizzie's mercy. 

"Lizzie, I have had no lunch. I'm starving. Could you bring up the tea_now_, and make some fresh for Miss Rhodes when she arrives?"

"Why couldn't you say so before?" Lizzie asked with the freedom of thelodging-house slavey, but the question was spoken in sympathy ratherthan anger. "The kettle's boiling, and I've cut the bread and butter. You shall have it in two two's. I'll cut you a sanguidge, " she cried asa supreme proof of goodwill, and clattered down the kitchen stairs atexpress speed. 

She was as good as her word. In five minutes tea was ready, and Claireate and drank, keeping her eyes turned resolutely from the clock. Before it had struck the hour, there came from the hall the sound of awell-known double knock, and she knew that the hour of her ordeal hadarrived. 

She did not rise from the table; the tea-things were clattering with thetrembling of the hand that was resting upon the tray, she literally hadnot the strength to rise. She lay back in her chair and staredhelplessly at the opening door. 

Cecil came in. It came as a shock to see her looking so natural, soentirely the Cecil Claire was accustomed to see. She looked tired, anda trifle cross, but alas! these had been prevailing expressions even inthe days when things were going comparatively well. Casual in her ownmanner, she saw nothing unusual in Claire's lack of welcome, she noddedan off-hand greeting, and drew up a chair to the table. 

"Well! I've come. Give me a cup of tea as a start. I've had a rushfor it. You said to-day, if possible, and I had nothing special onhand, so I thought I had better come. What's the news, and what's thedanger? Which of us does it affect, --me or you?"

"Oh, it's--horrid, horrid, horrid! It's a long story. Finish your teafirst, then I'll tell you. I'm _so_ miserable!"

"Poor old girl!" Cecil said kindly, and helped herself to bread andbutter. Claire had a miserable conviction that her reply had had adeceptive effect, and that the shock when it came, would be all the moresevere. Nevertheless, she was thankful for the reprieve; thankful tosee Cecil eat sandwiches with honest enjoyment, until the last one haddisappeared from the plate. 

"Well!" Cecil pushed aside her cup, and rested an arm on the table. "Let's get to business. I promised mother I'd catch the six o'clocktrain back. What's it all about? Some young squire wanting to marryyou, and you want my advice? Take him, my dear! You won't always beyoung and beautiful!"

Claire shook her head. 

"Nothing about me. I wouldn't have worried you in the holidays, if--ifit hadn't been for your own sake... "

The red flowed into Cecil's cheeks, her face hardened, the tone of hervoice was icy cold. 

"_My_ sake? I don't understand. I am not aware that you have anyresponsibility about my affairs!"

"Cecil, I have! I must have. We have lived together. I have lovedyou--"

Mary Rhodes waved aside the protestations with impatient scorn. 

"Don't be sentimental, please! You are not one of the girls. If it'sthe money, and you are in a hurry to be repaid--"

"I'm not. I'm not! I don't care if you _never_ pay... " Tears ofdistress rose in Claire's eyes, she caught her breath and cried in achoking sob. "Cecil, it's about--him! I've found out something. I'veseen him... Only last night... "

"I thought you might meet as his camp was so near. Suppose you did!What was so terribly alarming in that?"

"You haven't heard? He hasn't been to see you, or written, or wired, to-day?"

"He has not. Why should he? Don't be hysterical, Claire. If you haveanything to say, say it, and let me hear. What have you `found out'about Major Carew?"

"He's--_not_ Major Carew!" Claire cried desperately. "He has deceivedyou, Cecil, and pretended to be ... To be something quite different fromwhat he really is. There _is_ a real Major Carew, and his name isFrank, and he has a home in Surrey, and an invalid father--everythingthat he told you was true, only--he is not the man! Oh, Cecil, howshall I tell you? It's so dreadfully, dreadfully hard. He knew allabout the real Major Carew, and could get hold of photographs to showyou, because he--he is his servant, Cecil--his soldier servant... Hewas with him in camp!"

Cecil rose from her chair, and went over to the empty fireplace, standing with her back to her companion. She spoke no word, and Clairestruggled on painfully with her explanations. 

"He--the real Major Carew--came over to a tennis party at MrsFanshawe's yesterday. I thought, of course, that it was another man ofthe same name, but he said--he said there was no other in that regiment, and he asked me to tell him some more, and I did, and everything I saidamazed him more and more, for it was true about _himself_! Then heasked me to describe--the man, and he made an excuse to send his servantover in the evening so that I should see him. He came. Oh, Cecil! Hesaw me, and he--ran away! He had not returned this morning. He has_deserted_!"

Still silence. It seemed to Claire of most pitiful import that Cecilmade no disclaimer, that at the word of a stranger she accepted herlover's guilt. What a light on the past was cast by that stoneysilence, unbroken by a solitary protest. Poor Mary Rhodes had known nodoubts as to the man's identity, she had given him affection and help, but respect and trust could never have entered into the contract!

Claire had said her say: she leant her elbows on the table, and buriedher head in her hands. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily foran endless five minutes. Then Cecil spoke:--

"I suppose, " she said harshly, "you expect me to be grateful for this!"

The sound of her voice was like a blow. Claire looked up, startled, protesting. 

"Oh, Cecil, surely you would rather know?"

