season and out of season seemed to find its place on
that list, which certainly justified Master Reginald's eulogy of his
mother's "good feeds." Claire found it quite a serious matter to decide
between so many good things, and even with various curtailments, made
rather out of pride than inclination, the meal threatened to last some
considerable time.

Well! there was obvious satisfaction in the manner in which Captain
Fanshawe delivered his orders, and for herself, she had been dignified
and self-denying; she had resolutely shut the door between this man and
herself, and devoted herself to work, and now, since fate had thrown him
in 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, to
look at a broad strong frame. Putting aside all question of love and
marriage, the convent life is no more satisfying than the monastic.
Each sex was designed by God to be the complement of the other. Each
must suffer from lack of the other's companionship.

"I arrived just as you began your performance," Captain Fanshawe
informed her. "It was a great `draw.' Everybody had crowded forward to
listen. It was only towards the end of your second--er--how exactly
should one express it?--_morceau_, that I managed to get into seeing
line. 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 if
they would send me a card."

"Oh!" Captain Fanshawe was certainly surprised, and Claire mentally
snubbed herself because at the bottom of her heart there had lain a
suspicion that perhaps--just perhaps--he had come to-night in the hope
of meeting his acquaintance of the railway station. This was not the
case; no thought of her had been in his mind. Probably until the moment
of 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. They
are delightful people. Just the people you ought to know as a stranger
in town. How goes the school teaching, by the way? As well as you
expected?"

Claire deliberated, with pursed lips.

"No. I expected so much; I always do. But much better than other
people expected for me. Theoretically it's a fine life. There are
times when it seems that nothing could be fine