astonishment. His age seemed to be something
short of thirty; he had a long, grave, intelligent face, smiled
enigmatically, spoke in a rather slow voice. His silk hat, sober
necktie drawn through a gold ring, and dark morning-coat, made it
probable that he was 'in the City.'

'We used to know each other very well about five years ago,' he
pursued, pocketing his change carelessly. 'Don't you remember a Mr.
Scawthorne, who used to be a lodger with some friends of yours called
Rudd?'

On the instant memory revived in Clara. In her schooldays she often
spent a Sunday afternoon with Grace Rudd, and this Mr. Scawthorne was
generally at the tea-table. Mr. and Mrs. Rudd made much of him, said
that he held a most important post in a lawyer's office, doubtless had
private designs concerning him and their daughter. Thus aided, she even
recognised his features.

'And you knew me again after all this time?'

'Yours isn't an easy face to forget,' replied Mr. Scawthorne, with the
subdued polite smile which naturally accompanied his tone of
unemotional intimacy. 'To tell you the whole truth, however, I happened
to hear news of you a few days ago. I met Grace Rudd; she told me you
were here. Some old friend had told _her_.'

Grace's name awoke keen interest in Clara. She was startled to hear it,
and did not venture to make the inquiry her mind at once suggested. Mr.
Scawthorne observed her for an instant, then proceeded to satisfy her
curiosity. Grace Rudd was on the stage; she had been acting in
provincial theatres under the name of Miss Danvers, and was now waiting
for a promised engagement at a minor London theatre.

'Do you often go to the theatre?' he added carelessly. 'I have a great
many acquaintances connected with the stage in one way or another. If
you would like, I should be very glad to send you tickets now and then.
I always have more given me than I can well use.'

Clara thanked him rather coldly, and said that she was very seldom free
in the evening. Thereupon Mr. Scawthorne again smiled, raised his hat,
and departed.

Possibly he had some consciousness of the effect of his words, but it
needed a subtler insight, a finer imagination than his, to interpret
the pale, beautiful, harassed face which studiously avoided looking
towards him as he paused before stepping out on to the pavement. The
rest of the evening, the hours of night that followed, passed for Clara
in bet tumult of heart and brain. The news of Grace