of herself.  At the beginning of their acquaintance certainly there had always been others by, but afterwards there had been opportunities enough.  But by that time, what with her father’s and Mrs. Willoughby’s hostility, she had begun to suspect that Drake was in some way implicated in the mystery.  Was it because she was afraid to know it for certain that she had refrained?  She recalled her letter to him written last Monday, and how she had crossed out ‘importance’ and substituted ‘interest.’  Was this knowledge important to her, really important, bearing issues in the future?  It could only be important, she realised, if she set great store upon her acquaintanceship with Drake.  Drake, in fact, had achieved something of a triumph, though quite unknown to himself, for he had compelled Clarice Le Mesurier to abandon the consideration of his attitude towards her in favour of a search after the state of her feelings towards him.

She was still engaged in the search when the clock struck six, and, rousing herself brusquely, she rang the bell for the lamps to be brought.

At that moment Mrs. Willoughby had just finished telling to Fielding the story which Drake had told to Clarice.

‘So that’s what Drake was referring to on Sunday,’ said Fielding.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Willoughby.

’What in the world made you attack him in that way, if you didn’t want Clarice to suspect?’

’The fact was, I was a fool, I suppose.  I just put my head down and charged.  But what I want your advice upon is this, ought Clarice to be told now—­before things go further?’

‘No, no!’ said Fielding.  He saw the curtain descending precipitately upon his comedy before the climax was reached, and he added quite sincerely, ‘I like Drake.  I don’t see why he shouldn’t have a run for her money.’

Mrs. Willoughby looked doubtful for a moment, and then she said, ’Very well.’  She hesitated for a second:  ‘I think I like him too.’

CHAPTER VIII

This was by no means the last occasion upon which Mrs. Willoughby thought it prudent to take counsel with Fielding concerning the affairs of her friend.  Nor was Fielding in any degree backward to respond with his advice.  He developed, in fact, an interest in their progress quite disproportionate to his professed attitude of the spectator in the stalls.  Mrs. Willoughby lived at Knightsbridge, in a little house, of which the drawing-room overlooked the Park close to the barracks, and he found it very pleasant to sit there of an afternoon and discuss in a cosy duet the future of Clarice.

The subject, besides, had the advantage of inexhaustibility.  On the one side Fielding ranged the suitors, or those whom he considered such; on the other the vagaries of the girl.  Playing these forces off not merely against each other, but against themselves as well—­for, as he pointed out, there was no harmony in the separate camps—­he evolved an infinite number of endless complications.  There was consequently no end to the discussion, not even when Clarice was argued through the marriage ceremony.  For that point Fielding took to represent the one o’clock in the morning of a carnival ball; then the fun really begins, though decent people have to go away.