hen she found him in a most inharmonious mood of triumph,
she began, even so early, to repent of her rashness. Then went down to
the station as the train _des decaves_, the train of the stony-broke,
steamed in; and they settled themselves in an empty first-class
compartment. Her heart seemed to sink to her shoes as she felt the
train move. Then the door opened, and, hauling the panting Blazer by
the scruff of his neck, Tinker tumbled into the carriage.

Claire gave a great gasp of relief: the sight of him gave her a faint
hope of escape; his presence was a respite. Tinker lifted Blazer on to
the seat between him and Courtnay, crying cheerfully, "I thought I'd
just missed you! I've got a note for you from Madame de Belle-Ile, and
I knew she'd never forgive me if I didn't give it to you!"

Courtnay's florid face had already lost a little colour at the mere
intrusion of his inveterate persecutor that alone presaged disaster; at
his words his eyes displayed a lively, but uncomfortable tendency to
start out of his head. "I don't know what you mean!" he stuttered. "I
don't know Madame de Belle-Ile!"

"You don't know Madame de Belle-Ile!" cried Tinker in well-affected
amazement and surprise. "Why, only three nights ago I saw you trying
to kiss her in the gardens!"

"It's a lie!" roared Courtnay.

"The Beauleighs don't lie," said Tinker curtly.

For the moment, breathless with rage, Courtnay could find no words, and
Claire, very pale, stared from one to the other with startled,
searching eyes.

"At any rate, here's her letter," said Tinker stiffly, holding it out
over Blazer's back.

Claire stooped swiftly forward and took the letter. "I am the person
to read that letter," she said with a spirit Courtnay had never dreamed
of in her. "It is my right!"

She tore it open, and had just time to read "Mon Artur adore," when
Courtnay, with a growl of rage, snatched it from her, and tore it into
pieces, crying, "I will not have you victimised by this mischievous
young dog! It's an absurd imposition! I claim your trust!"

But the doubt of him which had lurked always in the bottom of Claire's
heart had sprung to sudden strength; she looked at him with eyes that
were veritably chilling in their coldness, and, turning to Tinker, she
said, "Is it true?"

"It is--on my honour," said Tinker.

There was a quivering movement in Claire's throat as she choked down a
sob: she rose, and walked down the carriage to the sea