The Independence of Claire

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  ENTER MAJOR CAREW.

  In the street outside the church door the two girls shook hands andexchanged greetings. Janet wore a long fur coat, and a toque of darkRussian sable, with a sweeping feather at one side. The price of thesetwo garments alone would equal the whole of Claire's yearly salary, butit had the effect of making the wearer look clumsy and middle-agedcompared with the graceful simplicity of the other's French-cut costume.Janet Willoughby was not thinking of clothes at that moment, however;she was looking at reddened eyelids, and remembering the moment when shehad seen a kneeling figure suddenly shaken with emotion. The sight ofthose tears had wiped away the rankling grudge which had lain at herheart since the evening of her mother's At Home, and revived the warmliking which at first sight she had taken to this pretty attractivegirl.

  "Which way are you going? May I walk with you? It's just the morningfor a walk. I hope it will keep cold and bright over Christmas. It'sso inappropriate when it's muggy. Last year we were in Switzerland, butmother is old-fashioned, and likes to have the day at home, so this timewe don't start till the new year. You are not going sporting by anychance?"

  "I'm not!" said Claire, and, for all her determination, could not resista grimace, so far from sporting seemed the prospect ahead. Janet caughtthe grimace, and smiled in sympathy, but the next moment her facesobered.

  "But I hope you _are_ going to have jolly holidays?"

  "Oh, I hope so. Oh, yes, I mean to enjoy them very much," Claire saidvaliantly, and swiftly turned the subject. "Where do you go inSwitzerland?"

  "Saint Moritz. We've gone there for years--a large party of friends.It has become quite a yearly reunion. It's so comfy to have one's ownparty, and be independent of the other hoteliers. They may be quitenice, of course, but then, again, they may not. I feel rather meansometimes when I see a new arrival looking with big eyes at our merrytable. Theoretically, I think one _ought_ to be nice to new-comers inan hotel. It's such a pelican-in-the-wilderness feeling. I'd hate itmyself, but practically I'm afraid I'm not particularly friendly. Weare so complete that we don't want outsiders. They'd spoil the fun.Don't you think one is justified in being a little bit selfish atChristmas-time?"

  Claire laughed, her old, happy, gurgling laugh. It warmed her heart tohave Janet Willoughby's companionship once more.

  "It isn't exactly the orthodox attitude, is it? Perhaps you will bemore justified this year, after you have got through your Christmasduties at home."

  "Yes! That's a good idea. I _shall_, for it was pure unselfishnesswhich prevented me running away last week with the rest of the party.Mother would have given in if I'd persisted, and I wanted to sodreadfully badly." She sighed, and looked quite dejected, but Claireremained unmoved.

  "I don't pity you one bit. You have only a week to wait. That's not agreat trial of patience!"

  "Oh, yes, it is.--Sometimes!" said Janet with an emphasis which gave thewords an added eloquence.

  Claire divined at once that Switzerland had an attraction apart fromwinter sports--an attraction centred in some individual member of themerry party. Could it by any chance be Erskine Fanshawe? She longed toask the question. Not for a hundred pounds would she have asked thequestion. She hoped it was Captain Fanshawe. She hoped Janet wouldhave a lovely time. Some girls had everything. Some had nothing. Itwas unfair--it was cruel. Oh, dear, what was the use of going tochurch, and coming out to have such mean, grudging thoughts? JanetWilloughby too! Such a dear! She deserved to be happy. Claire forceda smile, and said bravely--

  "It will be all the nicer for waiting."

  "It couldn't be nicer," Janet replied.

  Then she looked in the other girl's face, and it struck her that thepretty eyelids had taken an additional shade of red, and her warm heartfelt a throb of compunction. "Grumbling about my own little bothers,when she had so much to bear--hateful of me! I've been mean not to askher again; mother wanted to; but she's so pretty. I admired her so muchthat I was afraid--other people might too! But she was crying; I sawher cry. Perhaps she is lonely, and it's my fault--"

  "What do you generally do on Sundays?" she asked aloud. "There are lotsof other mistresses at your school, aren't there? I suppose you goabout together, and have tea at each other's rooms in the afternoon, andsit over the fire at night and talk, and brew cocoa, as the girls do innovels. It all sounds so interesting. The girls are generally ratherplain and very learned; but there is always one among them who is likeyou. I don't mean that you are not learned--I'm sure you are--but--er--pretty, you know, and attractive, and fond of things! And all theothers adore her, and are jealous if she is nicer to one than to theothers..."

  Claire grimaced again, more unrestrainedly than before.

  "That's not my part. I wish it were. I could play it quite well. Theother mistresses are quite civil and pleasant, but they don't hankerafter me one bit. With two exceptions, the girl I live with, and oneother, I have not spoken to one of them out of school hours. I don'teven know where most of them live."

  Janet's face lengthened. Suddenly she turned and asked a sharp directquestion:

  "Where are you going on Christmas Day?"

  Pride and weakness struggled together in Claire's heart, and pride won.She would _not_ pose as an object of pity!

  "Oh, I'm going--out!" said she with an air, but Janet Willoughby was notto be put off so easily as that. Her brown eyes sent out a flash oflight. She demanded sternly:

  "Where?"

  "Really--" Claire tossed her head with the air of a duchess who was sooverburdened with invitations that she found it impossible to make achoice between them. "Really, don't you know, I haven't quitedecided--"

  "Claire Gifford, you mean, horrid girl, don't dare to quibble! You aregoing nowhere, and you know it. Nobody has invited you for ChristmasDay; that's why you were crying just now--because you had nowhere to go.And you would have gone away this morning, and said nothing, and satalone in your rooms... I call it _mean_! Talk of the spirit ofChristmas! It's an insult to me and to mother. How do you suppose weshould have felt if we'd found out _afterwards_?"