"Should I?" Cecil asked slowly. "Should I?" She turned back to thetireless grate, and her thoughts sped... With her eyes opened she wouldnot, of course, consent to marry this man who had so meanly abused hertrust, but--suppose she had not known! Suppose in ignorance themarriage had taken place? If he had been loving, if he had been kind, would she in after days have regretted the step? At the bottom of herweary woman's heart, Cecil answered that she would _not_. The fraud wasunpardonable, yet she could have pardoned it, if it had been done forlove of herself. No stately Surrey mansion would have been her home, but a cottage of three or four rooms, but it would have been her _own_cottage, her _own_ home. She would have felt pride in keeping it cleanand bright. There would have been some one to work for: some one tocare: some one to whom she _mattered_. And suddenly there came thethought of another joy that might have been; she held to her breast achild that was no paid charge, but her very own, bone of her bone, fleshof her flesh... 

"No! No!" she cried harshly, "I am not grateful. _Why_ did you tellme? Why did you spoil it? What do I care who he was? He was my man;he wanted me. He told lies _because_ he wanted me... I am getting old, and I'm tired and cross, but he cared. --He _did_ care, and he looked upto me, and wanted to appear my equal... Oh, I'm not excusing him. Iknow all you would say. He deceived me--he borrowed money that he couldnever pay back, but he would have confessed some day, he would have hadto confess, and I should have forgiven him. I'd have forgiven himanything, _because_ he cared ... And after that--he would have caredmore--I should have had him. I should have had my home... "

Claire hid her face, and groaned in misery of spirit. From her ownpoint of view it seemed impossible that any woman should regret a manwho had proved so unworthy, but once again she reminded herself that herown working life counted only one year, as against Cecil's twelve; onceagain she felt she had no right to judge. Presently she became awarethat Cecil was moving about the room, opening the bureau, and takingpapers out of a drawer. At the end of ten minutes she came back to thetable, and began drawing on her gloves. Her face was set and tearless, but the lines had deepened into a new distinctness. Claire had apitiful realisation that this was how Cecil would look when she was_old_. 

"Well, " she said curtly, "that's finished! I may as well go for mytrain. I'm sorry to appear ungracious, but you could hardly expect meto be pleased. You meant well, of course, but it's a pity to interfere. There's just one thing I'd like to make clear--you and I can hardlylive together after this. I never was a very agreeable companion, and Ishall be worse in the future. It would be better for your own sake tomake a fresh start, and for myself--I'm sorry to appear brutal, but Icould not stand another winter together. It would remind me toomuch... "

She broke off abruptly, and Claire burst into helpless tears. 

"Oh, Cecil, Cecil ... Don't hate me--don't blame me too much! It's beenhard on me, too. Do you think I _liked_ breaking such news? Of courseI will take fresh rooms. I can understand that you'd rather have someone else, but let us still be friends! Don't turn against mealtogether. I'm lonely, too... I've got my own trouble!"

"Poor little Claire!" Cecil melted at once, with the quick responsewhich always rewarded an appeal to her better feelings. "Poor littleClaire. You're a good child; you've done your best. It isn't _your_fault. " She lifted her bag from the table, and took a step towards thedoor, then resolutely turned back, and held out her hand. "Good-bye. Don't cry. What's the good of crying? Good luck to you, my dear, and--take warning by me. I don't know what your trouble is, but as it isn'tmoney, it's probably love. --If it is, don't play the fool. If thechance of happiness comes along, don't throw it away out of pride, orobstinacy, or foolish prejudice. You won't always be young. When youget past thirty, it's ... It's hard ... When there's nothing--"

She broke off again, and walked swiftly from the room. 

The next moment the front door banged loudly. Cecil had gone. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

A SUDDEN RESOLVE. 

The next morning brought a letter from the farm bidding Claire welcomeas soon as she chose to arrive, but there was no second letter on thetable. Claire had not realised how confidently she had expected itspresence, until her heart sank with a sick, heavy faintness as shelifted the one envelope, and looked in vain for a second. 

Erskine had not written. Did that mean that he had taken her hastyanswer as final, and would make no further appeal? She had read of menwho had boasted haughtily that no girl should have an opportunity ofrefusing them _twice_; that the woman who did not know her own mind wasno wife for them, but like every other lover she felt her own case to beunique. Driven to answer in a moment of intolerable irritation, whatelse could she have said?

But he had not written! What did that mean? At the moment ofdiscovering her departure, Erskine had been consumed with anger, butafterwards, had his mother's counsels prevailed? Had he repentedhimself of his hasty impulse? Would the days pass on, and the months, and the years, and leave her like Cecil, solitary, apart?

Claire made a pretence at eating her breakfast, and then, too restlessto stay indoors, put on her hat, and went out to roam the streets untilit should be time to visit Sophie in her hospital. 

Two hours later she returned and packed up not only her entire wardrobe, but the whole of her personal possessions. In the course of her walkthere had come to her one of those curious contradictory impulses whichare so characteristic of a woman's nature. Having poured out her heartin grief because Erskine had neither written nor followed her to town, she was now restlessly impatient to make communication impossible, andto bury herself where she could not be found. Before leaving the houseshe made Lizzie happy by a present of money, accompanied by quite agoodly bundle of clothing, after which she interviewed the landlady, gave notice that she no longer needed the rooms, and wrote out a chequein payment of all claims. Then a taxi was summoned, the various boxespiled on top, and another chapter of life had come to an end. 

