her coffee with exaggerated care,
so that no drop should fall on her lacy frills.

Claire longed to ask a dozen questions, but something in Cecil's manner
held her at bay, and she contented herself with one inquiry--

"What time will you be home?"

Cecil shrugged her shoulders.

"Don't know. Perhaps not till late." She was silent for a moment, then
added with sudden bitterness, "You are not the _only_ person who has
invitations. If I chose, I could go out every Saturday."

"Then why on earth are you always grumbling about your loneliness?"
thought Claire swiftly, but she did not put the thought into words.
After the warmth of her own welcome, a kinder response was surely her
due; she was angry, and would not condescend to reply.

The meal was finished in silence, but when Cecil rose to depart, the
usual compunction seized her in its grip. She stood arranging her veil
before the mirror over the mantelpiece, uttering the usual interjectory
expressions of regret.

"Sorry, Claire. I'm a wretch. You must hate me. I ought to be shot.
Nice Saturday morning I've given you! What are you going to do this
afternoon?"

Claire's eyes turned towards the window with an expression sad to see on
so young a face--an imprisoned look. Her voice seemed to lose all its
timbre as she replied in one flat dreary word--

"Nothing!"

A spasm of irresolution passed across Cecil's face. For a moment she
looked as if she were about to throw aside her own project and cast in
her lot with her friend's. Then her face hardened, and she turned
towards the door.

"Why not call for Sophie Blake, and see if she will go a walk? She
asked you once before."

With that she was gone, and Claire was left to consider the proposition.
Sophie Blake, the Games mistress, was the single member of the staff
who had shown any disposition towards real friendship, though the
intimacy was so far confined to one afternoon's walk, and an occasional
chat in the dinner hour, but this afternoon the thought of her merry
smile acted as an irresistible magnet. Claire ran upstairs to get
ready, in a panic lest she might arrive at Sophie's lodgings to find she
had already gone out for the afternoon. Cecil had hinted that she might
not return until late, and suddenly it seemed unbearable to spend the
rest of the day in solitude. Restlessness was in the air, first the
pleasurable restlessness caused by the receipt of Mrs Willoughby's
invitation, then the