  "W-what else could I do? How could I tell you?" stammered Claire,blushing. "It would have seemed such a barefaced _hint_, and I detesthints. And really why should you have felt bad? I'm a stranger.You've only seen me once. There could be no blame on you. There's noblame on anyone. It just happens that it doesn't quite fit in to visitfriends at a distance, and in town--well! I'm a stranger, you see. I_have_ no friends!"

  Janet set her lips.

  "Just as a matter of curiosity I should like to know exactly what you_were_ going to do? You said, I believe, that you were going out. Andnow you say you had nowhere to go. Both statements can't be true--"

  "Oh, yes, they can. I have nowhere to go, but I had to find somewhere,because my good landlady is going to her mother's at Highgate, anddisapproves of lodgers who stay in on Christmas Day. She gave me noticethat I must go out as the house would be locked up."

  "But where--what--where _could_ you go?"

  "I thought of a restaurant and a concert, and a station waiting-room tofill in the gaps. Quite comfortable, you know. They have lovely fires,and with a nice book--"

  "If you don't stop this minute I shall begin to cry--here, in the openstreet!" cried Janet hotly. "Oh, you poor dear, you poor dear! Astation waiting-room. I never heard of anything so piteous. Oh, howthankful I am that I met you! Tell me honestly, was it about that thatyou were crying?"

  "Y-yes, it was. I was saying a little prayer and trying not to feellonesome, and then I looked round and saw--you."

  "End of volume one!" cried Janet briskly. "No more waiting-rooms, mydear. You must come to us for the whole of Christmas Day. I wish Icould ask you to stay, but we are chock-a-block with cousins and aunts.I'll come round in my car in time to take you to church, and send youback at night after the Highgate revels are over. We can't offer youanything very exciting, I
'm afraid--just an old-fashioned homeygathering."

  "It's just what I want. I am thirsty for a home; but your mother--whatwill she say? Will she care for a stranger--"

  "Mother says what I say," Janet declared with the assurance of an onlydaughter. "And she'll say in addition, `What a blessing! She'llwhistle for us, and amuse Aunt Jane.' Did you realise that Aunt Janewas coming? She's generally _very_ cross all day, and makes a point ofgiving away her presents to other members of the party under the verynoses of the givers, to let them see what she thinks of their choice.The great idea is to sit down by her quickly when you see her begin tofumble with something you would like to have. I got quite a nice bagthat way last Christmas!"

  Presents! That was another idea. Claire went home mentally reviewingher own treasures with a view to selecting some trifle which Janet inthe midst of her plenty might still be glad to receive. She decided ona silver clasp of quaint Breton manufacture, which had the merit that inthe whole of London it would be impossible to purchase another to match.

  Claire returned to her room in a frame of mind vastly different fromthat in which she had started forth. Her buoyant spirits soared upwardsat the prospect of a Christmas spent in the midst of a happy familyparty, and all the difficulties of life seemed to dissolve into thinair, since, after the providential meeting just vouchsafed, it seemedfaithless to doubt that future difficulties would be solved in the sameway.

  She intended to devote the afternoon to writing a long letter to hermother, which had been delayed owing to her recent depression ofspirits, for it seemed cruel to write in a pessimistic strain to thehappy bride, who now, more than ever, saw everything _couleur de rose_.Mrs Judge's present had arrived the week before, in the shape of arichly embroidered Indian table-cloth, for which her daughter had asmuch use as she herself would have found for a fur rug. To use it inthe saffron parlour was a sheer impossibility, for every separatearticle of furniture shrieked at it, and it shrieked at them in return;so Claire folded it away at the bottom of her box, reflecting, between asigh and a smile, that the choice was "just like mother." It was notagreeable to the bride to picture her daughter living in an uglylodging-house parlour, so she had mentally covered the ugliness beneaththe gorgeous embroidery of that cloth, and happily dismissed the subjectfrom her mind. At the time of the opening of the parcel, Claire hadfelt a sense of sharp disappointment, amounting even to irritation, butthis morning she could see the humour of the situation, and she chuckledsoftly to herself as she walked homeward, rehearsing words of thanksthat would be at once cordial and truthful. "Just what I wanted," wasplainly out of the question; "So useful" was also ruled out, but shecould honestly admire the workmanship of the cloth, and enlarge on thecare with which it should be preserved! It was an easy task to satisfya correspondent who was eager to interpret words into the meaning mostagreeable to herself!

  Claire entered the house prepared to devote herself to writing lettersto absent friends, but the excitements of the day were not yet over, forthe little maid met her on the threshold with the exciting intelligencethat a gentleman was in the parlour waiting to see her.

  The feuilleton made an exciting leap forward, as Lizzie watched theblood rush into the "first floor's" cheeks, and ebb away suddenly,leaving her white and tense. "Struck all of a heap, like! I shouldn'thave thought meself as she'd look at him! Queer thing, love!"soliloquised Lizzie, as she clumped down the kitchen stairs, andreturned to her superintendence of Sunday's "jint."

  The "first floor" meanwhile stood motionless in the oil-clothed hall,struggling to regain self-possession before turning the handle of thedoor. A gentleman waiting to see her! Who could the gentleman be? Butat the bottom of her heart Claire believed the question to besuperfluous, for there was only one "gentleman" who could possibly come.Captain Fanshawe had found out her address, and it was Christmas-time,when a visitor was justified in counting on a hospitable reception. AtChristmas-time it would be churlish for a hostess to deny a welcome.Every pulse in Claire's body was throbbing with anticipation as sheflung open that door.

  The visitor was standing with his back towards her, bending low toexamine a photograph on the mantelpiece. At the sound of her entrancehe straightened himself and wheeled round, and at the sight of his faceClaire's heart dropped heavy as lead. They stood for a moment staringin a mutual surprise, the girl's face blank with disappointment, theman's brightening with interest.

  He was a tall, thickly-set man, trim and smart in his attire, yet with acoarseness of feature which aroused Claire's instant antagonism.Compared with the face she had expected to see, the florid good lookswhich confronted her were positively repugnant. Before the obviousadmiration of the black eyes she stiffened in displeasure.

