"They begin by being very thick, then they stop abruptly. They don't follow the line of the eye, like most eyebrows. They look--unfinished!" Major Carew bounced upon his chair. "Erskine, I have an idea.--It seems almost incredible, but I'm bound to find if it is correct! There is a man who is in our camp now. I'll make an excuse, and send him over to-night, if you can arrange that Miss Gifford sees him when he comes. I'll give him a message for you." "_Send_!" repeated Erskine sharply; then he glanced at Claire, and sent a frowning message towards the other man. "That can easily be arranged. We'll leave it till evening, then. We can't get any further now, and I must get back to my duties. The mater is scowling at me. Go and soothe her like a good fellow, but for your life--not a word of this to her!" Major Carew rose obediently, perfectly aware that his company was not wanted, and Erskine bent towards Claire with a few earnest words. "Don't worry! If this man is an impostor, the sooner it is found out, the better. He _is_ an impostor, there's no getting away from that, and he is making a dupe of that poor girl for his own ends. If we had not made this discovery, he would have stuck to her until he had bled her of her last penny, and then would probably have disappeared into space. She knows nothing of his real name or position, so it would have been difficult to trace him, and probably nothing to be gained, if he _were_ found. One reads of these scoundrels from time to time, but I've never had the misfortune to meet one in the flesh. I'd like to horsewhip the fellow for upsetting you like this!" "Oh, what does it matter about me?" Claire cried impatiently. "It's Cecil I'm thinking about--my poor, poor friend! She's not young, and she is tired out after twelve years of teaching, and it's the _second_ time! Years ago a man pretended to love her, it was only pretence, and it nearly broke her heart. She has never been the same since then. It made her bitter and distrustful." "Poor creature! No wonder. But that was some time ago, and now she is engaged to this other fellow. Is she in love with him, do you suppose?" Claire shrugged vaguely. "I--don't--know! She is in love with the idea of a home." "And he? You have seen them together. He is a cur, there's no getting away from that, but he might be attached to the girl all the same. Do you think he is?" "Oh, how can I tell?" Claire cried impatiently. "She thinks he is, but she thought the same about the other man. It doesn't seem possible to tell! Men amuse themselves and pretend, and act a part, and then laugh at a girl if she is so foolish as to believe--" Captain Fanshawe bent forward, his arm resting on his knees, his face upraised to hers; a very grave face, fixed and determined. "Do you believe that, Claire? Do you believe what you are saying?" The grey eyes looked deep into hers, compelling an answer. "I--I think many of them--"