I’m ready!”

Mrs Gifford turned without a word and went out of the room, but Claire was too busy being sorry for herself to have sympathy to spare for anyone else. She threw off her wrapper and slipped into the cool muslin dress which was at once so simple, and so essentially French and up-to-date, and then, throwing open the door of a cupboard, stared at a long row of hats ranged on a top shelf, and deliberately selected the one which she considered the least becoming.

“I will not be decked up for the sacrifice!” she muttered rebelliously, then bent forward, so that her face approached close to the flushed, frowning reflection in the glass. “You are going to be proposed to, my dear!” she said scornfully. “You are going to be good and sensible, and say ‘Yes, please!’ When you see yourself next, you will be Engaged! It won’t be dear little Claire Gifford any more, it will be the horrible future Mrs Robert Judge!”

She stuck hat-pins through the straw hat with savage energy; for once in her life noticed with distinct satisfaction that it was secured at an unbecoming angle, then, hearing through the jalousies the sound of approaching wheels, marched resolutely forth to meet her fate...

In the fiacre Mrs Gifford and Miss Benson took the seats of honour, leaving Claire and Mr Judge to sit side by side, and the one furtive glance which she cast in his direction showed him looking confident and unperturbed. Just like a French prétendu, already assured by Maman that Mademoiselle was meekly waiting to assent to his suit!

“He might at least pay me the compliment of pretending! It is dreadfully dull to be taken for granted,” reflected Claire in disgust.

The next hour was a horrible experience. Everything happened exactly as Claire had known it would, from the moment the quartette set forth. Arrived at the forest, they took possession of one of the little tables beneath the trees, and made fitful conversation the while they consumed delicious cakes and execrable tea. Then the meal being finished, Mrs Gifford and her companion announced a wish to sit still and rest, while Mr Judge nervously invited Miss Claire to accompany him in a walk. She assented, of course; what was the use of putting it off? and as soon as they were well started, he spied another seat, and insisted upon sitting down once more.

“Now he’ll begin,” thought Claire desperately. “He’ll talk about India, and being lonely, and say how happy he has felt since he’s been 

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