  "You wished to see me?"

  "Miss Gifford, I believe! I called about a little matter of a parcelfor Miss Rhodes. To be sent on. I wanted to ask if you--"

  "Oh, certainly! I shall be delighted."

  Claire thawed at the prospect of a present for Cecil, but could it bepossible that it was this man with the flushed cheeks, and harsh,uncultivated voice, who had so revolutionised Cecil's life! Could it befor the delectation of those bold eyes that she had worked far into thenight, contriving her pitiful fineries? Claire's instinctive dislikewas so strong that she would not seat herself and so give an opportunityfor prolonging the interview; she crossed the room to a bureau thatstood in the corner, and took a slip of paper from one of the pigeon-holes.

  "Perhaps it would be simpler if I gave you the address?"

  The man laughed complacently.

  "No need, thank you, I've got it all right, but it's safer not to write.The old lady, you know! Parcel coming in for her daughter addressed ina man's writing--no end of fuss and questioning. You know what oldladies are! Never satisfied till they've ferreted to the bottom ofeverything that comes along. It's not good enough, that sort of thing,but she'll expect a present. It's all stamped and made up, if you'll begood enough just to address it, and slip it into the post to-morrow."

  He put his hand in his pocket as he spoke and drew out a little packagesome two inches square, the sort of package which might contain anarticle of jewellery, such as a brooch or ring. Could it by any chancebe an engagement ring? Claire's blood shuddered as she took the littlepacket and dropped it quietly on the bureau.

  "Certainly I will post it. Do you wish it registered?"

  He looked at her sharply as though suspicious of an under-meaning to theinquiry, then, meeting the glance of her clear eyes, had the grace tolook ashamed.

  "N-no. No! It is not worth while. A trifle, just a trifle--Christmas,you know--must do the proper thing!" He mumbled vaguely the while hecollected his hat and gloves, the aloofness in Claire's attitude makingit impossible to prolong the interview; but as he held out his hand infarewell, his self-possession returned. He laughed meaningly, andsaid--

  "Odd, you know; I imagined that you were quite old! Miss Rhodes gave methat impression. Nothing definite, you know; no false statements; justthe way she spoke. Clever of her, what?--very clever! Knew better thanto spoil her own game!"

  If looks could have slain, the saffron parlour would have seen a deadman at that moment. Claire withdrew her hand, and surreptitiouslyrubbed it against her skirt. She would not condescend to notice thatlast remark.

  "I'll post the parcel to-morrow. Perhaps you will tell me your name, asI shall have to explain."

  He drew out a pocket-book and extracted a card. Claire dropped itunread upon the table, and bowed stiffly in farewell. The next momenthe was gone, and she could satisfy her curiosity unseen. Then camesurprise number two, for the card bore the inscription, "Major J.F.Carew," and in the corner two well-remembered words, "Carlton Club." Anofficer in the Army--who would have thought it! He was emphatically nota gentleman; he was rough, coarse, mannerless, yet he was in a positionwhich would bring him into intimate association with gentle people; by astrange coincidence, he might know, he almost certainly would k
now, theman whom she had expected to see in his stead--Erskine Fanshawe himself!They could never be friends, but they would meet, they would sit in thesame rooms, they would exchange occasional remarks. Claire's mood ofintolerable disgust changed suddenly into something strangelyapproaching envy of this big rough man! Christmas morning brought Janetbright and early, to find Claire standing at the window ready to rushout the moment the car stopped at the door. It felt delightfullyluxurious to seat herself on the springy cushions, draw the fur rug overher knees, and feel the warmth of a hot tin beneath her feet.

  "_Wasn't_ it lacerating?" Janet cried. "Just as I was starting theparcel post arrived, and there were about half-a-dozen parcels for mefrom Saint Moritz! There was no time to open them, and I simply die toknow what's inside. I care about those presents more than anythingelse. We had our family presents this morning. Mother gave me this."She opened her coat to show a glittering crescent. "Quite pretty, isn'tit, but I'd rather have had pearls. That's the worst of Christmaspresents, you so seldom get what you want. Half the time you feel moredisappointed than pleased. People cling to the idea that they ought togive you a surprise, and you _are_ surprised, but not in the way theyexpect. I have given mother thousands of hints about pearls. Ah,well!" She hooked the coat with an air of resignation. "We must takethe will for the deed. Have you had nice things?"

  "My mother sent me a very handsome present," Claire said demurely. Shehad no personal agitations about the day's post; but she did feelinterested in the thought of those parcels from Switzerland which layawaiting Janet Willoughby's return. Half eager, half shrinking, shelooked forward to seeing their contents.

  It was in Janet's dainty boudoir that the unpacking took place. The twogirls went straight upstairs on their return from church, and there, ona gate-legged table, lay the pile of parcels which had arrived by themorning's delivery. Janet pounced upon the Swiss packets, and cut thefastenings with eager haste. From across the room Claire watched hereager face as she read the inscriptions one by one. As she neared theend of the pile, the eagerness became tinged with anxiety; she picked upthe last parcel of all, and the light died out of her face.

  Claire turned aside and affected to be absorbed in examining thecontents of an old cabinet, and Janet moved to the nearer side of thetable so that her face was hidden from view; after a few minutes ofsilence, she broke the silence in a voice of forced lightness.

  "Won't you come and look at my trophies? Switzerland is not a veryhappy hunting-ground, for there is so little variety to be had. That'smy fifth carved chalet, and about the seventeenth bear. Rather a dear,though, isn't he? Such a nice man sent it--one of the nicest of men.That's his photograph on the mantelpiece."

