re in a beautiful, well-appointed home, among
friends; but driving home in the taxi she yawned persistently from one
door to the other. It was dreadfully tiring work being pleasant at the
same time to the whole five ages of man!

With the opening of the door of the saffron parlour came an end of
sleepiness, for on the table lay a square parcel, and the parcel bore
the same stamp, the same markings which she had seen duplicated in Janet
Willoughby's boudoir! Red as a rose was Claire as she stared at the
bold masculine writing of the address, tore open the wrappings of the
box, and drew forth a carved cuckoo clock with the well-known chalet
roof and long pendulum and chains. It was an exquisite specimen of its
kind, the best that could be obtained, but for the moment Claire had no
attention to spare for the gift itself; she was absorbed in hunting
among the paper and straw for a card which should settle the identity of
the donor. Not a line was to be found. Pink deepened to crimson on
Claire's cheeks.

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

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

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

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

The presence of the cuckoo clock preserved Claire from personal
suffering, but during that silen