Had she dreamed it? If so, it was a vivid dream. How sincerely she hoped not. “Because if I’ve dreamt it I shan’t be able to go on with it and, if it really happened, there is no reason why I shouldn’t see all the others, and what fun that might be. I should ask what it was Fieldmouse had just told Rob that made his eyes so round and shining, and what it is makes dear Miss Ross so sad, and I should ask how long Kitty Fischer has had her doves, and if they lay eggs all through the winter like Mummie’s; and....” “Clare! d’epêche toi, ma mignonne, voyons, voyons, voyons;” and Mademoiselle entered the room concerned to find Clare still in her nightgown, and dawdling, with bare feet. But all day long, through the hurry and skirmish of an ordinary day, through the tedium of lessons and the ballyragging of the boys, Clare hugged her precious secret to her heart. She couldn’t bear to speak of it, for if it were only a dream, her longing for it to continue would be intensified. She had seen Mrs. Inchbald and Robert Mayne, and spoken to them, and the children in the pictures were real. If this were only a dream, then she’d rather not talk about it; but if it were true, if it were really true, then she’d tell Bim and Christopher about her wonderful discovery, and to-night, this very night it would be proved. [Illustration: _Hogarth._ PEG WOFFINGTON.] Have you ever lived through a day that has some treasure of knowledge or expectation, that lies hidden beneath everything tiresome, beautifying the prosaic features of the day? To Clare it made it wonderfully easy to put up with all sorts of difficulties, this enchanting secret of hers. Bedtime came, and after the usual bath-skirmish all three children were in bed. Prayers said, lights out, and the shadows in possession. Then, because she had had a long day and was tired, Clare slept. And when she awoke she heard her name repeated. She sat up wide awake, and saw Dolorès by her bedside--her little bodice crossed as prettily as in the picture, with tiny skirt, and lifted eyebrow, there she stood. “Are you coming to play with us to-night, Clare? We’ve got the drawing-room to ourselves for an hour before the party, and it’s lovely, for the furniture is moved away. But we shall have to go to bed when Mrs. Inchbald says so, but there’s still time before that. Shall we go and fetch the others?” Clare’s heart beat quickly, but she was out of bed in a moment, following Dolorès from the room. “I must wake up Bim and Christopher,” she said. “Will you wait for me? Their room is not far away.” She ran off, but came headlong in collision with somebody round the corner of the stairs. “Mercy,” exclaimed a sharp voice, “the children again, I’ll be bound.” This was said with great asperity, and Clare, recovering as best she might from a stinging box on the ear, had just time to see Peg Woffington pass round the corner in the shortest skirt, and jauntiest little bodice imaginable.