  Claire looked, met a straight keen glance which lived in her memory, andfelt a tingle of blood in her cheeks. Janet's eyes followed hers, andshe said quickly--

  "Not that; that's Erskine Fanshawe. He is a casual person, and doesn'tgo in for presents. He hasn't even troubled to send a card. I meantthe man in the leather frame. He always remembers. I do like that, ina man! They are all good enough in an emergency, but so few of themthink of the nice _little_ things!" Janet sighed, and dropped thecarved wooden bear on to the table. However much she might appreciatethe donor's thoughtfulness, it had not had a cheering effect. The lighthad died out of her eyes, and she turned over the various trophieswithout a trace of the enthusiasm with which she had torn open theparcel. Claire standing beside her felt torn between sympathy and aguilty sense of relief. She was sorry for Janet's obviousdisappointment, but she was also (it was a dog-in-the-manger feeling,for how could it possibly affect herself?) _relieved_ that CaptainFanshawe was not the donor of the bear!

  As the two girls stood together turning over the little collection ofcarved toys, Claire slipped her hand through Janet's arm with anaffectionate pressure, which was an outward apology for the inwarddisloyalty, and Janet stretched out her own hand to clasp it withunexpected fervour.

  "Oh, I am glad you are here! I'm glad to have another girl! Girlsunderstand. I wish I hadn't opened those horrid old parcels. It's justas I said--presents are disappointing. Now I feel thoroughly humped anddumpy! It's so stupid, too, for I know quite well that I've every sanereason to be pleased. How exasperating it is that one's head and one'sheart so seldom agree!"

  Claire gave the plump arm another squeeze, but made no further answer.She was afraid to show how well she understood. Janet would forget herhasty words, and believe that her secret was locked within her ownbreast; but the other girl realised the position as clearly as if shehad been told in so many words--"I am in love with one man, and anotherman is in love with me. I am throwing away the substance for theshadow!"

  "Ah, well, such is life!" continued Janet, sighing. "Now I'm supposedto go downstairs and be the life of the party! How I do dislike familyparties! Mother says it's the ideal thing for relations to gathertogether for Christmas Day, but I've been gathered together for so_many_ years!"

  "You are too well-off, my dear, that's what's the matter! I have nevermet a girl before who had so much to make her happy, and yet you are notsatisfied. How would you like to be a High School-mistress living inpoky lodgings, not able to have a holiday because she can't afford tworents, and getting only one present all told?"

  Janet looked at her quickly.

  "Have you had only one?"

  "I said _a_ High School-mistress, not any special mistress, but I willbe definite if you like. How would you like to be _Me_?"

  Janet turned suddenly, laid her free hand on Claire's shoulder, andstared deeply into her face.

  "I--don't--know!" she said slowly. "Sometimes I think it's just what Ishould like. I have a great deal, but you have more. Look at our twofaces in that glass!"

  She drew Claire round so that they stood in front of the Chippendalemirror over the mantelpiece, from whence a row of pictured faces staredback, as though stolidly sitting in judgment. The clear tints ofClaire's skin made Janet look sallow and faded, the dark curve of hereyebrows under the sweep of gold brown hair, the red lips and deeplycleft chin, made Janet's indeterminate features look insignificant, thebrown eyes seemed the only definite feature in her face, and they wereclouded with depression.

  "Look at yourself," she said deeply, "and look at me!"

  It was an awkward moment, and Claire shrugged uncomfortably.

  "But my face is--it has to be--my fortune!"

  "Oh, beauty! I wasn't thinking of beauty," Janet cried unexpectedly."You are very pretty, of course, but heaps of girls are pretty. It'ssomething more--I suppose it is what is called Charm. When people seeyou once, they remember you; they want to see you again. You make aplace for yourself. I am one in a crowd. People like me well enoughwhen they are with me, but--they forget!"

  "And I never meet anyone to remember. We're two love-lorn damsels, andthis is Merrie Christmas. Would you have thought it?" cried Claire, andthat wrought the desired effect, for Janet awoke with a shock to herresponsibilities as hostess, and led the way downstairs to join the restof the house-party.

  The rest of the day was spent in conventional English fashion in apraiseworthy effort to sustain spirits at concert pitch, and keep up acontinuous flow of gaiety, a mountainous task when guests are broughttogether by claims of birth, without consideration as to suitability!Mrs Willoughby's party consisted of four distinct elements; there wereGreat-aunt Jane, and second cousin William, two octogenarians, who forhealth's sake dined early all the year round, and sipped a cup of Bengerat eight, but who dauntlessly tackled sausages and plum pudding onChristmas Day, and suffered for it for a week to come. There were Mrand Mrs Willoughby, and two cousin husbands and their wives, and aspinster aunt to represent the next generation, then came sweet andtwenty as represented by Janet and Claire, followed by Reginald of Eton,on whom they looked down as a mere boy, the while he in his turndisdained to notice the advances of two curly-headed cousins of nine andten! Claire enjoyed herself because it was in her
nature to enjoy, andit felt good to be once more in a beautiful, well-appointed home, amongfriends; but driving home in the taxi she yawned persistently from onedoor to the other. It was dreadfully tiring work being pleasant at thesame time to the whole five ages of man!

  With the opening of the door of the saffron parlour came an end ofsleepiness, for on the table lay a square parcel, and the parcel borethe same stamp, the same markings which she had seen duplicated in JanetWilloughby's boudoir! Red as a rose was Claire as she stared at thebold masculine writing of the address, tore open the wrappings of thebox, and drew forth a carved cuckoo clock with the well-known chaletroof and long pendulum and chains. It was an exquisite specimen of itskind, the best that could be obtained, but for the moment Claire had noattention to spare for the gift itself; she was absorbed in huntingamong the paper and straw for a card which should settle the identity ofthe donor. Not a line was to be found. Pink deepened to crimson onClaire's cheeks.

  "Who in the world could have sent it? Who _could_ it be?" She playedat bewilderment, but in spite of herself the dimples dipped. "Now howin the world has he found out my address?" asked Claire of herself.

