"My dear," cried Mrs Fanshawe, "you must excuse my bad manners! You are so refreshing to look at after all those horrors on the boat that I can't help staring. And you've been so kind! Positively I don't know how I should have survived without you. Will you tell me your name? I should like to know to whom I am indebted for so much help." "My name is Claire Gifford." "Er--yes?" Plainly Mrs Fanshawe felt the information insufficient. "Gifford! I knew some Giffords. Do you belong to the Worcestershire branch?" Claire hitched her shoulders in the true French shrug. "_Sais pas_! I have no English relations nearer than second cousins, and we have lived abroad so much that we are practically strangers. My father died when I was a child. I went to school in Paris, and for the last few years my mother and I have made our headquarters in Brussels. She married again, only yesterday, and is going to live in Bombay." Mrs Fanshawe arched surprised brows. "And you are staying behind?" "Yes. They asked me to go. Mr Judge is very kind. He is my--er-- stepfather!" Claire shrugged again at the strangeness of that word. "He gave me the warmest of invitations, but I refused. I preferred to be left." Mrs Fanshawe hitched herself into her corner, planted her feet more firmly on the provisionary footstool, and folded her hands on her knee. She had the air of a person settling down to the enjoyment of a favourite amusement, and indeed her curiosity was a quality well-known to all her acquaintances. "Why?" she asked boldly, and such was the force of her personality that Claire never dreamt for a moment of refusing to reply. "Because I want to be independent." Mrs Fanshawe rolled her eyes to the hat-rail. "My dear, nonsense! You're far too pretty. Leave that to the poor creatures who have no chance of finding other people to work for them. You should change your mind, you know, you really should. India's quite an agreeable place to put in a few years. The English girl is a trifle overdone, but with your complexion you would be bound to have a success. Think it over! Don't be in a hurry to let the chance slip!" "It _has_ slipped. They sail from Marseilles a week from to-day, and besides I don't want to change. I like the prospect of independence better even than being admired." "Though you like that, too?" "Of course. Who doesn't? I'm hoping--with good luck--to be admired in England instead!" "Then you mustn't be independent!" Mrs Fanshawe said, laughing. "It was the rage a year or two ago; girls had a craze for joining Settlements, and running about in the slums, but it's quite out of date. Hobble skirts killed it. It's impossible to be utilitarian in a hobble skirt... And how do you propose to show your independence, may I ask?" "I am going to be French mistress in a High School," Claire said sturdily, and hated herself because she winced before the eloquent change of expression which passed over her companion's face.