thetic in the wistful admiration
which shone in his eyes as they followed Janet Willoughby about the
room. To ordinary observers she was just a pleasant girl with no
pretensions to beauty; to him she was obviously the most lovely of her
sex. He had no attention to spare for Claire or the other ladies
present; he was absorbed in watching Janet, waiting for opportunities to
serve Janet, listening eagerly to Janet's words. It is not often that
an unengaged lover is so transparent in his devotion, but Malcolm Heward
was supremely indifferent to the fact that he betrayed his feelings.

At ten o'clock Claire rose to take leave, and Mrs Willoughby made a
request.

"I am going to ask you to do me a favour, dear. A friend is having a
Sale of Work at her house for a charity in which we are both interested,
and she has asked me to help. It is on a Saturday afternoon and
evening, and I wondered if I might ask you to take part in the little
concerts. Whistling is always popular, and you do it so charmingly. I
would send the car for you, and take you home, of course, and be so very
much indebted. You don't mind my asking?"

"No, indeed; I should be delighted. Please let me help you whenever you
can."

In the bedroom upstairs Janet deliberately introduced Malcolm Heward's
name.

"That was the man I told you about at Christmas. He was one of the
party at Saint Moritz. What did you think of him?"

"I liked him immensely. He looks all that you said he was. He has a
fine face."

"He wants to marry me."

Claire laughed softly.

"That's obvious! I never saw a man give himself away so openly."

"Do you think I ought to accept him?"

"Oh, how can I say? It's not for me to advise. I hope, whoever you
marry, you'll be very, very happy!"

Suddenly Janet came forward and laid her hands on Claire's arm.

"Oh, Claire, I do like you! I do want to be friends, but sometimes I
have the strangest thoughts." Before Claire had time to answer, she had
drawn back again, and was saying with a little apologetic laugh, "I am
silly! Take no notice of what I say. Here's your fur; here's your
muff. Are you quite sure you have all your possessions?"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A QUESTION OF MONEY.

The next week was memorable to Claire as marking the beginning of
serious anxiety with regard to Sophie. She had looked ill since the
beginning of the term, and the bottle of aspirin tabloids had become
quite an accustomed feature