"Don't get hysterical, Claire, please. There's nothing so extraordinary in a man being hard up. It's happened before now in the history of the world. Frank has a position to keep up, and his father--I've told you before how mean and difficult his father is, and it's so important that Frank should keep on good terms just now.--He dare not worry him for money. When he is going to make me a rich woman some day, why should I refuse to lend him a few trifling pounds when he runs short? He's in an expensive regiment; he belongs to an expensive Club; he is obliged to keep up with the other men. If I had twice as much I would lend it with pleasure." Claire opened her lips to say that at least no more borrowed money should be supplied for Major Carew, but the words were never spoken. Pity engulfed her, a passion of pity for the poor woman who a second time had fallen under the spell of an unscrupulous man. Cecil's explanation had fallen on deaf ears, for Claire could accept no excuses for a man who borrowed from a woman to ensure comfort and luxury for himself. An officer in the King's army! The thing seemed incredible; so incredible that, for the first time, a rising of suspicion mingled with her dislike. Mentally, she rehearsed the facts of Major Carew's history as narrated by himself, and found herself doubting every one. The beautiful house in the country--did it really exist? The eccentric old father who refused to part with his gold--was he flesh and blood, or a fictitious figure invented as a convenient excuse? The fortune which was to enrich the future--_was_ there such a fortune? Or, if there were, was Major Carew in truth the eldest son? Claire felt a devastating helplessness her life abroad had left her ignorant of many British institutions; she knew nothing of the books in which she might have traced the Carew history; she had nothing to guide her but her own feminine instinct, but if that instinct were right, what was to become of Mary Rhodes? Her face looked so sad, so downcast, that Cecil's conscience was pricked. "Poor old Claire!" she said gently, "how I do worry you, to be sure! Never mind, my dear, I'll make it up to you one day. You've been a brick to me, and I shan't forget it. And I'll go to my mother's for the whole of the Easter holidays, and save up my pennies to pay you back. The poor old soul felt defrauded because I stayed only a week at Christmas, so she'll be thankful to have me. You can go to Brussels with an easy mind, knowing that I'm out of temptation. That will be killing two birds with one stone. What do you say to having cocoa now, instead of waiting till nine o'clock? We've tired ourselves out with all this fuss?" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE MEETING IN HYDE PARK.