ddle.

Mrs Willoughby stood at the top of her own staircase, shaking hands
with the stream of ascending guests, and motioning them forward to the
suite of entertaining rooms from which came a steady murmur of voices.
She was a stout woman, with a vast expanse of white shoulders which
seemed to join right on to her head without any preliminary in the shape
of a neck. Her hair was dark, and a plain face was lightened by a pair
of exceedingly pleasant, exceedingly alert brown eyes. As soon as she
met those eyes Claire felt assured that the kindness of which she had
heard was a real thing, and that this woman could be counted upon as a
friend. There was, it is true, a slight vagueness in the manner in
which she made her greeting, but a murmur of "Mrs Fanshawe" instantly
revived recollections.

"Of course--of course!" she cried heartily. "So glad you could come, my
dear. I must see you later on. Reginald!"--she beckoned to a lad in an
Eton suit--"I want you to take charge of Miss Gifford. Take her to have
some coffee, and introduce her to some one nice."

A nod and a smile, and Mrs Willoughby had turned back to welcome the
next guest in order, while the Eton boy offered his arm with the air of
a prince of the blood, and led the way to a refreshment buffet around
which the guests were swarming with an eagerness astonishing to behold
when one realised how lately they must have risen from the dinner-table.
Claire found her young cavalier very efficient in his attentions. He
settled her in a comfortable corner, brought her a cup of coffee heaped
with foaming cream, and gave it as his opinion that it was going to be
"a beastly crush." Claire wondered if it would be tactful to inquire
how he happened to be at home in the middle of a term; but while she
hesitated he supplied the information himself.

"I'm home on leave. Appendicitis. Left the nursing home three weeks
ago. Been at the sea, and came back yesterday in time for this show.
Getting a bit tired of slacking!"

"You must be. Dear me! I _am_ sorry. Too bad to begin so soon,"
murmured Claire pitifully; but Master Reginald disdained sympathy.

"Oh, I dunno," he said calmly. "It's quite the correct thing, don't you
know? Everybody's doing it. Just as well to get it through. It
might"--he opened his pale eyes with a startled look--"it might have
come on in the hols! Pretty fool I should have looked if I'd been done
out of winter sports."

"There's tha