. But the mater won't even grant that. By virtue of her
superior years she is under the impression that she can still manage my
affairs better than I can myself, which, of course, is a profound
delusion!"

Looking at the firmly cut profile it seemed ridiculous to think of any
one managing this man if it were not his will to be managed. Mother and
son were alike in possessing an obstinate self-will. A conflict between
them would be no light thing. Woman-like, Claire's sympathies leant to
the woman's side.

"It must be very difficult for a mother to realise that her son is
really past her control. And when she _does_, it must be a painful
feeling. It isn't painful for the son; it's only annoying. The mother
fares worst!"

Captain Fanshawe laughed, and looked down at the girl's face with
admiring eyes.

"What a faculty you have of seeing the other side! Do you always take
the part of the person who isn't here? If so, all the better for me
this last week, when the mater has been spinning stories of my
obstinacy, and pig-headedness, and general contradictiveness. I thought
I had better hurry home at once, before you learnt to put me down as a
hopeless bad lot!"

Claire stood still, staring with widened eyes.

"Hurry home--hurry home before--" She stopped short, furious with
herself for having taken any notice of the slip, and Erskine gave a
short embarrassed laugh, and cried hastily--

"Oh, I knew; of course I knew! The rain was only an excuse. The real
reason was that as soon as I knew you were staying here, I hadn't
patience to stay on. I stood it for exactly three hours, thinking of
you in this garden, imagining walking about as we are walking now, and
then--I bolted for the afternoon train!"

Claire felt her cheeks flame, and affected dignity to hide her deep,
uncontrollable joy.

"If _I_ had been your hostess--"

"But you weren't, you see... You weren't! For goodness' sake don't put
yourself in her place next. Be Claire Gifford for once, and say you are
glad to see me!" His eyes met hers and twinkled with humour as he added
solemnly. "There's not a single solitary convention that could possibly
be broken by being civil to a man in his own home! Even your ultra
sensitive conscience--"

"Never mind my sensitive conscience. What I want to know is, how did
you know? Who told you that I was here?"

It was significant that the possibility that Mrs Fanshawe had written
of her guest never