In the inevitable fatigue which had marked Claire’s first experience of regular work, she had looked forward with joy to the coming of the holidays when she would be able to take her ease, and for a month on end laze through the hours at her own sweet will.  A teacher scores above other workers in the length of holidays she enjoys.  Several months in the year contrasts strongly with the fortnight or three weeks enjoyed by a female clerk or typist; in no other profession is so large a proportion of the year given to rest.

Claire had condemned the staff at Saint Cuthbert’s for want of appreciation of this privilege; but, before the four weeks of the Christmas holidays were over, her eyes were opened to the other side of the picture.  Holidays were horribly expensive!  Living “at home” meant an added bill for fire and light to add to the necessary expenses abroad; that the last items were necessary could hardly be denied, for a girl who had been shut up in a schoolroom through three months of term, naturally wished to amuse herself abroad during holiday time, and in London even the most carefully planned amusement has a habit of costing money.

Even that mild dissipation of shop-gazing, enjoyed by Sophie Blake, plus the additional excitement of choosing an imaginary present from every window, could only be enjoyed at the price of two Tube or omnibus fares.  Boots wore out, too, and gloves grew shabby, and the January sales furnished a very fire of temptation.  Claire had never before seen such bargains as confronted her down the length of Oxford and Regent Streets, and, though she might be firm as adamant on Monday or Tuesday, Wednesday was bound to bring about a weak moment which carried her over the threshold of a shop, and once inside, with sensational sacrifices dangling within reach, resistance melted like wax.

“Where do you suppose you are going to wear that concoction?” Mary Rhodes asked blightingly as Claire opened a cardboard box which had arrived by the morning delivery, and displayed a blue muslin dress inset with lace.  “Lords, I suppose, or Ascot, or Ranelagh, or Hurlingham, or Henley...  They come on in June and July, just as poor High School-mistresses are in the thick of cramming for the Matric.  But no doubt you are the exception to the rule! ...  You must think you are, at least, to have bought a frock like that!”

“Cecil, it was wickedly cheap-it was, indeed!  It was one of a few summer dresses which were positively given away, and it’s made in the simple, picturesque style which I love, and which does not go out of date.  I hadn’t the least intention of buying anything, until I saw it hanging there, at that price, and it looked at me so longingly, as if it wanted to come!”

“It’s well to be rich!  It might have longed at me as much as it liked, I couldn’t have bought it, if it had been two-and-six!  I need all my money for necessities,” Mary Rhodes said, sighing; and Claire felt a pang of reproach, for, since her return, Cecil had indeed seemed painfully short of loose cash.  The debt still outstanding had been increased by various small borrowings, insignificant in themselves, yet important as showing how the wind blew.  Claire wondered if perchance the poor soul had crippled herself by presenting her lover with a Christmas gift which was beyond her means.

The third week of the holidays arrived; in another week school would begin.  Claire succumbed to temptation once more, purchased two good tickets for an afternoon concert at the Queen’s Hall, and invited Cecil to be her guest.  Cecil hesitated, evidently torn between two attractions, asked permission to defer her answer until the next day, but finally decided to accept.  From remarks dropped from time to time Claire had gathered that Major Carew was not fond of indoor entertainments, and somewhat disappointed his fiancee by his unwillingness to indulge her wishes in that respect.  In this instance she had evidently balanced the concert against an afternoon in the Major’s society, and the concert had won.  Claire found herself cordially in agreement.

When the afternoon arrived the two girls arrayed themselves in their best clothes, and set off in high spirits for their afternoon’s amusement.  Their seats were in a good position, and the concert was one of the best of the season.  All went as happily as it could possibly go, until the last strains of “God save the King” had been played, and the audience filed out of the hall on to the crowded pavement, and then, with a throb of disgust, Claire recognised the figure of a man who was standing directly beneath a lamp-post, his black eyes curiously scanning the passing stream-Major Carew!  He had evidently been told of the girls’ destination, and had come with the express purpose of meeting them coming out.  For the moment, however, they were unrecognised, and Claire gave a quick swerve to the right, hurrying out of the patch of light into the dimness beyond.  The street was so full that, given a minute’s start, it would surely be easy to escape.  She slid her hand through Cecil’s arm, drawing her forward.

“Come along!  Come along!  Let’s hurry to Fuller’s before all the tables are taken!”

“Fuller’s?  Tea?  How scrumptious!  Just what I longed for.  Listening to classical music is thirsty work!” Cecil replied, laughing.  She was so lively, so natural and unconcerted that Claire absolved her on the moment from any arrangement as to a rendez-vous.  In her anxiety to secure the longed-for cup of tea she broke into a half-run, but it was too late; the sharp black eyes had spied them out, the tall figure loomed by their side, the large face, with its florid colouring, smiled a broad smile of welcome.