Claire drove to the station, whence she proposed to take a lateafternoon train to the farm, deposited her boxes in the left luggageoffice, and strolled listlessly towards the great bookstall under theclock. Another hour remained to be whiled away before she could startfor the hospital; she would buy a book, sit in the waiting-room, and tryto bury herself in its pages. She strolled slowly down the length ofthe stall, her eyes passing listlessly from one pile of books toanother, finding little interest in them, and even less in the men andwomen who stood by her side. As Mrs Fanshawe would have said, "No onewas in town"; even school-mistresses had flown from the region of bricksand mortar. If she had thought about it at all, Claire would have saidthat there was no one she _could_ meet, but suddenly a hand grasped herarm, and brought her to a halt. She started violently, and for aninstant her heart leapt with a wild glad hope. It was not ErskineFanshawe who confronted her, however, but a girl clad in a tweed costumewith a cloth cap to match, on the side of which a sprig of heather wasfastened by a gold brooch fashioned in the shape of a thistle. Inbewildered surprise Claire recognised the brown eyes and round freckledface of Janet Willoughby, whom she had believed to be hundreds of milesaway, in the highlands of Scotland. 

"Just come back, " Janet explained. "The weather was impossible. Nothing but sheets of rain. I got tired, and came back to pay somevisits in the south. " She hesitated, then asked a sudden question. "Are you busy? Going anywhere at once? Could you spare half an hour?We might have lunch together in the refreshment room!"

"Yes. No. I'd like to. I've had no lunch. " Claire falterednervously, whereupon Janet turned to her maid, who was standing near, dressing-bag in hand, and gave a few quick instructions. 

"Get a taxi, Ross, and take all the things home. The car can wait forme. I'll follow later. "

The maid disappeared, and the two girls made their way across the openspace. Both looked nervous and ill at ease, both dreaded the coming_tete-a-tete_, yet felt that it was a thing to be faced. Janet led theway to a table in the farthest corner of the room, and they talkedtrivialities until the ordered dishes were set on the table, and thewaiter had taken his departure. Claire had ordered coffee, and drankeagerly, hoping that the physical refreshment would help to steady hernerves. Janet played with her knife and fork, and said, without lookingup--

"You have left the Fanshawes, then! I heard that you were staying on. "

"Yes. Yesterday I--came back. "

The very lameness of the answer made it significant. Janet's freckledface turned noticeably pale. 

"Erskine went straight home after he left Scotland?"

"Yes. "

"And before he arrived, you had promised to stay on?"

"Mrs Fanshawe asked me, before he came, if I could stay for anotherweek, and I was very glad to accept. I had no other engagement. "

"And then?"

"Oh, then things were different. She didn't need company, and--and--things happened. My friend, Miss Rhodes--"

Janet waved aside "my friend, Miss Rhodes, " with an impatient hand. 

"And Erskine? What did _he_ say to your leaving?"

The colour flamed in Claire's cheek; she stammered in hopelessconfusion, and, in the midst of her stammering, Janet laid both hands onthe table, and, leaning forward so that the two faces were only a fewinches apart, spoke a few startling words--

"Has he--_proposed_ to you? I must know! You must tell me!"

It was a command, rather than an appeal, and Claire automaticallyreplied--

"He--he did! Yes, but--"

"And you?"

"I--couldn't. I said no!"

"You said no! Erskine asked you to be his wife, and you _refused_?"Janet stared in incredulous bewilderment. A spark of indignation shonein her brown eyes. "But why? You care for him. Any girl might beproud to marry Erskine Fanshawe. _Why_?"

"I can't tell you. It's so difficult. His mother--she didn't want me. She would have hated it. She almost turned me out. "

"His _mother_! Mrs Fanshawe!" Janet's voice was full of an ineffablesurprise. "You refused Erskine because of _her_ prejudice? But she isalways changing; she is the most undependable woman on the face of theearth! She is charming, and I'm fond of her, but I should not take heradvice about a pair of gloves. Nothing that she could say wouldpossibly have the slightest influence on my life. She's irresponsible;she sees entirely from her own standpoint. And Erskine--Erskine is arock!" She paused, pressing her lips together to still their trembling, and Claire answered with a note of apology in her voice. 

"Janet, I _know_! Don't think I don't appreciate him. Wait till youhear how it happened... He followed me to the station; it was the verylast moment, just as the train was starting. There was time for onlyone word, and--I was sore and angry!"

Janet looked at her, a long, searching look. 

"It's curious, but I always knew this would come. When I saw yousitting together at supper that first night, I knew then. All the timeI knew it in my heart, but on the surface it seemed ridiculous, for younever met!"

"Never that you did not know, except one time in the park. There wasnothing to tell you, Janet; nothing to hide. "

"No. So he said. We talked of you in Scotland, you know, and it wasjust as I thought--a case of recognising each other at first sight. Hesaid the moment he saw you you seemed different from everyone else, andhe hoped and believed that you felt the same. That is how people oughtto love; the right way, when both are attached, both feel the same... And it is so rare. Yet you _refused_!"

"Would you marry a man if his family disapproved?"

"Oh, yes! I should not be marrying the family. I'd be sorry, ofcourse, but I'd make up my mind that in time I'd make them fall in lovewith me, too. What are you going to do now?"

"Going away. Into the country. I want to be quiet, and think. "

Janet did not ask the address. She sat silent, staring into space, thenasked a sudden irrelevant question:

"Did he send you the cuckoo clock?"

