onnection with me."

"Of course I will. What do you take me for? I shouldn't dream of doing
such a thing!"

"Of course, at the Willoughbys', for instance, if anyone _did_ mention
his name--they might, quite well, for I should think they were in much
the same set--there would be no harm in saying that you'd heard of him.
I should rather like to hear what they said."

Cecil's face looked wistful as she spoke these last words, but the next
moment her expression changed to one of pure amazement as the whirr of
the cuckoo clock made itself heard, and the little brown bird hopped out
of its niche, and sounded five clear notes.

"Gracious, what's that? Where did that come from?"

"It was a Christmas present to me from abroad."

Claire added the last words in the fond hope that they would save
further criticism, and Cecil rose from her seat, and stood in front of
the hanging clock examining it with critical eyes.

"It's a good one. Most of them are so gimcrack. From abroad? One of
your Belgian friends, I suppose? Does it make that awful row every
hour? I can't stand it here, you know, if it does."

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll take it upstairs. I _like_ the `awful
row.' I put it here because I thought it would be a pleasure to you as
well as to myself. I'm sorry."

"What a tantrum! Evidently the clock is a tender point. Better leave
it here and stop the gong. It will keep you awake all night."

"I won't stop the gong! I--I like to be waked!" declared Claire
obstinately. She lifted the clock from its nail, and stalked out of the
room, head in air.

Cecil whistled softly between pursed lips.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

AN UNPLEASANT TEA-PARTY.

In the inevitable fatigue which had marked Claire's first experience of
regular work, she had looked forward with joy to the coming of the
holidays when she would be able to take her ease, and for a month on end
laze through the hours at her own sweet will. A teacher scores above
other workers in the length of holidays she enjoys. Several months in
the year contrasts strongly with the fortnight or three weeks enjoyed by
a female clerk or typist; in no other profession is so large a
proportion of the year given to rest.

Claire had condemned the staff at Saint Cuthbert's for want of
appreciation of this privilege; but, before the four weeks of the
Christmas holidays were over, her eyes were opened to the other side of
the picture. Holidays were horribly exp