definite, you know; no false statements; just
the way she spoke. Clever of her, what?--very clever! Knew better than
to spoil her own game!"

If looks could have slain, the saffron parlour would have seen a dead
man at that moment. Claire withdrew her hand, and surreptitiously
rubbed it against her skirt. She would not condescend to notice that
last remark.

"I'll post the parcel to-morrow. Perhaps you will tell me your name, as
I shall have to explain."

He drew out a pocket-book and extracted a card. Claire dropped it
unread upon the table, and bowed stiffly in farewell. The next moment
he was gone, and she could satisfy her curiosity unseen. Then came
surprise number two, for the card bore the inscription, "Major J.F.
Carew," and in the corner two well-remembered words, "Carlton Club." An
officer in the Army--who would have thought it! He was emphatically not
a gentleman; he was rough, coarse, mannerless, yet he was in a position
which would bring him into intimate association with gentle people; by a
strange coincidence, he might know, he almost certainly would know, the
man whom she had expected to see in his stead--Erskine Fanshawe himself!
They could never be friends, but they would meet, they would sit in the
same rooms, they would exchange occasional remarks. Claire's mood of
intolerable disgust changed suddenly into something strangely
approaching envy of this big rough man! Christmas morning brought Janet
bright and early, to find Claire standing at the window ready to rush
out the moment the car stopped at the door. It felt delightfully
luxurious to seat herself on the springy cushions, draw the fur rug over
her knees, and feel the warmth of a hot tin beneath her feet.

"_Wasn't_ it lacerating?" Janet cried. "Just as I was starting the
parcel post arrived, and there were about half-a-dozen parcels for me
from Saint Moritz! There was no time to open them, and I simply die to
know what's inside. I care about those presents more than anything
else. We had our family presents this morning. Mother gave me this."
She opened her coat to show a glittering crescent. "Quite pretty, isn't
it, but I'd rather have had pearls. That's the worst of Christmas
presents, you so seldom get what you want. Half the time you feel more
disappointed than pleased. People cling to the idea that they ought to
give you a surprise, and you _are_ surprised, but not in the way they
expect. I have given mother t