  For the next week Claire experienced the sensation of being "alone inLondon." From the evening of Christmas Day until Cecil returned onJanuary 2nd, not one friendly word did she hear; she walked abroad amonga crowd of unknown faces, she returned to a solitary room.

  Miss Farnborough was spending the Christmas abroad; the other mistresseswere either visiting or entertaining relations, the ladies of thecommittee were presumably making merry each in her own sphere. It wasno one's business to look after the new member of the staff out of termtime, and no one troubled to make it her business.

  The only friendly sound which reached Claire's ears during those dayswas the striking of the cuckoo clock, as a minute before every hour asliding door flew open, and a little brown bird popped out and piped thedue number of cuckoos in a clear, sweet note. Claire loved that littlebird; the sight of him brought a warmth to her heart, which was assunshine lighting up the grey winter days. Someone had remembered!Someone had cared! In the midst of a merry holiday, time and thoughthad been spared for her benefit.

  The presence of the cuckoo clock preserved Claire from personalsuffering, but during that silent week there was borne in upon her arealisation of the loneliness of the great city which was neverobliterated. A girl like herself, coming to London withoutintroductions, might lead this desert life, not for a week alone, butfor _years_! Her youth might fade, might pass away, she might growmiddle-aged and old, and still pass to and fro through crowded street,unnoted, uncared for, unknown beyond the boundaries of the schoolroom orthe office walls. A working-woman was as a rule too tired and too poorto join societies, or take part in social work which would lead to themaking of friends; she was dependent on the thoughtfulness of herleisured sisters, and the leisured sisters were too apt to forget. Theyinvited their own well-off friends, exhausted themselves in organisingentertainments which were often regarded as bores pure and simple, andcast no thought to the lonely women sitting night after night inlodging-house parlours. "If I am ever rich--if I ever have a home, I'llremember!" Claire vowed to herself. "I'll take a little trouble, and_find out_! I couldn't do a hundredth or a thousandth part of whatought to be done, but I'd do my share!" Cecil announced her return forthe evening of January 2nd, and remindful of the depressing influence ofher own arrival, Claire exerted herself to make the room look ashomelike as possible, and arranged a dainty little meal on a tablespread with a clean cloth and decorated with a bowl of holly andChristmas roses. At the first sound of Cecil's voice she ran out intothe hall, hugged her warmly, and relieved her of a bundle of packages ofall sorts and sizes.

  "You look a real Mother Christmas hidden behind parcels. What are theyall? Trophies? You _have_ come off well! It is lovely to see youback. If you'd stayed away the whole time I think I should have growndumb. My tongue would have withered from sheer lack of use. I neverrealised before how much I love to talk. I do hope you feel sociable.I want to talk and talk for hours at a time, and to hear _you_ talk,too."

  "Even to grumble?"

  Claire grinned eloquently.

  "Oh, well--if you _must_, but it would be rather mean, wouldn't it,after a holiday, and when I've got everything so nice? I am driven topraise myself, because _you_ take no notice."

  "You have given me no time. You chatter so that no one else can get ina word." Cecil took off hat and gloves, and threw them down on thesofa. "I must say your looks don't pity you. You look as if you hadbeen enjoying yourself all right. That kettle's boiling! I'm dying fora cup of tea! Let's have it at once, and talk comfortably." She seatedherself by the table, and helped herself to a buttered scone. "What didyou do on Christmas Day?"

  "The Willoughbys asked me. I went to church with them, and stayed untileleven."

  "Anything going on, or just the ordinary family frumps?"

  Claire laughed.

  "Nobody but relations and my fascinating self; but you needn't be soblighting. I enjoyed every moment, and they were angelically kind.Janet was like an old friend."

  "Did she give you a present?"

  "Yes, she did. Half a dozen pairs of gloves."

  "The wrong size, of course! They always are!"

  "No, my pessimist, they were not! She had diagnosed me as a six and ahalf, and six and a half I am, so all was peace and joy. I put on a newpair the next day when I went out for a constitutional. It was quite atonic. Gloves are much cheaper abroad, and I never wore a shabby pairin my life until this winter. It's been one of the things I've hatedmost."

  "Six pairs will soon go," said Cecil; "I prefer to have things thatlast. Oh, by the way, you addressed a parcel. How did it come? Was itleft at the door?"

  Instinctively Claire busied herself over the tea-tray. She had afeeling that Cecil would rather be unobserved; she was also afraid thather own expression might betray too much.

  "Oh no, he called. When I came in after morning church on Sunday,Lizzie said that a gentleman was waiting. It was Major Carew. He askedme if I would address the parcel and send it on."

  Silence. Claire bent over the tea-tray, but she knew without lookingthat Cecil's face had fallen into the cold set lines which she had seentimes and again, when things had gone wrong; she knew that when shespoke again the coldness would be in her voice, but her own consciencewas clear. She had done nothing to offend.

  "Really! That's curious. _Waiting_, you say? You didn't ask him in?What did he say?"

  "He said, `Miss Gifford, I presume. I have called to ask if you will bekind enough to address a small parcel for Miss Rhodes.' I said,`Wouldn't it be better if I gave you her address?' He said, `I shouldprefer if you wrote it yourself.' I said, `I will do so with pleasure.Good morning.' He said, `Good morning.' He then took up his hat anddeparted. He showed himself out, and shut the door after him. I wentupstairs and took off my things."

  "He didn't stay long then?"

  "About three minutes, I should say, perhaps four; I can't tell you to asecond, unfortunately. I didn't look at the clock."

  Cecil laughed, half apologetic, half relieved.

  "Oh, well, you needn't be sarcastic. Naturally I wanted to know. Icouldn't make it out when I saw your writing, for you had given me thescarf--I'm going to buy your present at the sales, by the way--but, ofcourse, when I took off the paper, there was a message inside. I wasexpecting that present."

  "I hope it was very nice?"

