The last days of April came, the family in Bellairs Crescent were making preparations for an immediate departure to the Ayrshire coast, and as yet Gladys had not seen or heard anything of Walter. She had a longing to revisit the old home, and yet a curious reluctance held her back. She felt hurt, and even a trifle irritated against Walter; and though she understood, and in a measure sympathised with his feelings, she thought him needlessly morbid and sensitive regarding their new relation towards each other. 'Gladys,' said Clara one day, when she had watched in silence the girl's sweet face, and noticed its half-sad, half-wistful expression, 'what is the matter with you? You are fretting about something. Tell me what it is. Do you not wish to go to Troon with us, or would you rather go to Bourhill? Do tell us what you would like best to do?' They were quite alone in the little morning-room, which had been given up to the girls of the house to adorn as they liked. It was a pretty corner, dainty, home-like, cosy, with a long window opening out to the garden, which was as beautiful as it is possible for a city garden to be. Gladys gave a little start, and coloured slightly under Clara's earnest gaze. 'I am quite happy at the idea of going to Troon; remember I have never seen the sea,' she answered quickly. 'What makes you think I am unhappy?' 'My dear, you look it. You can't hide it from me, and you are going to tell me this very moment what is vexing you.' Clara knelt down on the rug, and, with her hands folded, looked up in her friend's face. Gladys passed her hand lightly over the smooth braids of Clara's beautiful hair, and did not for a moment speak. 'Did you ever have a great faith in any one who after a time disappointed you?' she asked suddenly. 'No, I don't think so. I am not naturally trusting, Gladys. I have to be very sure before I put absolute faith in any one.' 'I cannot believe that of you, Clara. How kind you have been to me, an utter stranger! You have treated me like a sister since the first happy day I entered the house.' 'Oh, that is different. You know very well, you little fraud, that your very eyes disarm suspicion, as somebody says. You are making conquests everywhere. But now we are away from the point. _What_ is vexing you? Shall I make a guess?' 'Oh, if you like,' answered Gladys, with interest. 'Well, you are thinking of past days. You have not forgotten the companions of the old life, and it is grieving you, because it would appear that they have forgotten you.' 'He might have come, only once,' cried Gladys rebelliously, not for a moment seeking to deny or admit in words the truth of Clara's words. 'We were a great deal to each other. It is hard to be forgotten so soon.' 'Gladys dear, listen to me.' Clara's voice became quite grave, and she folded her hands impressively above her companion's.