“Hulloa, Mary!  Thought it was you.  I was just passing along.  Good afternoon, Miss Gifford.  It is Miss Gifford, isn’t it?  Had a good concert, I hope-a pleasant afternoon?”

“Very good, thank you,” said Claire shortly.

Mary cried, “Oh, Frank! You!  How did you come?  I didn’t expect-” And the tone of her voice showed that the surprise was hardly more agreeable to her than to her companion.  However welcome her lover might be on other occasions, it was obvious that she had not wished to see him at this particular moment.

“Well, well, we must move on; we mustn’t block up the pavement,” the Major said hastily.  He took his place by the kerb, which placed him next to Claire, and bent over with an assiduous air.  “You must let me escort you!  Where were you bound for next?”

Claire hesitated.  She wished with all her heart that she had not mentioned Fuller’s, so that she could reply that they were bound for the Tube.  Oxford Circus was only a step away; in five minutes they could have been seated in the train; but Cecil had declared that she was longing for tea, so it would be ungracious to withdraw the invitation.

“We were going to Fuller’s.”

“Right!” The Major’s tone was complacent.  “Good idea!  How shall we go?  Taxi?  Tube?  Which do you prefer?”

Claire stared at him in surprise.

“But it’s here!  Quite close.  We’re nearly there.”

He looked disconcerted, unnecessarily disconcerted, Claire thought; for it was surely no disgrace for a man to be ignorant of the locality of a confectioner’s shop!  From the other side came Cecil’s voice, cool and constrained-

“If you were going anywhere, Frank, you needn’t stay with us.  We can look after each other.  We are accustomed to going about alone.”

“Please allow me the pleasure.  There’s plenty of time.  I should enjoy some tea immensely.  Always take it when I get the chance!”

The block on the pavement made consecutive conversation impossible, and the three edged their way in and out in silence until Fuller’s was reached, and one of the last tables secured.  The room looked very bright and dainty, the Christmas garlands still festooning the walls and framing the mirrors, the hanging lights covered by rose-coloured shades.  The soft pink light was very kind to the complexions of the visitors, nevertheless Claire felt a guilty pang as she looked into the nearest mirror and beheld the reflection of herself and her friend as they sat side by side.  As a rule, it was pure pleasure to realise her own fair looks; but for the moment they were of no importance, whereas poor dear Cecil had a lover to please, and there was no denying Cecil was not looking her best!  Her expression was frowning and dissatisfied.  She had taken off her veil in the hall and her hair was disarranged; compared with the fashionable groups round the other tables, she looked suddenly shabby and insignificant, her little attempts at decoration pitifully betraying the amateur hand.

“Oh, dear me, why won’t she smile?  She looks quite pretty when she smiles.  I’ll hold her before a mirror some day and show her the difference it makes.  Ten years disappear in a flash!  Now what in the world had I better be-agreeable and chatty, or cold and stand-off?  I’ll do anything to please her, but it is hard lines having our afternoon spoiled, and being sulked at into the bargain.  Cakes, please-lots of sweet, sugary cakes!  Won’t that do, Cecil?  We can have bread-and-butter at home!”

“Cecil!  Cecil!  Her name is Mary.  Why do you call her Cecil?” cried the Major quickly, looking from one girl to another.  Claire fancied there was a touch of suspicion in his voice, and wondered that he should show so much interest in a mere nickname.

“Because she is `Rhodes,’ of course.”

For a moment his stare showed no understanding, then, “Oh! that fellow!” he said slowly.  “I see!  It’s a pretty name anyway.  Beats Mary to fits.  Mary is so dull and prosaic.  Too many of them about.  One gets sick of the sound.”

“Is that intended for me by any chance?” asked Cecil in her most acid tones, whereupon the Major cried, “Oh!  Put my foot in it that time, didn’t I?” and burst into a long guffaw of laughter, which brought on him the eyes of the surrounders.

Claire’s interest had already been aroused by a little party of two men and two women who were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, and who were, to her thinking, by far the most attractive personalities present.  The men were tall, well set up, not especially handsome in any way, but possessing an unmistakable look of breeding.  One of the women was old, the other young, and it would have been hard to say which was the more attractive of the two.  They were quietly but very elegantly dressed, handsome furs being thrown back, to show pretty bodices of ninon and lace.

