It cannot, however, be supposed that this latter line of diplomacy could be permanently successful. When you only meet your suitor at dances or operas, it may be no hard task to be always surrounded by a _chevaux-de-frise_ of other admirers. We have all seen that maneuver brilliantly and patiently executed. But when you are staying at a country house with any man of average pertinacity, I make bold to say that nothing short of taking to bed can be permanently relied upon. If this is the case with the ordinary man, how much more does it hold good when the assailant is one like Haddington--a man of considerable address, unbounded persistence, and limitless complacency? There came a time when Claudia's forced marches failed her, and she had to turn and give battle. When the moment came she was prepared with an audacious plan of campaign. She had walked down to the village one morning, attended by Haddington and protected by Bob, to buy for Mrs. Lane a fresh supply of worsted wool, a commodity apparently necessary to sustain that lady's life, and was returning at peace, when Bob suddenly exclaimed: "By Jove! Tobacco! Wait for me!" and, turning, fled back whence he came, at full speed. Claudia made an attempt at following him, but the weather was hot and the road dusty, and, confronted with the alternative of a _tête-à-tête_ and a damaged personal appearance, she reluctantly chose the former. Haddington did not let the grass grow under his feet. "Well," he said, "it won't be unpleasant to rest a little while, will it? Here's a dry bank." Claudia never wasted time in dodging the inevitable. She sat down. "I am very glad of this opportunity," Haddington began, in such a tone as a man might use if he had just succeeded in moving the adjournment. "It's curious how little I have managed to see of you lately, Lady Claudia." "We meet at least five times a day, Mr. Haddington--breakfast, lunch, tea--" "I mean when you are alone." "Oh!" "And yet you must know my great--my only object in being here is to see you." "The less I say the sooner it will be over," thought Claudia, whose experience was considerable. "You must have noticed my--my attachment. I hope it was without displeasure?" This clearly called for an answer, but Claudia gave none. She sighed slightly and put up her parasol. "Claudia, is there any hope for me? I love you more--" "Mr. Haddington," said Claudia, "this is a painful scene. I trust nothing in my conduct has misled you. [This was known--how, I do not know--to her brothers as "Claudia's formula," but it is believed not to be uncommon.] But what you propose is utterly impossible." "Why do you say that? Perhaps you do not know me well enough yet--but in time, surely?"