licy, doubled and fled in the direction of
the green chairs, to come violently to anchor against Claire's knee.
The crowd stared, the stout dame hurried forward. Claire, placing a
soothing hand on the dog's head, lifted a flushed, smiling face, and in
so doing caught the lift of a hat, met for the moment the glance of
startled eyes.

The stout lady was not at all grateful. She spoke as sharply as though
Claire, and Claire alone, had been the cause of her pet's upset. She
strode majestically away, leaving Claire trembling, confused, living
over again those short moments. She had seen him; he had seen her! He
was alive and well, living within a few miles of herself, yet as far
apart as in another continent. It was six months since they had last
met. It might be six years before they met again. But he had seemed
pleased to see her. Short as had been that passing glance, there was no
mistaking its interest. He was surprised, but pleasure had overridden
surprise. If he had been alone, he would have hurried forward with
outstretched hand. In imagination she could see him coming, his grave
face lightened with joy. Oh, if _only, only_ he had been alone! But he
was with friends; he had the air of being content and interested, and
the girl was pretty, far prettier than Janet Willoughby.

"Good afternoon!"

She turned gasping; he was standing before her, holding out his hand.
He had left his companions and come back to join her. His face looked
flushed, as though he had rushed back at express speed. He had seemed
interested and content, and the girl was pretty, yet he had come back to
her! He seated himself on the chair by her side, and looked at her with
eager eyes.

"I haven't seen you for six months!"

"I was just--" Claire began impulsively, drew herself up, and finished
demurely--"I suppose it is."

"You haven't been at either of Mrs Willoughby's `At Homes.'"

"No; but I've seen a good deal of them all the same. They have been so
kind."

"Don't you care for the `At Homes'? I asked Mrs Willoughby about you,
and she seemed to imply that you preferred not to go."

"Oh, no! Oh, no! That was quite wrong. I _did_ enjoy that evening.
It was a--a misunderstanding, I think," said Claire, much exercised to
find an explanation of what could really not be explained. Of the third
"At Home" she had heard nothing until this moment, and a pang of
retrospective disappointment mingled with her present content.