'Connie!' said Miss Le Mesurier, and her tone showed that she was hurt. 'You _are_ unsympathetic.' 'I can't help it,' cried Mrs. Willoughby, and she laughed yet louder. 'I can't help it, dear!' 'You can't imagine how lonely I have felt since--' 'Since yesterday,' cried Mrs. Willoughby, and her laughter increased. 'Clarice, you'll be the death of me.' Clarice stood gazing at her patiently, her face grave with reproach, until Mrs. Willoughby succeeded in composing herself to a fitting seriousness. But for all her efforts her mouth worked, and the dimples appeared and vanished in her cheeks, and a little ripple of laughter now and again escaped from her lips. 'Really,' said Clarice, 'I am disappointed in you, Connie.' 'I know it was out of place, dear,' said Mrs. Willoughby with humility, but nevertheless her voice shook as she spoke. Fearing another access she began, as a resource, to lecture Clarice upon the impropriety of making appointments with young gentlemen at other people's houses. The lecture, however, was received with disdain. 'That seems to me still more out of place,' said Clarice. 'Well, we had better go into the drawing-room to Mr. Conway,' said Mrs. Willoughby. Clarice was indeed excessively indignant with Mrs. Willoughby, for she was in the habit herself of treating her feelings with a tender solicitude, and consequently disliked the want of respect shown to them by her friend. She betrayed the extent of her indignation by a proportionately excessive friendliness towards Conway that afternoon. He was allowed to conduct her to four picture galleries, and a Panopticon museum of tortures; his offer to refresh her with tea in Bond Street was shyly accepted, and at parting he was thanked with effusion, 'for the pleasantest afternoon she had spent for some time.' On reaching home, however, Miss Le Mesurier immediately wrote out the note which she had begun in Mrs. Willoughby's boudoir. She wrote it now without hesitation, as though she had composed the form of its message while in the company of Conway, and addressed it to Stephen Drake. She had a question to ask him, she stated, of some importance to herself. Would he call on Thursday afternoon and answer it? Clarice read through the note before she sealed up the envelope. The word _importance_ caught her eye, and she pondered over it for a moment. She crossed it out finally and substituted _interest_. Then she sent her letter to the post. At breakfast on the Thursday morning, Clarice casually informed her father of Drake's visit. 'I wrote to him, asking him to call,' she added. Mr. Le Mesurier looked up from the pages of his _Times_. 'Why?' he asked quickly. 'I want him to tell me something.'