"I say, though, Clairy, I haven't said a word to the dad, but what am I to do? I turned cold and hot, and queer as could be yesterday. Whom do you think I met?" Claire knew what was coming, but she did not speak. "Fred. I'd half forgotten about him, and he's in my troop." "Did--did Fred speak, Morton?" "No; he cut me dead, and of course he is James Bell in the regimental books; but, I say, isn't it awkward? I can't know him, you see, as my brother: what shall I do?" "Fred has shown you," said Claire huskily, as her troubles seemed to be on the increase. "I will try and persuade him to leave the regiment. We must buy him out." "Yes, to be sure," cried the boy. "Oh, I say, what a clever old girl you are, Sis! Why, you're better than a mother." Claire smiled sadly as he kissed her and left the house. That night she wrote to Private James Bell about the difficulty--a long sisterly letter, offering to get the money to buy his discharge, and alluding to everything as tenderly as the subject would allow. In due time a crisp short reply came back: "Dear Claire, "No, I shall not leave the regiment. I want to keep my eye on the Major. Tell Morton not to be afraid. I am only James Bell, and I shall never presume. I am too well disciplined for that. Take care of your dear self. "Good-bye, F." Claire wept over the letter, and hid it with her treasures. The difficulty seemed to have passed away, and she felt lighter at heart. She had to prepare too for the evening that the Master of the Ceremonies had determined to give, not because he could afford it, but nominally, as intimated, in honour of his son's receiving a commission, more especially because Lord Carboro' had wished it, and said that he should come. With such a visitor to give _eclat_ to the proceedings, the difficulty was how to arrange to issue invitations, for Denville, with throbbing breast, felt that no one would decline. He was in a tremor for days, as he thought the matter over, and was swayed by his ambition and his true manhood, to and fro. At times he raised his eyes to find that Claire was watching him, and her cold candid look made him shrink within himself, as he thought of the past, and he shivered in dread lest she should display that terrible repugnance again, instead of the sad, half despondent distance that had become her manner and her bearing towards him. She never kissed him, but, when he took her hand, she suffered him to press his lips to her brow without flinching as she had at first, and he sighed and accepted his fate.