The Major began to feel himself, as he would have phrased it, 'nowhere,' and to wish that he had _not_ called that morning. There ensued a break in the conversation which was embarrassing to both, till Clare, who was the first to recover her equanimity, said with a smile, as she deemed some explanation due, if not to him, at least to herself: 'It is to Trevor--to Captain Chute--concerning poor Ida--not on any affair of mine, be assured; but,' she added, colouring a little, 'you will not mention this circumstance to--to papa?' 'You have my word, Miss Collingwood; and now good-morning.' He left her with coldness of manner, but only a little; for whatever he thought, he deemed it bad style to discover the least emotion. But he felt that even in a small way, in virtue of his promised secrecy, he and Clare had a secret understanding. Why had she been so afraid that he should know of her correspondence with this fellow Chute, who he understood had been a discarded admirer of hers in her first season; and why keep her father in ignorance of it, when Chute was the old man's guest but yesterday? It was, he thought, altogether one of those things 'no fellow can understand,' and drove off in his mail phaeton to visit Crusader in his loose box. Clare remained full of thought after he had gone, and the note had been despatched to Trevor Chute; she felt none of the excitement a proposal might cause in another. She was, in fact, more annoyed than fluttered or flattered by it. Yet Clare felt a need for loving some one and being beloved in turn. It is a necessity in every female, perhaps every true human heart. Clare had certainly many admirers, but she was always disposed to criticise them, and the woman who criticises a man rarely ends by loving him; so since that old time, to which we have already referred, she had gone through the world of gaiety heart-free; and though mingling much in society, she had somehow made a little world of her own--a species of independent existence, and even preferred the retirement of their country home, with a few pleasant visitors, of course, and weaving out schemes of benevolence to the tenantry, to the whirl of life in London, with its balls, drums, crushes, and at-homes, attending sometimes three in the same evening, as it was called, though the early morning was glittering on the silver harness as the carriage drove her home. Though the proposal of Desmond had excited not the least emotion in the heart of Clare Collingwood, it caused some unpleasant and unwelcome thoughts to arise, and at such a time as this more than ever did she miss her mother, whose affection and counsel were never wanting. She had a dread of her father, and of his cold and cutting, yet withal courtly, way of addressing her, when in any way, however lightly, she displeased him, and now she feared intuitively that she would do so, or had done so, in a serious manner.