wasn't very often, for his people had taken fright, and
would not ask me to the house. They were rich people, and didn't want
him to marry a poor girl who was working for herself. It's a great
mistake, Claire, to be friends with a man when his relations ignore you.
If I'd had any pride I would have realised that, but I hadn't, and I
didn't care; I didn't care for anything but just to see him, and do what
he wished. And then, my dear, after a year he began to change. He
didn't write to me for weeks, and I had to go to school every day, and
try to think of the work, and be patient with the girls, and seem bright
and interested, as if I had nothing on my mind. It was near Christmas-
time, and we were rehearsing a play. I used to feel as if I should go
mad, staying behind after four o'clock to go over those wretched scenes,
when I was panting to run home to see if a letter had come! But each
time that we met again I forgot everything; I was so happy that I had no
time to grumble. That surprises you, doesn't it? You can hardly
believe that of me, but I was different then. I was quite nice. You
would have liked me, if you had known me then!"

"Dear old Cecil! I like you now. You know I do!"

"Oh, you put up with me! We get along well enough, but we are not
_friends_. If we had not been thrown together, you would never have
singled me out. Don't apologise, my dear; there's no need. I'm a
grumbling old thing, and you've been very patient. Well, that's how it
happened. I went out to meet him one night, and he told me quite calmly
that he was going to be married. She was the sweetest girl in the
world, and he was the happiest of men. Wanted me to know, because we
had been such _good_ friends, and he was sure I should be pleased!"

Claire drew her breath with a sharp, sibilant sound.

"And _you_? Oh, Cecil! What did you say?"

Mary Rhodes compressed her lips; the set look was in her face.

"I said what I thought! Quite plainly, and simply, and very much to the
point. I suppose it would have been dignified to congratulate him, and
pretend to be delighted; but I couldn't do it. He had broken my heart
for his own amusement, and he knew it as well as I did, so why should I
pretend? Something inside me seemed to go snap at that moment, and I've
been sour and bitter ever since; but I've learnt _one_ lesson, and that
is, that it is folly to go on waiting for perfection in this world.
Much better take what