She was kind to them all, but at the same time
impressed the dignity of her position upon them, so that they went away
declaring that Clare Trojan knew how to carry herself and was young for
her years.

The funeral was an occasion of great ceremony, and the town attended in
crowds. Harry realised in their altered demeanour to himself their
appreciation of the value of his succession, and he knew that Sir Henry
Trojan was something very different from the plain Harry. But he had,
from the beginning, taken matters very quietly. Now that he was
assured of the affection of the only two people who were of importance
to him he could afford to treat with easy acquiescence anything else
that Fate might have in store for him. His diffidence, had, to some
extent, left him, and he took everything that came with an ease that
had been entirely foreign to him three weeks before.

Clare might indeed wonder at the change in him, for she had not the key
that unlocked the mystery. The week seemed to draw father and son very
closely together. Years seemed to have made little difference in their
outlook on things, and in some ways Robin was the elder of the two.
They said nothing about Mary--that was to wait until after the funeral;
but the consciousness of their secret added to the bond between them.

Clare herself regarded the future complacently. She was, she felt,
absolutely essential to the right ruling of the House, and she
intended, gradually but surely, to restore her command above and below
stairs. The only possible lion in her path was Harry's marrying, but
of that there seemed no fear at all.

She admired him a little for his conduct during their father's funeral;
he was not such an oaf as she had thought--but she would bide her time.

At last, however, the thunderbolt fell. It was a week after the
funeral, and they had reached dessert. Clare sometimes stayed with
them while they smoked, and, as a rule, conversation was not very
general. To-night, however, she rose to go. Her black suited her; her
dark hair, her dark eyes, the dark trailing clouds of her dress--it was
magnificently sombre against the firelight and the shine of the
electric lamps on the silver. But Harry's "Wait a moment, Clare, I
want to talk," called her back, and she stood by the door looking over
her shoulder at him.

Then when she saw from his glance that it was a matter of importance,
she came back slowly again towards him.

"Another f