"My mother sent me a very handsome present," Claire said demurely. She had no personal agitations about the day's post; but she did feel interested in the thought of those parcels from Switzerland which lay awaiting Janet Willoughby's return. Half eager, half shrinking, she looked forward to seeing their contents. It was in Janet's dainty boudoir that the unpacking took place. The two girls went straight upstairs on their return from church, and there, on a gate-legged table, lay the pile of parcels which had arrived by the morning's delivery. Janet pounced upon the Swiss packets, and cut the fastenings with eager haste. From across the room Claire watched her eager face as she read the inscriptions one by one. As she neared the end of the pile, the eagerness became tinged with anxiety; she picked up the last parcel of all, and the light died out of her face. Claire turned aside and affected to be absorbed in examining the contents of an old cabinet, and Janet moved to the nearer side of the table so that her face was hidden from view; after a few minutes of silence, she broke the silence in a voice of forced lightness. "Won't you come and look at my trophies? Switzerland is not a very happy hunting-ground, for there is so little variety to be had. That's my fifth carved chalet, and about the seventeenth bear. Rather a dear, though, isn't he? Such a nice man sent it--one of the nicest of men. That's his photograph on the mantelpiece." Claire looked, met a straight keen glance which lived in her memory, and felt a tingle of blood in her cheeks. Janet's eyes followed hers, and she said quickly-- "Not that; that's Erskine Fanshawe. He is a casual person, and doesn't go in for presents. He hasn't even troubled to send a card. I meant the man in the leather frame. He always remembers. I do like that, in a man! They are all good enough in an emergency, but so few of them think of the nice _little_ things!" Janet sighed, and dropped the carved wooden bear on to the table. However much she might appreciate the donor's thoughtfulness, it had not had a cheering effect. The light had died out of her eyes, and she turned over the various trophies without a trace of the enthusiasm with which she had torn open the parcel. Claire standing beside her felt torn between sympathy and a guilty sense of relief. She was sorry for Janet's obvious disappointment, but she was also (it was a dog-in-the-manger feeling, for how could it possibly affect herself?) _relieved_ that Captain Fanshawe was not the donor of the bear! As the two girls stood together turning over the little collection of carved toys, Claire slipped her hand through Janet's arm with an affectionate pressure, which was an outward apology for the inward disloyalty, and Janet stretched out her own hand to clasp it with unexpected fervour.