  "Oh, yes--yes! A brooch," Cecil said carelessly. Claire hoped it wasnot the insignificant little golden bar which she was wearing at themoment, but she had never seen it before, and Cecil's jewellery was ofthe most limited description. She determined to ask no more questionson the subject, since evidently none were desired. Cecil helped herselfto a second scone, and asked suddenly--

  "Why didn't he sit down?"

  "It wasn't necessary, was it? He gave his message,
and then there wasnothing to say. I wasn't going to make conversation."

  "You didn't like him!" cried Cecil, but she laughed as she spoke, andher face relaxed; it was evident that she was more pleased thandisconcerted at her friend's lack of approval. "You're no good athiding your feelings, Claire; your voice gives you away as well as yourface. _Why_ didn't you like Major Carew? I suppose you don't deny thathe is a handsome man?"

  "I don't think I care about handsome men," said Claire, seeing beforeher a clean-shaven face which could lay no claims to beauty, but incomparison with which the Major's coarse good looks were abhorrent inher eyes.

  "Prefer men plain, I suppose? Well, I don't; I shouldn't like Frankhalf so much, if he didn't look so big and imposing. And other peopleadmire him, too. People stare at him as we pass. I suppose you haveguessed that it is with him that I've been going out? There didn't seemany need to speak of it before, but during the rest of the holidays youmight expect me to go about with you, and sometimes--often, I hope, I'llbe engaged, so it's just as well to explain. We can do things togetherin the morning, but naturally--"

  "Yes, of course; I quite understand. Don't worry about me, Cecil. I'dlove you to have a good time. Are you--are you engaged to him, dear?"

  There was in her voice that soft, almost awed note with which anunengaged girl regards a companion who has actually plighted her troth.Cecil softened at the sound.

  "Well--I suppose we are. Between ourselves. It's not public yet, but Ithink it soon will be. Half a dozen years ago I should have been sure,but I know better now. You can never be sure! Men are such brutes.They think of nothing but themselves, and their own amusement."

  "Some men!"

  "Most men! Of course, every girl who falls in love thinks her ownparticular man is the exception, and believes in him blindly until shegets her heart broken for her pains. I believed in a man, too, yearsago, when I was not much older than you are now."

  She paused, as though waiting for comment, but Claire sat silent,listening with grave, tender eyes.

  Cecil sent her a flickering smile.

  "You are a nice child, Claire; you have some sense! I'll tell you,because you never pried or asked questions. You would never have gotanything out of me that way, but sometimes I feel as if it would be arelief to talk. I was twenty-three, and very pretty; not as pretty asyou are, perhaps, but very nearly, and he was twenty-eight, a lawyer--brother of one of the girls. He came to one of the prize-givings, andwe were introduced. After that he made his people invite me once ortwice, and he found out where I was going in the summer holidays, andcame down to the same inn. He stayed a fortnight." Cecil sighed, andstared dreamily at her cup. "Even now, Claire, after all that hashappened, I can never quite make up my mind to be sorry that he came.It made things harder when the parting came, but I _had had it_. Fortwo whole weeks I had been as perfectly, blissfully happy as a humancreature can be! I had wakened every morning to feel that life was toogood to be true, I had gone to bed every night grudging the time forsleep. A fortnight is not very long, but it's not every woman who getseven as much as that. I shall never feel that happiness again, but I'mglad that I know what it is like."

  "But, Cecil dear, if--if Major Carew--"

  Cecil shook her head.

  "No! Never again. One may be happy enough, but it's never the same. Ican't feel now as I did then. The power has gone. I cared so much, yousee; I would have given my life for him a dozen times over. I thoughtof him night and day for over a year; I lived for the times when wecould meet. It wasn't very often, for his people had taken fright, andwould not ask me to the house. They were rich people, and didn't wanthim to marry a poor girl who was working for herself. It's a greatmistake, Claire, to be friends with a man when his relations ignore you.If I'd had any pride I would have realised that, but I hadn't, and Ididn't care; I didn't care for anything but just to see him, and do whathe wished. And then, my dear, after a year he began to change. Hedidn't write to me for weeks, and I had to go to school every day, andtry to think of the work, and be patient with the girls, and seem brightand interested, as if I had nothing on my mind. It was near Christmas-time, and we were rehearsing a play. I used to feel as if I should gomad, staying behind after four o'clock to go over those wretched scenes,when I was panting to run home to see if a letter had come! But eachtime that we met again I forgot everything; I was so happy that I had notime to grumble. That surprises you, doesn't it? You can hardlybelieve that of me, but I was different then. I was quite nice. Youwould have liked me, if you had known me then!"

  "Dear old Cecil! I like you now. You know I do!"

  "Oh, you put up with me! We get along well enough, but we are not_friends_. If we had not been thrown together, you would never havesingled me out. Don't apologise, my dear; there's no need. I'm agrumbling old thing, and you've been very patient. Well, that's how ithappened. I went out to meet him one night, and he told me quite calmlythat he was going to be married. She was the sweetest girl in theworld, and he was the happiest of men. Wanted me to know, because wehad been such _good_ friends, and he was sure I should be pleased!"

  Claire drew her breath with a sharp, sibilant sound.

  "And _you_? Oh, Cecil! What did you say?"

  Mary Rhodes compressed her lips; the set look was in her face.

  "I said what I thought! Quite plainly, and simply, and very much to thepoint. I suppose it would have been dignified to congratulate him, andpretend to be delighted; but I couldn't do it. He had broken my heartfor his own amusement, and he knew it as well as I did, so why should Ipretend? Something inside me seemed to go snap at that moment, and I'vebeen sour and bitter ever since; but I've learnt _one_ lesson, and thatis, that it is folly to go on waiting for perfection in this world.Much better take what comes along, and make the best of it!"

  Claire was silent, applauding the sentiment in the abstract, butshrinking from its application to the swarthy Major Carew. Shestretched her hand across the table, and laid it caressingly on Cecil'sarm.

