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obvious preference for such literature, confirmed Lucy’s determination to make a friend of the heroine so conveniently delivered to her. If Miss Fell’s lips twitched at the more lurid passages, it was because a real heroine must know so much better than any novelist just how an adventure should go.
    Miss Fell’s strength proved equal to only a single chapter. “Thank you, Miss Carstairs,” she said with real gratitude. “Perhaps, if you are not otherwise occupied, we might have chapter two tomorrow.”
    “Of course,” assured Lucy. Then she added hesitantly, “Won’t you call me Lucy? I should like it of all things.”
    Miss Fell crimsoned.
    “Thank you,” she whispered, “but I…I cannot reciprocate. I have no name.”
    “Oh, forgive me,” cried Lucy. “I should not have… Please, let me call you Clarissa?”
    Amusement overcame embarrassment.
    “Oh, not Clarissa, I beg of you!” Then seeing Lucy’s disappointment, “Perhaps you could call me Clare, or Clara, then you might think of me as Clarissa if you wish, but no one else need know.”
    “Of course, dear Clara. Now you had better sleep.” And Lucy, surprising herself as much as Miss Fell, stooped and gave her a motherly kiss on the forehead. Blushing at her own forwardness, she left hurriedly, calling “Good night!”
    What a charming child, thought Miss Fell, newly christened Clara. As good-hearted as her mother. Her amusement faded. Who were they? Who was she herself? Suddenly the awkwardness, the helplessness and embarrassment of her position overwhelmed her. What could she do? She was totally dependent on strangers; and however kind, they had their own plans, and she must be upsetting them dreadfully.
    She did not even know how long she had been here. Time blurred into a succession of vignettes, of faces appearing and disappearing, dominated by one dark, pitying face, which she had not seen today. Feeling lost and alone, Miss Clara Fell slipped into uneasy sleep.
     
    Late that evening when Jem returned with an answer from Arnden, he received a sovereign for his pains. Miss Florence Carstairs was happy to be of service to her sister-in-law. Since Lady Annabel had informed her that Miss Fell was the daughter of an old friend, she expressed no qualms about that young lady’s doubtful gentility.
    “But oh, Richard,” exclaimed Lady Annabel, “I should never be able to face your aunt again if Miss Fell should turn out to be not quite elegant!”
     

Chapter 4
    Another three days passed before Miss Fell was allowed to leave her room. By this time Lady Annabel’s doubts were quite laid to rest—Miss Fell was a lady. Lucy, of course, had never had any doubts. Clara was her best friend and by way of becoming her confidante, which amused her mother and dismayed her brother. In spite of Lady Annabel’s assurances, Richard still had his misgivings; it was a relief that at least the young woman was not vulgar, but only time would tell whether she knew how to go on in Society, and they might never learn her background.
    It was a rainy Monday morning, gloomy and chilly. Richard and Lord Denham were playing billiards in a desultory way when Lucy bounced in.
    “Richard, mama desires that you will carry Miss Fell to the morning room. She is well enough to come down; is not that delightful?”
    Richard looked annoyed.
    “Surely one of the footmen…? Oh, very well. I shall be there directly. Tony, let us finish the game in a few minutes.”
    “Certainly not. I am most anxious to make the acquaintance of Miss Fell and shall be happy to abandon a game that you are winning for the fourth time. I shall await you in the morning room.”
     Unwillingly, Richard followed his sister upstairs. His feelings were confused. Used to regulating his conduct toward strangers and slight acquaintances according to rigid rules laid down by his uncle, Lord Mortlake, he had no idea how to approach a young woman whom he had saved from death, yet of whose position in