"I--think so! It had no name, but it came from Switzerland while he wasthere. He has never referred to it since. "

"Ah!" Janet began pulling on her gloves. "I knew that, too. I _felt_that he had sent it. Well! I must go. It will all come right, ofcourse, and you will be very happy. I've known Erskine so long, and hiswife is sure to be happy. " Janet forced an artificial little laugh. "You will be engaged before me, after all, but I dare say I shall soonfollow suit. It's nice to be loved. As one grows older, oneappreciates it more. And Captain Humphreys is a good man. "

"He is splendid! I loved his face. And he is so devoted to you. Itwas quite beautiful to watch him, " cried Claire, thankful from her heartto be able to enthuse honestly. 

A load was lifted from her heart by Janet's prophecy of her own future. For the moment it had no doubt been made more out of bravado than anyreal conviction, and inevitably there must be a period of suffering, butJanet was of a naturally buoyant nature, and her wounded spirit wouldgradually find consolation in the love which had waited so patiently forits reward. It needed no great gift of prophecy to see her in thefuture, a happy, contented wife. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

EASIER TO DIE. 

When Janet had taken her departure Claire looked at the clock and foundthat it was time to start for the hospital. She went out of thestation, and, passing a shop for flowers and fruit went in, spent tenshillings in the filling of a reed basket, and, leaving the shop, seatedherself in one of the taxis which were standing in readiness outside thegreat porch. Such carelessness of money was a natural reversion tohabit, which came as a consequence of her absorbed mind. 

The great hospital looked bare and grim, the smell of iodoform was morerepellent than ever, after the sweet scents of the country. Claire knewher way by this time, and ascended by lift to the women's ward, whereSophie lay. Beside almost every bed one or two visitors were seated, but Sophie was alone. Down the length of the ward Claire caught aglimpse of a recumbent form, and felt a pang at the thought of the manyvisiting days when her friend had remained alone. With no relations intown, her brother's family too pressed for means to afford expeditionsfrom the country, Sophie had no hope of seeing a familiar face, and hervery attitude bespoke dejection. 

Claire walked softly to the further side of the bed, and dangled thebasket before the half-covered face, whereupon Sophie pushed back theclothes and sat up, her eyes lighting with joy. 

"_Claire_! You! Oh, you dearly beloved, I thought you were still away!Oh, I am glad--I am glad! I was so dreadfully blue!"

She looked it. Even in the eagerness of welcome her face looked whiteand drawn, and the pretty pink jacket, Claire's own gift, seemed toaccentuate her pallor. The hands with which she fondled the flowerswere surely thinner than they had been ten days before. 

"My dear, what munificence! Have you come into a fortune? And fruitunderneath! I shall be able to treat the whole ward! When did you comeback? Have you had a good time? Are you going on to the farm? It _is_good of you to come again. It's--it's hard being alone when you see theother patients with their own people. The nurses are dears, but theyare so rushed, poor things, they haven't time to stay and talk. And oh, Claire, the days! They're so wearily _long_!"

Claire murmured tender exclamations of understanding and pity. A painedconviction that Sophie was no better made her shrink from putting theobvious question; but Sophie did not wait to be asked. 

"Oh, Claire, " she cried desperately, "it's so hard to be patient and tokeep on hoping, when there's no encouragement to hope! I'm not onescrap better after all that has been tried, and I've discovered thatthey did not expect me to be better; the best they seem to hope for isthat I may not grow worse! It's like running at the pitch of one'sspeed, and succeeding only in keeping in the same place. And there areother arthritics in this ward!" She shuddered. "When I think that Imay become like _them_! It would be much easier to die. "

"I think it would often seem easier, " Claire agreed sadly, her thoughtsturning to Cecil, whose trouble at the moment seemed as heavy as the onebefore her. "But we can't be deserters, Sophie. We must stick to ourposts, and play the game. When these troubles come, we just _have_ tobear them. There's no hiding, or running away. There's only one choiceopen to us--whether we bear it badly or well. "

But Sophie's endurance was broken by weeks of suffering, and her brightspirit was momentarily under an eclipse. 

"Everybody doesn't have to bear them! Things are so horribly uneven, "she cried grudgingly. "Look at your friend Miss Willoughby, with thatangel of a mother, and heaps of money, and health, and strength, and abeautiful home, and able to have anything she wants, as soon as shewants it. What does _she_ know of trouble?"

Claire thought of Janet's face, as it had faced her across the table inthe refreshment room, but it was not for her to betray another's secret, so she was silent, and Sophie lifted a spray of pink roses, and heldthem against her face, saying wistfully--

"You're a good little soul, Claire, and it's because you are good that Iwant to know what your opinion is about all this trouble and misery. What good can it possibly do me to have my life ruined by this illness?Don't tell me that it will not be ruined. It must be, in a materialsense, and I'm not all spiritual yet; there's a lot of material in mynature, and I live in a material world, and I want to be able to enjoyall the dear, sweet, natural, human joys which come as a right toordinary human beings. I want to _walk_! Oh, my dear, I look out ofthese windows sometimes and see all the thousands and thousands ofpeople passing by, and I wonder if a single one out of all the crowdever thinks of being thankful that he can _move_! I didn't myself, butnow--when I hobble along--"

She broke off, shaking back her head as though to defy the rising tears, then lay back against the pillows, looking at Claire, and sayingurgently--"Go on! Tell me what you think!"

"I think, " Claire answered slowly, "that we are bound to grow! The mereact of death is not going to lift us at once to our full height. Ourtraining must go on after we leave this sphere; but, Sophie dear, someof us have an extra hard training here, and if we bear it in the rightway, surely, surely when we move up, it must be into a higher class thanif things had been all smooth and easy. There must be less to learn, less to conquer, more to enjoy. You and I are school-mistresses andought to realise the difficulties of mastering difficult tasks. Don'tlook upon this illness as cheating you out of a pleasant holiday, dear--look upon it as special training for an honours exam. !"

