It was while the two were laughing together over an unexpected _denouement_ that the departure of two guests left a space across which Claire could see a far corner of the room, and perceived that a lady seated on a sofa had raised a tortoiseshell-bound _lorgnon_, to stare across at herself. She was an elderly lady, and at first sight her appearance awoke no recollection. She was just a grey-haired woman, attired in handsome black, in no way differentiated from one or two other visitors of the same age: even when the _lorgnon_ dropped to her side, disclosing a pair of very bright, very quizzical grey eyes, it was a full moment before Claire realised that this was her acquaintance of that first eventful journey to London, none other than Mrs Fanshawe herself. There she sat, smiling, complacent, _grande dame_ as ever, nodding with an air of mingled friendliness and patronage, laying one hand on the vacant place by her side, with an action which was obviously significant. Claire chose, however, to ignore the invitation, and after a grave bow of acknowledgment, turned back to Reginald, keeping her eyes resolutely averted from that far corner. It was Mrs Fanshawe herself who was finally compelled to cross the room to make her greetings. "Miss Gifford! Surely it is Miss Gifford? Mrs Willoughby told me she expected you this afternoon. And how are you, my dear, after this long time?" The tone was all that was cordial and friendly. Claire stood up, tall and stately, and extended a perfectly gloved hand. It was not in human nature to be perfectly natural at that moment. Sub-consciously she was aware that, as the Americans would express it, she was "putting on frills"; sub-consciously she was amused at the artificiality of her own voice. "Quite well, thank you. Exceedingly flourishing!" "You look it," Mrs Fanshawe said, and seated herself ruthlessly in Reginald's chair. "Tell me all about it! You were going to work, weren't you? Some new-fangled idea of being independent. So ridiculous for a pretty girl! And you've had--how long--nearly a year? Haven't got tired of it yet, by any chance?" "Oh, yes; quite often I feel very tired, but I should have felt the same about pleasuring, and work is more worth while. It has been very interesting. I have learnt a great deal." "More than the pupils--hey?" chuckled Mrs Fanshawe shrewdly. "Don't try to pretend that you are a model school-mistress. I know better! I knew you were not the type when I saw you on that journey, and after a year's trial you are less the type than ever." She screwed up her eyes and looked Claire over with deliberate criticism up and down, down and up. "No, my dear! Nature did _not_ intend you to be shut up in a girls' school!" Suddenly she swerved to another topic. "What a journey that was! I nearly expired. If it hadn't been for you, I should never have survived. I told my son you had saved my life. That was my son who met me on the platform!"