y dear!" she
laughed faintly.

"You need not be in the least afraid," answered Clare. "But, after all,
mother--just supposing the case--I can't see why it should be such an
awful calamity if we took a fancy to each other. We belong to the same
class of people, if not to the same set. He has enough money, and I'm
not absolutely penniless, though we are as poor as church mice--"

"For Heaven's sake, don't suggest such a thing!" cried Mrs. Bowring.

Her face was white, and her lips trembled. There was a frightened look
in her pale eyes, and she turned her face quickly to her daughter, and
quickly away again.

"Mother!" exclaimed the young girl, in surprise. "What in the world is
the matter? I was only laughing--besides--" she stopped, puzzled. "Tell
me the truth, mother," she continued suddenly. "You know about his
people--his father is some connection of--of your first husband--there's
some disgraceful story about them--tell me the truth. Why shouldn't I
know?"

"I hope you never will!" answered Mrs. Bowring, in a low voice that had
a sort of horror in it.

"Then there is something?" Clare herself turned a little paler as she
asked the question.

"Don't ask me--don't ask me!"

"Something disgraceful?" The young girl leaned forward as she spoke, and
her eyes were wide and anxious, forcing her mother to speak.

"Yes--no," faltered Mrs. Bowring. "Nothing to do with this
one--something his father did long ago."

"Dishonourable?" asked Clare, her voice sinking lower and lower.

"No--not as men look at it--oh, don't ask me! Please don't ask
me--please don't, darling!"

"Then his yacht is named after you," said the young girl in a flash of
intelligence.

"His yacht?" asked the elder woman excitedly. "What? I don't
understand."

"Mr. Johnstone told me that his father had a big steam yacht called the
'Lucy'--mother, that man loved you, he loves you still."

"Me? Oh no--no, he never loved me!" She laughed wildly, with quivering
lips. "Don't, child--don't! For God's sake don't ask questions--you'll
drive me mad! It's the secret of my life--the only secret I have from
you--oh, Clare, if you love me at all--don't ask me!"

"Mother, sweet! Of course I love you!"

The young girl, very pale and wondering, kneeled beside the elder woman
and threw her arms round her and drew down her face, kissing the white
cheeks and the starting tears and the faded flaxen hair. The storm
subsided, almost without breaking, for Mrs.