Sophie smiled, her old twinkling smile, and stroked Claire's hand withthe spray of roses. 

"I knew you'd say something nice! I knew you'd put it in a quaint, refreshing way. I shall remember that, when I am alone, and feelcourage oozing out of every pore. Two o'clock in the morning is aparticularly cheery time when you are racked with pain! Claire, I askedthe doctor to tell me honestly whether there was any chance of my evertaking up the old work again, and he said, honestly, he feared there wasnone. "

"But Mrs Willoughby--"

"I asked that, too. He says he quite hopes to get me well enough to goto Egypt in October or November, and that I should certainly be muchbetter there. It would be the best thing that could happen if it cameoff! But--"

Claire held up a protesting hand. 

"No ifs! No buts! Do your part, and get better, and leave the rest toProvidence and--Mrs Willoughby! It's her mission in life to helpgirls, and she'll help _you_, too, or know the reason why. The trulysensible thing would be for you to begin to prepare your clothes. Whatabout starting a fascinating blouse at once? Your hands are quite ableto sew, and if you once got to work with chiffon and lace the time wouldfly! You might write for patterns to-night. You would enjoy looking atpatterns. "

When Claire took her departure half an hour later, she left behind avery different Sophie from the wan dejected-looking creature whom shehad found on her arrival. 

Hers was a happy nature, easily cheered, responsive to comfort, andClaire had a happy conviction that whatever physical handicaps might bein store, her spirit would rise valiantly to the rescue. A winter inEgypt was practically assured, since Mrs Willoughby had privatelyinformed Claire that if nothing better offered, she would send Sophie ather own expense to help in the household of her niece--an officer'swife, who would be thankful for assistance, though she could not affordto pay the passage out. What was to happen in the future no one couldtell, and there was no profit in asking the question. The next step wasclear, and the rest must be left to faith, but with a chilling of theblood Claire asked herself what became of the disabled working women whohad no influential friends to help in such a crisis; the women who fellout of the ranks to die by the roadside homeless, penniless, _alone_?

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

SURRENDER. 

It was a very limp and exhausted Claire who arrived at the farm thatevening, and if she had had her own way she would have hurried to bedwithout waiting for a meal, but the kind countrywoman displayed suchdisappointment at the idea that she allowed herself to be dissuaded, satdown to a table spread with home-made dainties and discovered that shewas hungrier than she had believed. The fried ham and eggs, the freshbutter, the thick yellow cream, the sweet coarse bread, were all thebest of their kind, and Claire smiled at her own expense as she lookedat the emptied dishes, and reflected that, for a person who hadprofessed herself unable to eat a bite, she had made a pretty goodsweep!

The bed was somewhat bumpy, as farmhouse beds have a habit of being;there was one big ball in especial which took many wrigglings to avoid;but on the other hand the sheets smelt deliciously, not of lavender, butof lemon thyme, and the prevailing air of cleanliness was deliciousafter the smoke-laden atmosphere of town. Claire told herself that shecould not expect to sleep. She resigned herself to hear the clockstrike every hour--and as a matter of fact after ten o'clock she wasunconscious of the whole world, until her breakfast-tray was carriedinto the room next morning. 

After breakfast she had another nap, and after lunch still another, andin the intervals wandered about the farm-yard, laboriously striving totake an interest in what really interested her not at all. Hens seemedto her the dullest of created creatures, pigs repelled, cows wereregarded with uneasy suspicion, and sheep, seen close at hand, lost allthe picturesque quality of a distant flock, and became stupid long-facedcreatures, by no means as clean as they might be. Milking-time arousedno ambition to experiment on her own account, and a glass of foaming newmilk proved unexpectedly nauseous. Sad as it was to confess it, sheinfinitely preferred the chalked and watered edition of the city!

Indoors things were no better, for the tiny sitting-room stood by itselfat the end of a passage, cut off from the life of the house. It wasspotlessly clean and the pride of its owner's heart, but containednothing of interest to an outsider. Pictures there were none, with theexception of portraits of the farmer and his wife, of the enlargedphotograph type, and a selection of framed funeral cards in a corner. Books there were none, with the exception of a catalogue of anAgricultural Show, and a school prize copy of _Black Beauty_. Beforethe second night was over Claire had read _Black Beauty_ from cover tocover; the next morning she was dipping into the catalogue, and tryingto concentrate her attention on "stock. "

As her body grew rested, Claire's mind became increasingly active. Itwas inevitable, but the second stage was infinitely harder to bear. Forthe first hours after her arrival her supreme longing had been to liedown and shut her eyes; but now restlessness overtook her, and withevery fresh hour drove her more helplessly to and fro. She went out forlong walks over the countryside, her thoughts so engrossingly turnedinward that she saw nothing of the landscape on either hand; shereturned to the house and endeavoured to write, to read, to sew, only togive up the attempt at the end of half an hour, and once more wanderhelplessly forth. 

The good countrywoman was quick to sense that some hidden trouble waspreying on her guest, and showed her sympathy in practical fashion. 