  "_Pauvre_! Dear old girl! It's no use saying he wasn't worth having--that's no comfort. When you have loved a man, it must be the worst blowof all to be obliged to despise him; but men are not all like that,Cecil; you mustn't condemn them all because of one bad specimen. I've agreat admiration for men. As a whole they are _bigger_ than women--Imean mentally bigger--freer from mean little faults. As a rule theyhave a stricter sense of honour. That's an old-fashioned attitude, Isuppose, but I don't care; it's been my experience, and I can only speakwhat I know. The average man _is_ honourable, _is_ faithful!"

  "Ah, you are speaking of your experience as a leisured girl--a girlliving at home with her mother behind her. It's a different story whenyou are on your own. A man finds it pleasant enough to be friends witha bachelor girl, to take her about, give her little presents, and playthe fairy prince generally. The dear little soul is so grateful"--Cecil's voice took a bitter note--"so appreciative of his condescension!He can enjoy her society without being bothered with chaperons andconventions. It is really an uncommonly jolly way of passing the time.But, when it comes to _marrying_, does he want to _marry_ the bachelorgirl?"

  Claire pushed her chair from the table, her face looked suddenly whiteand tired, there was a suspicious quiver in her voice.

  "Oh, Cecil, don't, don't! You are poisoning me again. Leave me _some_faith! If I can't believe in my fellow-creatures, I'd rather die atonce, and be done with it. It stifles me to breathe the atmosphere ofdistrust and suspicion. And it isn't true. There _are_ good men, whowould be all the more chivalrous because a girl was alone. I know it!I'm sure of it! I refuse to believe that every man is a blackguardbecause you have had an unfortunate experience."

  Mary Rhodes stared, abashed. Since the night when Claire had imploredher not to poison her mind, she had never seen her merry, easy-goingcompanion so aroused; but for the moment regret was swamped incuriosity. Ostensibly Claire was arguing in the plural, but in re
alityshe was defending a definite man; Cecil was sure of it; saw hersuspicion confirmed in the paling cheeks and distended eyes; heard itconfirmed in the shaking voice. But who could the man be? Claire wasthe most candid, the most open of colleagues; she loved to talk anddescribe any experiences which came her way; every time she returnedfrom an afternoon in town she had a dozen amusing incidents to recount,which in themselves constituted a guide to her doings. Cecil feltsatisfied that Claire had had no masculine escort on any of theseoccasions, and with the one exception of Mrs Willoughby's "At Home" shehad paid no social visits. Yet there did exist a man on whose honourshe was prepared to pin her faith; of that Cecil was convinced.Probably it was someone in Brussels whom she was still hoping to meetagain!

  "Well, don't get excited," she said coolly. "If you choose to look uponlife as a fairy tale, it's not my business to wake you up. The SleepingBeauty position is very soothing while it lasts. Don't say I didn'twarn you, that's all! I don't call it exactly `poisonous' to try toprevent another girl from suffering as badly as one has sufferedoneself."

  "Perhaps not--certainly not, but it was the way you did it. Sorry,Cecil, if I was cross! I hope _this_ time, dear, all will go well, andthat you'll be very, very happy. Do tell me anything you can. I won'task questions, but I'd love to hear."

  Cecil's laugh had rather a hard intonation.

  "Oh, well! once bitten, twice shy. I'm older this time, and it's adifferent thing. Perhaps I shall be all the happier because I don'texpect too much. He's very devoted, and he'll be rich some day, but hisfather gives him no allowance, which makes things tight just now. He isan erratic old man, almost a miser, but there are pots of money in thefamily. Frank showed me the name in _Landed Gentry_; there's quite aparagraph about them, and I've seen a picture of the house, too. Abeautiful place; and he's the eldest son. It's in Surrey--quite neartown."

  "He hasn't taken you down to see it?"

  "Not yet. No. It's a private engagement. His father doesn't know. Heis waiting for a chance to tell him."

  "Wouldn't the father be glad for his heir to marry?"

  "He wouldn't be glad for him to marry _me_! But the estate is entailed,so Frank can do as he likes. But the old man is ill, always havingasthma and heart attacks, so it wouldn't do to upset him, and of coursetill he knows, Frank can't tell any other members of the family."

  Claire, standing by the fireplace, gave a vague assent, and was gladthat her face was hidden from view. For Cecil's sake she intenselywanted to believe in Major Carew and his account of his own position,but instinctively she doubted, instinctively she feared. She rememberedthe look of the man's face as he had stood facing her across the littleroom, and her distrust deepened. He did not look straight; he did notlook true. Probably the old father had a good reason for keeping himshort of money. If he were really in love with Cecil, and determined tomarry her, that was so much to his credit; but Claire hated the idea ofthat secrecy, marvelled that Cecil could submit a second time to sohumiliating a position. Poor Cecil! how _awful_ it would be if she wereagain deceived! A protective impulse stirred in Claire's heart. "Sheshan't be, if I can help it!" cried the inner voice. At that moment shevowed herself to the service of Mary Rhodes.

  "A big country house in Surrey! That's the ideal residence of theheroine of fiction. It does sound romantic, Cecil! I should love tothink of you as the mistress of a house like that. Come and sit by thefire, and let us talk. It's so exciting to talk of love affairs insteadof exercises and exams... Let's pretend we are just two happy, ordinarygirls, with no form-rooms looming ahead, and that one of us is justengaged, and telling the other `all about it.' Now begin! Begin at thebeginning. How did you meet him first?"

  But there a difficulty arose, for Cecil grew suddenly red, and stumbledover her words.

  "Oh--well--I-- We _met_! It was an accident--quite an accident--rathera romantic accident. I was coming home one Sunday evening a year ago.I had been to church in my best clothes, and when I was halfway here theskies opened, and the rain _descended_. Such rain! A deluge! Dancingup from the pavement, streaming along the gutters. I hadn't anumbrella, of course--just my luck!--and I'd had my hat done up that veryweek. I tore it off, and wrapped it in the tails of my coat, and justas that critical moment Frank passed, saw me doing it, and stopped.Then he asked if I would allow him to shelter me home beneath hisumbrella. Well! I'm _not_ the girl to allow men to speak to me in thestreet, but at that moment, in that deluge, when he'd just seen me takeoff my hat, _could_ a gentleman do less than offer to shelter me? Wouldit have been sane to refuse?"

