ing for herself! Oh, Cecil, how _could_ he? How could
you allow him? How can you go on caring for such a man?"

"Don't get hysterical, Claire, please. There's nothing so extraordinary
in a man being hard up. It's happened before now in the history of the
world. Frank has a position to keep up, and his father--I've told you
before how mean and difficult his father is, and it's so important that
Frank should keep on good terms just now.--He dare not worry him for
money. When he is going to make me a rich woman some day, why should I
refuse to lend him a few trifling pounds when he runs short? He's in an
expensive regiment; he belongs to an expensive Club; he is obliged to
keep up with the other men. If I had twice as much I would lend it with
pleasure."

Claire opened her lips to say that at least no more borrowed money
should be supplied for Major Carew, but the words were never spoken.
Pity engulfed her, a passion of pity for the poor woman who a second
time had fallen under the spell of an unscrupulous man. Cecil's
explanation had fallen on deaf ears, for Claire could accept no excuses
for a man who borrowed from a woman to ensure comfort and luxury for
himself. An officer in the King's army! The thing seemed incredible;
so incredible that, for the first time, a rising of suspicion mingled
with her dislike. Mentally, she rehearsed the facts of Major Carew's
history as narrated by himself, and found herself doubting every one.
The beautiful house in the country--did it really exist? The eccentric
old father who refused to part with his gold--was he flesh and blood, or
a fictitious figure invented as a convenient excuse? The fortune which
was to enrich the future--_was_ there such a fortune? Or, if there
were, was Major Carew in truth the eldest son? Claire felt a
devastating helplessness her life abroad had left her ignorant of many
British institutions; she knew nothing of the books in which she might
have traced the Carew history; she had nothing to guide her but her own
feminine instinct, but if that instinct were right, what was to become
of Mary Rhodes?

Her face looked so sad, so downcast, that Cecil's conscience was
pricked.

"Poor old Claire!" she said gently, "how I do worry you, to be sure!
Never mind, my dear, I'll make it up to you one day. You've been a
brick to me, and I shan't forget it. And I'll go to my mother's for the
whole of the Easter holidays, and save up my pennies to pay y