"A bit piney-like, aren't you? I seed from the first that you waspiney-like, " she said, standing tray in hand on the threshold of thelittle parlour, her fresh, highly-coloured face smiling kindly upon thepale girl. "I always do say that I pities ladies when they has anythingon their minds; sitting about, same as you do now, with nothing to takethem off theirselves. A body like me that has to keep a house clean, and cook and wash, and mind the children, to say naught of the sewingand the mending, and looking after the cows and the hens, and all theextra fusses and worries that come along, she hasn't got no time toremember herself, and when she gets to bed she's too tired to think. Now if you was to have some work--"

Claire's face brightened with a sudden inspiration. 

"Will you give me some work? Let me help _you_! Do, please, MrsCorby; I'd be so grateful. Let me come into the kitchen and dosomething now. I feel so lonely shut off here, all by myself. "

Mrs Corby laughed, her fat comfortable laugh. 

"Bless your 'art, you can come along and welcome. I'll be proud to haveyou. It ain't much you know of housework, I expect, but it'll do you noharm to learn. I'll find you some little jobs. "

"Oh, I'm not so useless as you think. I can brush and dust, and polish, and wash up, and I know a good deal about cooking. I'll make a salad toeat with the cold meat--a real French salad. I'm sure Mr Corby wouldenjoy a French salad, " cried Claire, glancing out of the window at thewell-stocked kitchen garden, and thinking of the wet lettuce and uncutonions, which were the good woman's idea of the dish in question. "MayI make one to-day?"

Mrs Corby smiled with a fine resignation. Personally she wanted noneof them nasty messy foods, but there! the poor thing meant well, and ifit would make her happy, let her have her way. So Claire collected hermaterials, and washed and mixed, and filled a great bowl, and decoratedthe top with slices of hardboiled eggs, and a few bright nasturtiumblossoms, while three linty-locked children stood by, watching withfascinated attention. At dinner Claire thoroughly enjoyed her share ofher own salad, but the verdict of the country-people was far fromenthusiastic. 

"I don't go for to deny that it tasted well enough, " Mrs Corby saidwith magnanimous candour, "but what I argue is, what's the sense ofusing up all them extras--eggs, and oil, and what not--when you canmanage just as well without? I've never seen the day when I couldn'trelish a bit o' plain lettuce and a plate of good spring onions!"

"But the eggs and the dressing make it more nourishing, " Clairemaintained. "In France the peasants have very often nothing but saladfor their dinner--great dishes of salad, with plenty of eggs. "

"Eh, poor creatures! It makes your heart bleed to think of it. We maybe thankful we are not foreign born!" Mrs Corby pronounced withunction, and Claire retired from the struggle, and decided that for thefuture it would be more tactful to learn, rather than to endeavour toteach. The next morning, therefore, she worked under Mrs Corby'ssupervision, picking fruit, feeding chickens, searching for eggs, andother light tasks designed to keep her in the open air; and in theafternoon accompanied the children on a message to a farm some distanceaway. The path lay across the fields, away from the main road, and onreturning an hour later, Mrs Corby's figure was seen standing by herown gate, her hand raised to her eyes, as though watching for theirapproach. The children broke into a run, and Claire hurried forward, her heart beating with deep excited throbs. What was it? _Who_ was it?Nobody but Sophie and Cecil knew her address, but still, but still--For a moment hope soared, then sank heavily down as Mrs Corbyannounced--

"A lady, miss. Come to see you almost as soon as you left. She'swaiting in the parlour. "

Cecil! Claire hardly knew if she were sorry or relieved. It would be ablessing to have some one to whom she could speak, but, on the otherhand, what poor Cecil had to say would not fail to be depressing. Shewent slowly down the passage, taking a grip over her own courage, openedthe door, and stood transfixed. 

In the middle of the hard horsehair sofa sat Mrs Fanshawe herself, herelaborately coiffured, elaborately attired figure lookingextraordinarily out of place in the prim bareness of the little room. Her gloved hands were crossed on her lap, she sat ostentatiously erect, her satin cloak falling around her in regal folds; her face was a triflepaler than usual, but the mocking light shone in her eyes. At Claire'sentrance she stood up, and crossed the little room to her side. 

"My dear, " she said calmly, "I am an obstinate old woman, but I have thesense to know when I'm beaten. I have come to offer my apologies. "

A generous heart is quick to forgive. At that moment Claire felt a pangindeed, but it came not from the remembrance of her own wrongs, but fromthe sight of this proud, domineering woman humbling herself to a girl. Impulsively she threw out both hands, impulsively she stopped MrsFanshawe's lips with the kiss which she had refused at parting. 

"Oh, stop! Please don't! Don't say any more. I was wrong, too. Itook offence too quickly. You were thinking of me, as well as ofyourself. "

"Oh, no, I was not, " the elder woman corrected quietly. "Neither ofyou, nor your friend, my dear, though I took advantage of the excuse. You came between me and my plans, and I wanted to get you out of theway. You saw through me, and I suppose I deserved to be seen through. It's an unpleasant experience, but if it's any satisfaction to you toknow it, I've been _well_ punished for interfering. Erskine has seen tomy punishment. "

The blood rushed to Claire's face. How much did Mrs Fanshawe know?Had Erskine told her of that hurried interview upon the station? Had heby any possibility told what he had _asked_? The blazing cheeks askedthe question as plainly as any words, and Mrs Fanshawe replied to itwithout delay. 

