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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
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