nshawe
herself. There she sat, smiling, complacent, _grande dame_ as ever,
nodding with an air of mingled friendliness and patronage, laying one
hand on the vacant place by her side, with an action which was obviously
significant. Claire chose, however, to ignore the invitation, and after
a grave bow of acknowledgment, turned back to Reginald, keeping her eyes
resolutely averted from that far corner. It was Mrs Fanshawe herself
who was finally compelled to cross the room to make her greetings.

"Miss Gifford! Surely it is Miss Gifford? Mrs Willoughby told me she
expected you this afternoon. And how are you, my dear, after this long
time?"

The tone was all that was cordial and friendly.

Claire stood up, tall and stately, and extended a perfectly gloved hand.
It was not in human nature to be perfectly natural at that moment.
Sub-consciously she was aware that, as the Americans would express it,
she was "putting on frills"; sub-consciously she was amused at the
artificiality of her own voice.

"Quite well, thank you. Exceedingly flourishing!"

"You look it," Mrs Fanshawe said, and seated herself ruthlessly in
Reginald's chair. "Tell me all about it! You were going to work,
weren't you? Some new-fangled idea of being independent. So ridiculous
for a pretty girl! And you've had--how long--nearly a year? Haven't
got tired of it yet, by any chance?"

"Oh, yes; quite often I feel very tired, but I should have felt the same
about pleasuring, and work is more worth while. It has been very
interesting. I have learnt a great deal."

"More than the pupils--hey?" chuckled Mrs Fanshawe shrewdly. "Don't
try to pretend that you are a model school-mistress. I know better! I
knew you were not the type when I saw you on that journey, and after a
year's trial you are less the type than ever." She screwed up her eyes
and looked Claire over with deliberate criticism up and down, down and
up. "No, my dear! Nature did _not_ intend you to be shut up in a
girls' school!" Suddenly she swerved to another topic. "What a journey
that was! I nearly expired. If it hadn't been for you, I should never
have survived. I told my son you had saved my life. That was my son
who met me on the platform!"

Was it fancy that an expression of watchfulness had come into the gay
eyes? Claire imagined that she recognised such an expression, but,
being prepared for some such reference, had herself well in command.
Not a nicker of