"Oh, yes, my dear, I know all about it. It was because I guessed thatwas coming that I wanted to clear the coast; but it appears that I wastoo late. Shall we sit down and talk this out, and for pity's sake seethat that woman doesn't come blundering in. It's such an anti-climax tohave to deal with a tea-tray in the midst of personal explanations. I'mnot accustomed to eating humble pie, and if I am obliged to do it atall, I prefer to do it in private. "

"She won't come. I don't have tea for another hour, " Claire assuredher. "And please don't eat humble pie for me. I was angry at the time, but you had been very kind to me before. I--I enjoyed that first weekvery much. "

"And so did I!" Mrs Fanshawe gave one of her dry, humorous, littlelaughs. "You are a charming companion, my dear. I was a little in lovewith you myself, but-- Well! to be honest, it did not please me that myson should follow my example. He is my only child, and I am proud andambitious for him, as any mother would be. I did not wish him to marrya--a--"

"A gentlewoman who was honourably working at an honourable profession!"concluded Claire for her, with a general stiffening of pose, voice andmanner; but Mrs Fanshawe only laughed once more, totally unaffected bythe pose. 

"No, my dear, I did not! It's very praiseworthy, no doubt, to train thenext generation, but it doesn't appeal to me in the present connection. I was thinking of my son, and I wanted him to have a wife of positionand fortune, who would be able to help his career. If you had been agirl of fortune and position, I should have been quite ready to welcomeyou. You are a pretty creature, and much more intelligent than mostgirls of your age, but, you see, you are not--"

"I have no money but what I earn, but I belong to a good family. Iobject to your saying that I have no position, Mrs Fanshawe, simplybecause I live in lodgings and work for my living!"

Mrs Fanshawe shrugged with a touch of impatience. 

"Oh, well, my dear, why bandy words? I have told you that I am beaten, so it's useless to argue the point. Erskine has decided for himself, and, as I told you before, one might as well try to bend a granite wallas move him when he has once made up his mind. I've planned, andschemed, and hoped, and prayed for the last dozen years, and at thefirst sight of that pretty face of yours all my plans went to the wall. If I'd been a wise woman I would have recognised the inevitable, andgiven in with a good grace, but I never was wise, never shall be, so Iran my head up against the wall. I've been through a bad time since youleft me, my dear, and I was forgiven only on the understanding that Icame here and made my peace with you. Have I made peace? Do youunderstand what I mean? That I withdraw my opposition, and if youaccept my boy, you shall have nothing to fear. I'll make you welcome;and I'll be as good to you as it's in my nature to be. I'll treat youwith every courtesy. Upon my word, my dear, as mothers-in-law go, Ithink you would come off pretty well!"

"I--I--I'm sure--You're very kind... " Claire stammered in helplessembarrassment; and Mrs Fanshawe, watching her, first smiled, thensighed, and said in a quick low voice--

"Ah, my dear, you can afford to be generous! If you live to be my age, and have a son of your own, whom you have loved, and cherished, andmothered for over thirty years, and at the end he speaks harshly to youfor the sake of a girl whom he has known a few short months, puts herbefore you, finds it hard to forgive you because you have wounded herpride--ah, well, it's hard to bear! I don't want to whine, but--don'tmake it more difficult for me than you can help! I have apologised. Now it's for you--"

Claire put both arms round the erect figure, and rested her head on thefolds of the black satin cloak. Neither spoke, but Mrs Fanshawe lifteda little lace-edged handkerchief to her eyes, and her shoulders heavedonce and again. Then suddenly she arose and walked towards the door. 

"The car is waiting. Don't come with me, my dear. I'll see you again. "

She waived Claire back in the old imperious way against which there wasno appeal. Evidently she wished to be alone, and Claire re-seatedherself on the sofa, flushed, trembling, so shaken out of her bearingsthat it was difficult to keep hold of connected thought. The impossiblehad happened. In the course of a few short minutes difficulties whichhad seemed insurmountable had been swept from her path. Within hergrasp was happiness so great, so dazzling that the very thought of ittook away her breath. 

Her eyes fell on the watch at her wrist. Ten minutes to four! Twentyminutes ago--barely twenty minutes--at the end of the field path she hadlooked at that little gold face with a dreamy indifference, wonderingonly how many minutes remained to be whiled away before it was time fortea. Even a solitary tea-drinking had seemed an epoch in the uneventfulday. Uneventful! Claire mentally repeated the word, the while her eyesglowed, and her heart beat in joyful exultation. Surely, surely inafter-remembrance this day would stand out as one all-important, epoch-making. 

And then suddenly came a breathless question. How had Mrs Fanshawediscovered her retreat? No address had been left at Laburnum Crescent;no address had been given to Janet Willoughby. Cecil was in hermother's home; Sophie in hospital. In the name of all that wasmysterious and inexplicable, _how had she been tracked_?

Claire sat bolt upright on her sofa, her grey eyes widened in amaze, herbreath coming sharply through her parted lips. She thrilled at therealisation that Erskine's will had overcome all difficulties. Had notMrs Fanshawe declared that she came at his instigation? And where themother had come, would not the son follow?

At that moment a shadow fell across the floor; against the open space ofthe window a tall figure stood, blocking the light. Erskine's eagereyes met her own. Before the first gasp of surprise had left her lips, his strong hands had gripped the sill, he had vaulted over and stood byher side. 

"I sent on my advance guard, and waited till her return. Did you thinkyou had hidden yourself where I could not find you? I should have foundyou wherever you had gone; but as it happens it was easy enough. Youforgot that you had forwarded flowers to your friend in hospital! Shewas ready enough to give me your address. And now--_Claire_"--he heldout his hands, gazing down into her face--"what have you to say to menow?"

