Captain Fanshawe knitted his brows. This charming girl was a little difficult to follow conversationally; she leapt from one subject to another with disconcerting agility. "Er--pardon me! Is that question put to me in my--er--private, or imaginary capacity?" "Private, of course. But naturally you did. Did you have pockets?" "To the best of my remembrance I was disguised as a midshipmite, with white duck trousers of a prodigious width. They used to crackle, I remember. There was room for a dozen pockets." Claire laid her arms on the table, so that her face drew nearer his own. Her voice fell to a stage whisper-- "Did you--ever--take--something--home?" The Captain threw back his head with a peal of laughter. "Miss Gifford, what a question! I was an ordinary human boy. _Of course_ I did. And sat on my spoils in the carriage going back, and was scolded for spoiling my clothes. I had a small brother at home." "Well--I have a small friend! She has letters after her name, and is very learned and clever, but she has a _very_ sweet tooth. Do you think, perhaps--in this bag--" "Leave it to me!" he said firmly, and when the waiter next appeared, he received an order to bring more bon-bons--plenty of bon-bons--a selection of all the small dainties in silver dishes. "He thinks I _am_ having a feast!" Claire said demurely, as she watched the progress of selection; then she met Erskine Fanshawe's eyes, and nodded in response to an unspoken question, "And I _am_! I'm having a lovely time!" "I wish it were possible that you could oftener--" "Well, who knows? A week ago I had made up my mind that nothing exciting would ever happen again, and then this invitation arrived. What a perfect dear Miss Willoughby seems to be!" "Janet? She _is_!" he said warmly. "She is a girl who has had everything the world can give her, and yet has come through unspoiled. It's not often one can say that. Many society girls are selfish and vain, but Janet never seems to think of herself. You'd find her an ideal friend." Claire's brain leapt swiftly to several conclusions. Janet Willoughby was devoted to Mrs Fanshawe; Mrs Fanshawe returned her devotion. Janet Willoughby was rich, and of good birth. Mrs Fanshawe had mentally adopted her as a daughter-in-law. Given the non-appearance of a rival on the scene, her desire would probably be fulfilled, since such sincere liking could easily ripen into love. Just for a moment Claire felt a stab of that lone and lorn feeling which comes to solitary females at the realisation of another's happiness; then she rallied herself and said regretfully-- "I'm afraid I shan't have the chance! Our lives lie too far apart, and my time is not my own. It is only an occasional Saturday-night that I can play Cinderella." "What do you do on Sundays?"