s--'he pretends to himself that I am Clarice.
He talks to me as if I were. He called me "Clarice" the other day, and
never noticed the mistake, and that's not my name, is it?' She turned to
him quite seriously as she put the question.

'No,' replied Fielding, 'your name's Constance,' and he dwelt upon the
name for a second.

'Yes--Constance,' said Mrs. Willoughby thoughtfully. 'It sounds rather
prim, don't you think?'

'Constance,' Fielding repeated, weighing it deliberately. 'Constance--no,
I rather like it.'

'Clarice shortens it to Connie.'

'Does she indeed? Connie--Constance.' Fielding contrasted the two names,
and again, 'Constance--Connie.'

Mrs. Willoughby's mouth began to dimple at the corners.

'Although one laughs,' she proceeded, 'it's really rather serious about
Mr. Mallinson. He told me once the colour of my eyes was--'

'Do you let him talk to you about the colour of your eyes?' Fielding was
really indignant at the supposition.

'He didn't ask my permission,' Mrs. Willoughby said penitently. 'But it
isn't a thing people ought to do. He said they were gray, and they
aren't, are they?' She turned her face towards him.

'Gray? Of course not,' said Fielding, and starting from his chair, he
approached Mrs. Willoughby at the window to make sure.

'Clarice's are, I know, but I am certain mine aren't.' She held up her
face towards the light, and the remark was pitched as a question.

'Yours,' said Fielding, examining them, 'Neptune dipped them in the sea
at six o'clock on an August morning.'

Mrs. Willoughby moved away from the window precipitately. 'So, if Mr.
Mallinson is so fond of Clarice,' she said, 'that he sees her in
everybody one can't help pitying him.'

Mrs. Willoughby, however, for a short time subsequently was not seen in
the company of the discarded lover, and Fielding inferred with
satisfaction that her pity was taking a less active form. He was roused
to a perception that his inference was false one night at the opera.

Mrs. Willoughby was present with Mr. Le Mesurier and Clarice. Percy
Conway he hardly reckoned, counting him at this time, from his constant
attendance, rather as an item of Clarice's toilette; and Fielding took
care to descend the staircase after the performance in close proximity to
the party.

'And how's Mr. Mallinson?' he asked of Mrs. Willoughby, not without a
certain complacency in his voice.

'Oh, poor boy!' she replied with the tenderest sympathy, 'he's