flowing, and giving opportunity for
a world of delicate phrasing. It was one of the pieces which she had
practised with a master, and with which she felt most completely at
home; and if the audience found it agreeable to hear, they also, to
judge from their faces, found it equally agreeable to watch. Claire's
cheeks were flushed to a soft rose-pink, her head moved to and fro,
unconsciously keeping time with the air; one little golden shoe softly
tapped the floor. Her unconsciousness of self added to the charm of the
performance. But once the audience noticed, with sympathetic amusement,
her composure was seriously threatened, so that the bird-like notes
quavered ominously, and the twin dimples deepened into veritable holes.
Claire had caught sight of Great-aunt Jane standing in solitary state at
the rear of the throng of listeners, her mittened fingers still
plucking, her eyes frosty with disapproval.

After that Claire safeguarded her composure by looking steadily downward
at the points of her shoes until the end of the song approached, when it
seemed 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 was
already on her lips, for there, standing in the doorway, his face
upraised to hers, stood her knight of the railway station, the rescuer
of the lost box--Erskine Fanshawe himself!

CHAPTER NINE.

THE SUPPER.

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

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

It was practically the ordinary invitation. There was nothing to find
fault with in the words themselves, yet the impression of a previous
arrangement was obviously left with the hearers, who fell back, giving
way as to a superior right. As for C