her members of the family."

Claire, standing by the fireplace, gave a vague assent, and was glad
that her face was hidden from view. For Cecil's sake she intensely
wanted to believe in Major Carew and his account of his own position,
but instinctively she doubted, instinctively she feared. She remembered
the look of the man's face as he had stood facing her across the little
room, and her distrust deepened. He did not look straight; he did not
look true. Probably the old father had a good reason for keeping him
short of money. If he were really in love with Cecil, and determined to
marry her, that was so much to his credit; but Claire hated the idea of
that secrecy, marvelled that Cecil could submit a second time to so
humiliating a position. Poor Cecil! how _awful_ it would be if she were
again deceived! A protective impulse stirred in Claire's heart. "She
shan't be, if I can help it!" cried the inner voice. At that moment she
vowed herself to the service of Mary Rhodes.

"A big country house in Surrey! That's the ideal residence of the
heroine of fiction. It does sound romantic, Cecil! I should love to
think of you as the mistress of a house like that. Come and sit by the
fire, and let us talk. It's so exciting to talk of love affairs instead
of exercises and exams... Let's pretend we are just two happy, ordinary
girls, with no form-rooms looming ahead, and that one of us is just
engaged, and telling the other `all about it.' Now begin! Begin at the
beginning. How did you meet him first?"

But there a difficulty arose, for Cecil grew suddenly red, and stumbled
over her words.

"Oh--well--I-- We _met_! It was an accident--quite an accident--rather
a romantic accident. I was coming home one Sunday evening a year ago.
I had been to church in my best clothes, and when I was halfway here the
skies opened, and the rain _descended_. Such rain! A deluge! Dancing
up from the pavement, streaming along the gutters. I hadn't an
umbrella, of course--just my luck!--and I'd had my hat done up that very
week. I tore it off, and wrapped it in the tails of my coat, and just
as that critical moment Frank passed, saw me doing it, and stopped.
Then he asked if I would allow him to shelter me home beneath his
umbrella. Well! I'm _not_ the girl to allow men to speak to me in the
street, but at that moment, in that deluge, when he'd just seen me take
off my hat, _could_ a gentleman do less than offer to shelter