  "No; I don't think it would. I should certainly have said yes, too.That's the sort of thing that would have been called chivalry in oldentimes. It's chivalry _now_. He was quite right to offer. It wouldhave been horrible if he had passed by and left you to be drenched."

  Cecil brightened with relief.

  "That's what _I_ thought! So I said `Yes'; and, of course, while wewalked we talked, and the wind blew my hair into loose ends, and thedamp made them curl, and the excitement gave me a colour; and it was sonice to talk to a man again, Claire, after everlasting women! I _did_look pretty when I saw myself in the glass when I came in, almost as Iused to look years before. And he looked handsome, too, big and strong,and so delightfully like a man, and unlike a member of staff! We likedeach other very much, and when we got to this door--"

  Silence. Mary Rhodes waited wistfully for a helping word. Clairestared into the fire, her brows knitted in suspense.

  "Well, naturally, we were sorry to part! He asked if I usually went toSaint C--- for the evening service. I didn't, but I said `Yes.' I knewhe meant to meet me again, and I _wanted_ to be met."

  Claire sent her thoughts back and recalled a certain Sunday evening whenshe had offered to accompany Cecil to church, and had been bluntlyinformed that her company was not desired. She had taken the hint, andhad not offered it again. She was silent, waiting for the revelationswhich were still to come.

  "So after that it became a regular thing. He met me outside the churchdoor, and saw me home. He often asked me to go out with him during theweek, but I always refused, until suddenly this term I was so tired, sohungry for a change that I gave in, and promised that I would. Isuppose that shocks you into fits!"

  "It does rather. You see," explained Claire laboriously, "I've beenbrought up on the Continent, where such a thing would be impossible. Itwould be an insult to suggest it. Even here in England it doesn't seemright. Do you think a really nice man who was attracted by a girlwouldn't find some other way--get an introduction _somehow_?"

  "How? It's easy to talk, but _how_ is he to do it? We live indifferent worlds. I am a High School teacher, living in rooms inLondon, without a relation or a house open to me where I am intimateenough to take a friend. He is an officer in a crack regiment, visitingat fashionable houses. Can't you imagine how his hostesses would stareif he asked them to call upon me here, in this poky room! And if heloves me, if I interest him more than the butterflies of Society, if hewants to know me better, what is he to do? Tell me that, my dear,before you blame me for taking a little bit of fun when I get thechance!"

  But Claire had no suggestion to make. She herself had been strongenough to refuse a friendship on similar lines, but she had been livinga working life for a bare four months, while Cecil had been teaching fortwelve years. Twelve years of a second-hand life, living in otherwomen's houses, teaching other women's children, obeying other women'srules; with the one keen personal experience of a slighted love!

  The tale of close on four thousand nights represented a dreary parlourand a pile of exercise books. For twelve long years this woman hadworked away, losing her youth, losing her bloom, cut off from all thatnature intended her to enjoy; and then at the end behold a change in themonotony, the sudden appearance of a man who sought her, admired her,craved her society as a boon!

  The tears came to Claire's eyes as she put herself in such a woman'splac
e, and realised all that this happening would mean. Renewal ofyouth, renewal of hope, renewal of interest and zest...

  "I don't know! I don't know!" she said brokenly. "It's all wrong,somehow. You ought not to be forced into such a position, but I don'tblame you, Cecil. It's the _other_ women who deserve the blame, thewomen who are better off, and could have opened their houses. You havebeen so drearily dull all these long years that you would have been morethan human to refuse. But now, dear, now that you are engaged, surelyhe has some friends to whom he could introduce you?"

  Mary Rhodes shook her head.

  "Not till his people know. It might come round to their ears, and thatwould make things more difficult still; but I am hoping it won't belong. Now, Claire, I've told _you_, because you are such a kindunderstanding little soul, and it's a comfort to talk things out; butI'll kill you if you dare to breathe a word to another soul--SophieBlake, or Mrs Willoughby, or even your mother when you write to her.You can never tell how these things are repeated, and Frank would neverforgive me if it came out through me. Promise faithfully that you'llnever mention his name in connection with me."

  "Of course I will. What do you take me for? I shouldn't dream of doingsuch a thing!"

  "Of course, at the Willoughbys', for instance, if anyone _did_ mentionhis name--they might, quite well, for I should think they were in muchthe same set--there would be no harm in saying that you'd heard of him.I should rather like to hear what they said."

  Cecil's face looked wistful as she spoke these last words, but the nextmoment her expression changed to one of pure amazement as the whirr ofthe cuckoo clock made itself heard, and the little brown bird hopped outof its niche, and sounded five clear notes.

  "Gracious, what's that? Where did that come from?"

  "It was a Christmas present to me from abroad."

  Claire added the last words in the fond hope that they would savefurther criticism, and Cecil rose from her seat, and stood in front ofthe hanging clock examining it with critical eyes.

  "It's a good one. Most of them are so gimcrack. From abroad? One ofyour Belgian friends, I suppose? Does it make that awful row everyhour? I can't stand it here, you know, if it does."

  "Don't trouble yourself. I'll take it upstairs. I _like_ the `awfulrow.' I put it here because I thought it would be a pleasure to you aswell as to myself. I'm sorry."

  "What a tantrum! Evidently the clock is a tender point. Better leaveit here and stop the gong. It will keep you awake all night."

  "I won't stop the gong! I--I like to be waked!" declared Claireobstinately. She lifted the clock from its nail, and stalked out of theroom, head in air.

  Cecil whistled softly between pursed lips.