Instinctively Claire's hands stretched out to meet his, but on thefollowing impulse she drew back, clasping them nervously behind herback. 

"Oh, are you _sure_?" she cried breathlessly. "Are you _sure_ you aresure? Think what it means! Think of the difference it might make! Ihave no money, no influence; I'd be an expense to you, and a drag whenanother girl might help. Think! Think! Oh, do be quite sure!"

Erskine's stern eyes melted into a beautiful tenderness as he looked ather troubled face. He waited no longer, but came a step nearer, andtook forcible possession of the hidden hands. 

"It is not my feelings which are in question; it is _yours_. There hasbeen no doubt in my mind for months past. I think you know that, Claire!"

"But--your career?"

"I can look after my own career. Do you think it is the straight thingto suggest to a soldier that he needs a woman to help him in his work?It's not as a soldier I need you, but as a man. I need you there, Claire. I need you badly! No one else could help me as you can!"

Claire's lips quivered, but still she hung back, standing away from himat the length of her stretched arms. 

"I've no money. I'm a--a school-mistress. Your friends will think--"

"I am not considering what my friends will think. "

"Your mother thought--"

"I am not asking you to marry my mother. Mothers of only sons are hardto please, but you know as well as I can tell you that the mater is fondof you at heart, and that she will grow fonder still. She had her ownideas, and she fought for them, but she won't fight any more. Youmustn't be hard on the mater, Claire. She has done her best for me to-day. "

"I know! I know! I was sorry for her. Sorrier than I was for myself. It's so hard that I should have come between you two!"

At that Erskine laughed, a short, impatient laugh. 

"Oh, Claire, Claire, how long are you going to waste time in discussingother people's feelings, before you tell me about your own? Darling, I'm in love with you!--I'm in love for the first time in my life. I'mimpatient. I'm waiting. There's no one in the world for me at thismoment but just yourself; I'm waiting for you to forget every one butme. Do you love me, Claire?"

"You know I do! You know I do! Oh!" cried Claire, yielding to thestrength of the strong arms, and resting her head on the broad shoulderwith an unspeakable rush of joy and rest. "Oh, but you don't know howmuch! I can't tell you--I can't put it into words, but it's my wholeheart, my whole life! Oh, every _thought_ has been with you for such along, long time. "

"My darling! My own sweet, brave little girl! And my thoughts withyou! Thank God, we shall be together now. We have had enough ofseparation and chance meetings. There must be an end of that. You'llhave to marry me at once!"

This was rushing ahead with a vengeance! Claire shook her head, with alittle laugh sweet as a chime of joy bells. 

"You ridiculous--boy! I can't. It's impossible. You forget my work. There's all next term. I couldn't possibly leave without givingnotice. "

"Couldn't you! We'll see to that. Do you seriously believe that I'mgoing to let you go back to that drudgery, and kick my heels waiting forfour months? You don't understand the kind of man you are marrying, mylass!"

Claire loved the sound of that "my lass, " loved the close grip of thearms, the feel of the rough cheek against her own. For a few minutesneither spoke, too utterly, completely absorbed in each other'spresence. To Claire, as to Erskine, a four months' delay seemed an aeonof time through which to wade before the consummation of a perfecthappiness, but it seemed impossible that it could be avoided. 

"Miss Farnborough would never let me off. She would be indignant withme for asking. "

"I'll tackle Miss Farnborough. Leave Miss Farnborough to me!" returnedErskine with so confident an air that Claire shook with amusement, seeing before her a picture of her lover seated _tete-a-tete_ with theformidable "Head, " breaking to her the news that one of her staffintended to play truant. 

"It's very easy to say that. You don't know her. She thinks everythingin the world comes second to education. "

"What if she does? I'll agree with her. You're the most preciousdarling in all the world, but you can't honestly believe that therearen't a thousand other mistresses who could teach those flappers aswell, or better! Whereas for _me_--well! it's Claire, or no one. I'llthrow myself on the good lady's tender mercies, and ask for your releaseas a favour to myself, and I bet you anything you like that I succeed. Miss Farnborough was a woman before she was a school-mistress. She'llset you free all right!"

"Perhaps--perhaps possibly at the half term. "

"Rubbish--the half term! We'll be married and settled down before weget near then... Where will you go for our marriage, Claire? To MrsWilloughby? I'm sure she'd be willing. "

"No!--no!" Claire marvelled at the obtuseness of men; at the utterunconsciousness of this particular man of the reason why MrsWilloughby's house should be the last one on earth from which hismarriage should take place. And then in the midst of thesequestionings, to her own surprise a sudden pricking of tears came to hereyes, and she cried sharply, "I want mother! I must have mother. Shemust come home. She'll come at once, when she hears--"

"We'll cable to-day. That will be best of all. I'm longing to meetyour mother, and you ought to have her with you, little lass! Poor, little, lonely lass! Please God, you shall never be lonely any more. "

"Ah, Erskine darling, but the _other women_!" Claire cried, and therewas the sharpness of pain in her voice. 

From within the shelter of her lover's arms her heart went out in a waveof tenderness towards her sisters who stood apart from the royal feast;towards Cecil with her blighted love, Sophie with her blighted health, with the thousand others for whom they stood as types; the countlesshordes of women workers for whom life was a monotonous round of grey-hued days, shadowed by the prospect of age and want. From the shelterof her lover's arms, Claire Gifford vowed herself to the service of herworking sisters. From the bottom of her heart she thanked God for theyear of work which had taught her to _understand_. 

THE END.