and the name of the house is `The
Moat'--"

Major Carew's face turned a deep, apoplectic red, his light eyes seemed
to protrude from his head, so violent was his anger and surprise.

"But--that's _me_! That's my club, my father, my home! Somebody has
been taking my name, and passing himself off under false colours for
some mysterious reason. I can't imagine what good it is going to do
him."

He broke off in alarm, and cast an appealing look at Erskine as Claire
suddenly collapsed on the nearest chair, her face as white as her gown.

"I say, this is a bad business I'm most awfully sorry. I'm afraid Miss
Gifford is distressed--"

Erskine's lips were set in a fury of anger. He glanced at Claire and
turned hurriedly away, as though he could not trust himself to look at
her blanched face. To see the glint of his eye, the set of the firm
jaw, was to realise that it would fare badly with the masquerader should
he come within reach. There was a moment of tense, unhappy silence,
then Erskine drew forward two more chairs, and motioned to the Major to
be seated.

"I think we shall have to thresh this out! It is naturally a shock, but
Miss Gifford's acquaintance with this person is very slight. She took a
violent dislike to him at first sight, so you need not fear that she
will feel any personal distress. That is so, isn't it? That's the real
position?"

Claire nodded a quick assent.

"Yes, yes. I met him twice, and I hated him from the first; but my
friend believes..." Her voice broke, and she struggled for composure,
her chin quivering with pitiful, child-like distress. "He is engaged to
be _married_ to my friend!"

A deep murmur of anger came simultaneously from both hearers. The real
Major Carew straightened himself with an air of determination.

"Engaged to her? Under my name? This is too strong! And in the name
of wonder, what for? I'm nobody. I've nothing. I'm the most
insignificant of fellows, and chronically hard up. What had he to gain
by taking my name?"

"You are a gentleman, and he is not. Everything is comparative. He
wanted to impress my friend, and he knew you so well that it was easy to
pretend, and make up a good tale. He _said_ he was hard up. He--he--
borrowed money!"

"From the girl?" Again came that deep murmur of indignation. "What an
unspeakable cur, and--excuse me, what a poor-spirited girl to have
anything to do with him after that! Could you do nothing to prev