ked my advice on one or
two business matters, and I discovered--" He hesitated, flushing
uncomfortably, and Claire finished the sentence.

"That we are coming to the end of our resources?"

Mr Judge nodded.

"And so, of course," he continued simply, "that settled it. I couldn't
go away and leave her to face a struggle. I was jolly thankful to feel
that I had met her in time."

"I think you are a dear, good man. I think mother is very lucky. Thank
you so much for being my step-papa!" cried Claire, her grey eyes
softening with a charming friendliness as they dwelt on the man's honest
face, and he took her hand in his, and squeezed it with affectionate
ardour.

"Thank you, my dear. Thank _you_! I shall be jolly proud of having
such a pretty daughter. I'm not a rich man, but I am comfortably well-
off, and I'll do my best to give you a good time. Your mother feels
sure she will enjoy the Indian life. Most girls think it great fun.
And of course I have lots of friends."

Claire stared at him, a new seriousness dawning in her eyes. She looked
very pretty and very young, and not a little pathetic into the bargain.
For the first time since the realisation of her mistake the personal
application of the situation burst upon her, and a chill crept through
her veins. If she herself had married Robert Judge, her mother would
have made her home with them as a matter of course; but it was by no
means a matter of course that she should make her home with her mother.
She stared into the honest face of the man before her--the man who was
not rich, the man who was in love for the first time in his life, and a
smile twisted the corner of her lips.

"Mr Judge, if I ask you a question, will you promise to give me an
absolutely honest answer?"

"Yes, I will."

"Well, then, will you _like_ having a third person living with you all
the time?"

Up to the man's forehead rushed the treacherous blood. He frowned, he
scowled, he opened his lips to protest; but that flush had answered for
him, and Claire refused to listen. "No, no--don't! Of course you
wouldn't. Who would, in your place? Poor darlings--I quite understand.
You _are_ middle-aged, you know, though you feel about nineteen, and
mother is prettier and more charming than half the girl brides. And you
will want to be just as young and foolish as you like, not to be
_obliged_ to be sensible because a grown-up daughter is there all the
time, staring at you with b