rived.
What a perfect dear Miss Willoughby seems to be!"

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

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

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

"What do you do on Sundays?"

"Go to church in the morning, and sleep in the afternoon. Sounds
elderly, doesn't it? But I do enjoy that sleep. The hour after lunch
is the most trying of the school day. It's all I can do sometimes to
smother my yawns, and not upset the whole class. It's part of the
Sunday rest to be able to let go, lie down hugging a hot bottle, and
sleep 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?" came
the unspoken question. "Why won't you give me a chance?"

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

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

"Chocolates, _marrons glacis_, crystallised peaches, French bon-bons,
plums