When Major Carew gave that loud unrestrained laugh, the four members of this attractive party turned to see whence the sound arose; but whereas three faces remained blankly indifferent, the fourth was in the moment transformed into an expression of the liveliest surprise.  He stared, narrowing his eyes as if doubting that they were really seeing aright, twisted his head to get a fuller view, and, obtaining it, twisted back into his original position, his lips twitching with laughter.  Then he spoke a few words, his companions leant forward to listen, and to two faces out of the three, the laughter spread on hearing what he had to say.

Only the elder of the two ladies retained her gravity.  Her sweet glance rested on Claire’s face, and her brow contracted in distress.  In the Major and Cecil she showed no interest, but Claire’s appearance evidently aroused curiosity and pity.  “What is she doing in that galère?” The question was written on every line of the sweet high-bred face, and Claire read its significance and flinched with distaste.

“How they stare!” cried Mary Rhodes.  “The man looked as if he knew you, Frank.  Do you know who he is?”

“He’s a member of the Club.  His name is Vavasour.  We know each other by sight.”  Major Carew’s florid colour had grown a shade deeper, he was evidently disconcerted by the encounter; but he made a strong effort to regain his composure, smiled at the two girls in turn, and cried lightly, “Envies me, I suppose, seeing me with two such charmers!”

“He didn’t look exactly envious!” Cecil said drily.  She also had noticed that reflection in the mirror, and it had not helped to soothe her spirits.  She felt an unreasoning anger against Claire for appearing more attractive than herself, but it did not occur to her that she was heightening the contrast by her own dour, ungracious manner.  Altogether that tea-party was a difficult occasion, and as it proceeded, Claire’s spirits sank ever lower and lower.  She had spent more than she had any right to afford on those two expensive tickets, hoping thereby to give pleasure, and now Cecil was in a bad temper, and would snap for days to come.-It was not a cheerful outlook, and for the second time a feeling of restiveness overtook her, a longing for a companion who would help the gaiety of life-such a companion as pretty, lively, happy-go-lucky Sophie Blake, for example.  How refreshing it would be to live with Sophie!  Just for a moment Claire dwelt wistfully on the possibility, then banished it with a loyal “She doesn’t need me, and Cecil does.  She’s fond of me in her funny way.  She must be, for she has confided in me already, more than in any of the others whom she’s known for years, and perhaps I may be able to help...”

The Major passed his cup for a second supply; a waitress brought a plate of hot cakes; the occupants of the corner table stood up, fastening furs and coats, and passed out of the door.  With their going Major Carew regained his vivacity, chaffed the girls on their silence, recounted the latest funny stories, and to Claire’s relief addressed himself primarily to his fiancee, thus putting her in the place of honour.

Nevertheless Claire was conscious that from time to time keen glances were cast in her own direction.  She had a feeling that no detail of her attire escaped scrutiny, that the black eyes noted one and all, wondered, and speculated, and appraised.  She saw them dwell on the handsome fur stole and muff which Mrs Judge bequeathed to her daughter on sailing for India, on the old diamond ring and brooch which had been handed over to her on her twenty-first birthday; she had an instinctive feeling that she rose in the man’s estimation because of her air of prosperity.  He made tentative efforts to arrange a further meeting.  “Where do you go on Sundays, Miss Gifford?  I say, we must arrange another tea like this.  Lots of good tea places in town.  We must sample them together.  What do you say, Miss Gifford?”

Claire’s answers were politely evasive, and presently he began to grow restless, and finally pulled out his watch, and jumped to his feet.

“How time flies!  I had no idea it was so late.  I must run.  So sorry to leave you like this.”

Mary Rhodes stared in surprise.

“Leave!  Frank!  But you said-I thought we were going-”

“Yes, I know, I know.  I’m sorry, I thought I was free-but-a regimental engagement!  Can’t get out of it.  I’ll fix up another night.  I’ll write.”

There was no doubt that he was genuinely disconcerted at the lateness of the hour, and his leave-taking was of the most hasty description, though he found time to give a lingering pressure to Claire’s hand; then he was gone, and the waitress came across the room and presented the bill.

Cecil flushed uncomfortably.

“I must pay this.  Frank has forgotten.  He rushed off in such a hurry.”

She pulled out her shabby purse, and Claire made no protest.  In a similar position she herself would have wished to pay, but it was inconceivable that she should ever be in such a position.  However hurried a man might be- She rubbed her hand on her knee with a little shudder of distaste.  “Wretch!  He would make love to me, too, if I would allow it!  How can Cecil possibly care for such a man?”

And then she forgot Cecil’s feelings to ponder on a more perplexing problem.

Why had the man called Vavasour looked so amused, and why had the sweet-faced woman looked so distressed?