purpose, more like! Funny people crosses by this route. Funny
thing that you didn't notice--"

Claire found nothing funny in the reflection. She was furious with
herself for her carelessness, and still more furious with Mrs Fanshawe
as the cause thereof. Down the platform she stalked, a picture of vivid
impetuous youth, head thrown back, cheeks aflame, grey eyes sending out
flashes of indignation. Every porter who came in her way was stopped
and imperiously questioned as to his late load, every porter was in his
turn waved impatiently away. Claire was growing seriously alarmed.
Suppose the box was lost! It would be as bad as losing _two_ boxes, for
of what use were bodices minus skirts to match? Never again would she
be guilty of the folly of packing bits of the same costumes in different
boxes. How awful--how awful beyond words to arrive in London without a
decent dress to wear!

Whirling suddenly round to pursue yet another porter, Claire became
aware of a figure in a long tweed coat standing on the space beside the
taxi-stand, intently watching her movements. She recognised him in a
moment as none other than "Erskine" himself, who, having seen his mother
into her car, was presumably bound for another destination. But why was
he standing there? Why had he been so long in moving away? Claire
hastily averted her eyes, but as she cross-questioned porter number
four, she was aware that the tall figure was drawing nearer, and
presently he was standing by her side, taking off his hat, and saying in
the most courteous and deferential of tones--

"Excuse me--I'm afraid something is wrong! Can I be of any assistance?"

Claire's glance was frigid in its coldness; but it was difficult to
remain frigid in face of the man's obvious sincerity and kindliness.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Please don't trouble. I can manage
quite well. It's only a trunk..."

"Is it lost? I say--what a fag! Do let me help. I know this station
by heart! If it is to be found, I am sure I can get it for you."

This time there was a distinct air of appeal in his deep voice. Claire
divined that the nice man was anxious to atone for his mother's cavalier
behaviour, and her heart softened towards him. After all, why should
she punish herself by refusing? Five minutes more or less on the
station platform could make no difference one way or another, for at the
end they would wish each other a polite adieu, and part never to mee