ch touch of vivid emerald green which
gave a _cachet_ to the whole. Yes, it was quite as pretty as she had
believed. Every whit as becoming. "I don't look a bit like a school-
mistress!" smiled Claire, and snoodled back again against the cushions
with 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 by
this time, but Claire had spent her life more or less in public, and was
accustomed to meet strangers as a matter of course, so there was no
dread to take the edge off her enjoyment.

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

The usual crowd of onlookers stood on either side of the door, and as
Claire descended from the taxi, the sight of her golden slippers and
floating clouds of gauze evoked a gratifying murmur of admiration. She
passed on with her head in the air, looking neither to right nor left,
but close against the rails stood a couple of working girls whose
wistful eyes drew her own as with a magnet. In their expression was a
whole world of awe, of admiration; they looked at her as at a denizen of
another sphere, hardly presuming even to be envious, so infinitely was
she removed from their grey-hued life. As Claire met their eyes, an
impulse seized her to stop and tell them that she was just a working
girl like themselves, but convention being too strong to allow of such
familiarities, she smiled instead, with such a frank and friendly
acknowledgment of their admiration as brought a flash of pleasure to
their faces.

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

The inside of the house seemed out of all proportion with the outside
appearance. This is a special peculiarity of the West End, which has
puzzled many a visitor besides Claire Gifford. What _is_ the magic
which transforms narrow slips of buildings into spacious halls and
imposing flights of stairways? Viewed from the street, the town houses
of well-known personages seem quite inadequate for their purpose; viewed
from within, they are all that is stately and appropriate. Those of us
who live in less favoured neighbourhoods would fain solve the ri