“He talks only of the Thornleighs,” said Clare, with that familiar pucker in her brow. Pretending to be anxious about Edgar was so much more easy than adopting that air of absolute calm for herself. “Of course I know I ought to be very glad that he has chosen such nice friends. There is nothing to object to in the Thornleighs. Still, to go to town only to see them, when he can see them as much as he pleases at home----” “Lady Augusta, I should think, likes to have such a captive at her chariot-wheels,” said Arthur. “How much anxiety it must cost you! Poor dear Arden! What a pity he knows so little of the world.” “Oh, my brother will do very well,” said Clare, with a sensitive movement of offence; and then it occurred to her that it was safest to carry the war into the other camp. “I should like to know how you get on at the Red House?” she said. “Miss Pimpernel is quite pretty, I think. Is she always buttoning her glove? I hear they play croquet a great deal. Are you fond of croquet, Mr. Arden? If you are, it must have been so dull for you, never having it while you were here.” “I hate croquet,” he said, almost rudely (but Clare was not offended). “I hope the man who invented it died a violent death. Miss Arden, I know I have put myself in a false position by going to visit the Pimpernels----” “Oh, no, indeed no, not at all,” said Clare, with majestic suavity; “why should not you visit them if you like them? I object to visiting that sort of people myself, you know. Not that they are not quite as good as I am--but---- And then one acts as one has been brought up. I never supposed it was a wrong thing to do----” “It would not be right for you,” said her cousin. “With us men, of course, it don’t matter; but you---- I should not like to see you at the Red House with a mallet in your hand. I must not tell you my motive in going there, I suppose?” “Oh, please, do,” said Clare, with queenly superiority, but a heart that beat very quick under this calm appearance. “I think I can divine--but you may be sure of my interest--in whatever concerns you. Miss Pimpernel is very pretty; she has the loveliest complexion. And I was not in earnest when I spoke about--buttoning her glove.” “Why should not you be in earnest? She does nothing but button her glove. But I don’t know what Miss Pimpernel has to do with it,” said Arthur, putting on an air of surprise. He knew very well what she had to do with it. He understood Clare’s meaning at once, and he knew also that there was a certain truth in the suggestion. If he was utterly foiled concerning herself, he was by no means sure that Alice Pimpernel was not the next best; but he put on an air of surprise, and gravely waited for a reply. Clare, however, was not quite able to reply. She smiled, and waited till he should say more. It was the wisest and the safest way.