ted her coffee-cup, and strolled away, leaving Claire to reflect
impatiently, "_More_ poison! It's too bad. They won't _let_ one be
happy!"

Before the end of the week school work settled into its old routine, and
the days passed by with little to mark their progress. The English
climate was at its worst, and three times out of four the journey to
school was accomplished in rain or sleet. The motor-'buses were crammed
with passengers, and manifested an unpleasant tendency to skid; pale-
faced strap-holders crowded the carriages of the Tube; for days together
the sky remained a leaden grey. It takes a Mark Tapley himself to keep
smiling under such conditions. As Claire recalled the days when she and
her mother had sat luxuriously under the trees in the gardens of Riviera
hotels, listening to exhilarating bands, and admiring the outline of the
Esterels against the cloudless blue of the sky, the drab London streets
assumed a dreariness which was almost insupportable. Also, though she
would not acknowledge it to herself, she was achingly disappointed,
because something which she had sub-consciously been expecting did not
come to pass. She had expected something to happen, but nothing
happened; all through February the weeks dragged on, unrelieved by any
episode except the weekly mail from India.

The little brown bird still industriously piped the hour; but his
appearance no longer brought the same warm thrill of happiness. And
then one morning came a note from Janet Willoughby.

"Dear Miss Gifford,--

"I should really like to call you `Claire,' but I must wait to be asked!
I have been meaning to write ever since we returned from Saint Moritz;
but you know how it is in town, such a continual rush, that one can
never get through half the things that ought to be done! We should all
like to see you again. Mother has another `At Home' on Thursday evening
next, and would be glad to see you then, if you cared to come; but what
_I_ should like is to have you to myself! On Saturday next I could call
for you, as I did at Christmas, and keep you for the whole day. Then we
could talk as we couldn't do at the `At Homes,' which are really rather
dull, duty occasions.

"Let me know which of these propositions suits you best. Looking
forward to seeing you,--

"Your friend, (if you will have me!)

"Janet Willoughby."

Claire had opened the letter, aglow with expectation; she laid it down
feeling dazed and blank. Fo