r. But--"

"But what?"

"I don't think it's quite satisfying, as a _whole_ life!"

"Does anyone suppose it is?"

"They try to. They have to. For most teachers there is so little
else."

The waiter handed plates of lobster mayonnaise, and Captain Fanshawe
said quietly--

"Tell me about the times when the work seems fine."

"Ah--many times! It depends on one's own mood and health, because, of
course, the circumstances are always the same. There are mornings when
one looks round a big class-room and sees all the girls' faces looking
upwards, and it gives one quite a thrilling sense of power and
opportunity. That is what the heaven-born teacher must feel every
time.--`Here is the fresh virgin soil, and mine is the joy of planting
the right seed! Here are the women of the future, the mothers of the
race. For this hour they are mine. What I say, they must hear. They
will listen with an attention which even their parents cannot gain. The
words which I speak this morning may bear fruit in many lives.' That's
the ideal attitude, but the ordinary human woman has other mornings when
all she feels is--`Oh, dear me, six hours of this! And what's the use?
Everything I batter in to-day will be forgotten by to-morrow. What's
the ideal anyway in teaching French verbs? I want to go to bed.'"

They laughed together, but Captain Fanshawe sobered quickly, and his
brow showed furrows of distress. Claire looked at him and said
quickly--

"Do you mind if we don't talk school? I am Cinderella to-night, wearing
fine clothes and supping in state. I'd so much rather talk Cinderella
to match."

"Certainly, certainly. Just as you wish." Lolling back in his chair,
Captain Fanshawe adopted an air of _blase_ indifference, and drawled
slowly, "Quite a good winter, isn't it? Lots going on. Have you been
to the Opera lately?"

"Oh dear!" thought Claire with a gush, "how refreshing to meet a grown-
up man who can pretend like a child!" She simpered, and replied
artificially, "Oh, yes--quite often. The dear Duchess is _so_ kind; her
box is open to me whenever I choose to go. Wonderful scene, isn't it?
All those tiers rising one above another. Do you ever look up at the
galleries? Such funny people sit there--men in tweed suits; girls in
white blouses. Who _are_ they, should you think? Clerks and typists
and school-mistresses, and people of that persuasion?"

"Possibly, I dare say. One never knows. They look qui