into Claire's face and hung breathlessly on her words, but for
all her adoration there was a gulf between. Claire was the sweetest and
duckiest of mistresses, but she _was_ a mistress, a being shut off from
the ordinary interests of life. When Flora said, "Isn't it jolly, we
are going to have a musical party to-morrow! We have such lovely
parties, and mother always lets me sit up!" she might have been speaking
to a creature without ears, for all the consciousness she exhibited that
Claire might possibly wish to take part in the fray. When the green
gate was reached, the plump mamma was seen standing outside the drawing-
room window and recognising the identity of her daughter's companion,
she bent her head in a courteous bow, but she made no attempt to
approach the gate.

"See you on Monday!" cried Flora fondly, then the gate clicked, and
Claire walked along the road with her head held high, and two red spots
burning on either cheek. That evening for the first time she felt a
disinclination to change into the pretty summer frock which she had
chosen as a compromise for evening dress; that evening for the first
time the inner voice whispered to her as it had done to so many before
her: "What's the good? Nobody sees you! Nobody cares."

Miss Rhodes finished her share of the omelette, turned on to bread and
jam, and cast a glance of inquiry at her companion, who had relapsed
into unusual silence.

"Anything wrong?"

"Yes, I think so. Usual symptoms, I suppose. I want to wear all my
best clothes and go out to do something gay and exciting, Cecil!" The
English teacher's name being Rhodes, it was obvious that she should be
addressed as Cecil, especially as her parents had been misguided enough
to give her the unsuitably gentle name of Mary. "Cecil, do none of the
parents _ever_ ask us out?"

"Why should they?"

"Why shouldn't they? If we are good enough to teach their children, we
are good enough for them. If they are interested in their children's
welfare, they ought to make a point of knowing us to see what kind of
influence we use."

"Quite so."

"Well?"

"Well, my dear, there's only one thing to be said--they _don't_! As I
told you before, there's a prejudice against mistresses. They give us
credit for being clever, and cultivated, and hard-working; but they
never grasp the fact that we are human girls, who would very much enjoy
being frivolous for a change. I _have_ been asked out to tea at ra