And at that moment, with the usual contrariety of fate, Erskine appeared! He came striding along the platform, a big, loosely-built man, with a clean-shaven face, glancing to right and left over the upstanding collar of a tweed coat. He looked at once plain and distinguished, and in the quizzical eyes and beetling eyebrows there was an unmistakable likeness to the _grande dame_ standing by Claire's side. Just for a moment he paused, as he came in sight of the group of passengers, and Claire, meeting his glance, knew who he was, even before he came forward and made his greeting. "Holla, Mater! Sorry to be late. Not my fault this time. I was ready all right, but the car did not come round. Had a good crossing?" "My dear, appalling! Don't talk of it. I was prostrate all night, and Mason too ill to do anything but moan. She's been no use." "Poor beggar! She looks pretty green. But-- er--" The plain face lighted with an expectant smile as he turned towards the girl who stood by his mother's side, still holding the precious bag. "You seem to have met a friend..." "Oh--er--yes!" With a gesture of regal graciousness Mrs Fanshawe turned towards the girl, and held out her gloved hand. "Thank you _so_ much, Miss Gifford! You've been quite too kind. I'm really horribly in your debt. I hope you will find everything as you like, and have a very good time. Thank you again. _Good-bye_. I'm really dropping with fatigue. What a relief it will be to get to bed!" She turned aside, and laid her hand on her son's arm. "Erskine, where _is_ the car?"