"Thank you very much, but I think not. I would rather stay here." "Well, at any rate," he said defiantly, "I've paid for my chair, and you can't turn me out. Of course, you can move yourself." "But I don't want to move. I like being here. I'm very glad to see you. I should like very much to have tea, too. Oh, if you don't understand I can't explain!" cried poor Claire helplessly; and instantly the man's expression altered to one of sympathy and contrition. "I do understand! Don't mind what I say. Naturally it's annoying, but you're right, I suppose--you're perfectly right. I am glad, at any rate, that you allow me to talk to you for a few minutes. You are looking very well!" His eyes took her in in one rapid comprehensive sweep, and Claire thanked Providence that she had put on her prettiest dress. "I am glad that you are keeping fit. Did you enjoy your holiday in Belgium?" "How did you know I was in Belgium?" He laughed easily, but ignored the question. "You have good news of your mother, I hope?" "Very good. She loves the life, and is very happy and interested, and my stepfather writes that his friends refuse to believe in the existence of a grown-up daughter. He is so proud of her youthful looks." "How much did you tell her about your Christmas holidays?" "All the nice bits! I don't approve of burdening other people!" "Evidently not. Then there have been burdens? You've implied that! Nothing by any chance, in which a man--fairly intelligent, and, in this instance, keen after work--could possibly be of some use?" The two pairs of eyes met, gazed, held one another steadily for a long eloquent moment. "Yes," said Claire. Captain Fanshawe bent forward quickly, holding his stick between his knees. The side of his neck had flushed a dull red colour. For several moments he did not speak. Claire had a curious feeling that he could not trust his voice. "Good!" he said shortly at last. "Now may I hear?" "I should like very much to ask you some questions about--about a man whom I think you may know." The grey eyes came back to her face, keen and surprised. "Yes! Who is he?" "A Major Carew. His Christian name is Frank. He belongs to your Club." "I know the fellow. Yes! What do you want to know about him?" "Everything, I think; everything you can tell me!" "You know him personally, then? You've met him somewhere?" "Yes," Claire answered to the last question, "and I'm anxious--I'm interested to know more. Do you know his people, or anything about him?" "I don't know them personally. I know Carew very slightly. Good family, I believe. Fine old place in Surrey." The Elizabethan manor house was true, then! Claire felt relieved, but not yet satisfied. Her suspicion was so deep-rooted that it was not easily dispelled. She sat silent for a moment, considering her next question. "Is he the eldest son?" "I believe he is. I've always understood so."