"Did you?" Claire said feebly, and fell a-thinking. The inference was too plain to be misunderstood. The "special inducement" in this instance had been the hope of meeting herself. Actually it would appear that he had travelled some distance to ensure this chance, but the chance had been deliberately denied. Kind Mrs Willoughby would have welcomed her with open arms; it was Janet who had laid the ban. Janet was friendly, almost affectionate. As spring progressed she had repeatedly called at Saint Cuthbert's after afternoon school and carried Claire off for refreshing country drives. Quite evidently she enjoyed Claire's society, quite evidently also she preferred to enjoy it when other visitors were not present. Claire was not offended, for she knew that there was no taint of snobbishness in this decision; she was just sorry, and, in a curious fashion, remorseful into the bargain. She did not argue out the point, but instinctively she felt that Janet, not herself, was the one to be pitied! They reached the end of the footpath: in another minute they would be in the noise and bustle of Oxford Street. Erskine Fanshawe came to an abrupt halt, faced Claire and cried impulsively-- "Miss Gifford!" "Yes?" Claire shrank instinctively. She knew that she was about to be asked a question which it would be difficult to answer. Erskine planted his stick on the ground, and stared straight into her eyes. "Why are you so determined to give me no chance of meeting you again?" "I--I'm _not_ determined! I hope we _shall_ meet. Perhaps next winter--at Mrs Willoughby's." He laughed grimly. "But if I were not content to wait for `perhaps next winter--at Mrs Willoughby's.' ... What then?" Claire looked at him gravely. "What would you suggest? I have no home in London, and no relations, and your mother, Captain Fanshawe, would not introduce me to you when she had the chance!" He made a gesture of impatience. "Oh, my mother is the most charming of women--and the most indiscreet. She acts always on the impulse of the moment. She introduced you to Mrs Willoughby, or asked Mrs Willoughby to introduce herself, which comes to the same thing. Surely that proves that she--she--" He broke off, finding a difficulty in expressing what he wanted to say; but Claire understood, and emphatically disagreed. To enlist a friend's sympathy was a very different thing from running the risk of entangling the affections of an only son! Obviously, however, she could not advance this argument, so they stood, the man and the girl, looking at one another, helpless, irresolute, while the clock opposite ticked remorselessly on. Then, with an abruptness which lent added weight to his words, Erskine said boldly-- "I want to meet you again! I am not content to wait upon chance." Claire did not blush; on the contrary, the colour faded from her cheeks. Most certainly she also was not content, but she did not waver in her resolution.