A writer has said, and with truth, that while a woman expects her
friends to belong, as it were, to her whole life, and to adapt
themselves to its many sides, a man, instead of desiring such universal
sympathy, keeps his friends each on his own ground, and would be
disgusted if either attempted to poach on the other. He may have thus a
club friend, and a sporting friend, an antipodean and a corresponding
friend, and such and such only they remain, while the sporting friend
has never written him a letter in his life, and the antipodean would
scarcely find a word to say if they met in Pall Mall. And this
differing view of friendship makes difficulties between man and woman.
Harry Hilton and Arthur Fenwick had been school friends, and there had
remained, for as men they had little in common, and professed to find as
little. Still the tie, such as it was, would last always, and Harry was
a good deal shocked to hear of the accident, quite irrespectively of its
bearing upon Claudia. He went over to Huntingdon Hall the next day, and
Claudia, who forced herself to do her work, but broke off at intervals
to hear the last report, met him near the house. She was so glad to see
him that she forgot the past, and greeted him with her old ease. But he
was shocked at her appearance.
"Oh, that's nothing!" she said, trying to speak lightly. "We are all
having a bad time, and as I was the wretched cause, of course, in some
ways, mine is the worst. What have you heard?"
"Only the fact that Fenwick was thrown under a cart. Why should you
take the blame?"
"Because it was my folly. I would race down a hill, the cart cut across
at the bottom, and I should have been under it if he had not pushed me
on one side. He couldn't get out of the way himself." She shuddered.
"Oh, well," said Harry, instinctively trying to comfort her, "it was an
accident which might have happened to any one. I'm only thankful he did
push you."
"I'm not," she said, frowning with the pain of remembrance.
They walked on in silence. "How is he?" said Harry suddenly.
Claudia's hands knotted themselves.
"Very ill."
"His leg is broken, isn't it?"
"Yes, but not badly. They fear other injuries. A second doctor comes
to-night, and Mrs Leslie--his sister."
Harry's hopefulness asserted itself against her dreary tone.
"It mayn't be as bad as they think. I know Fenwick better than they,
and he's a tough fellow. He'll come round, you'll see!"
A smile dawned on her face. "Do you really think so, or are you only--
saying it?"
"Honour bright, I think so. You see, as I said, I know him, and they
don't." He added with more effort, "Don't worry so much over it."
She turned frankly towards him, and drew a deep breath.
"Perhaps you're right. At any rate, I'm very glad you came, for there
was no one I could speak to, freely. Sir Peter is in his study, and
Lady Wilmot makes too light of it, and as for Lady Bodmin, she's
hateful."
"Yes, then I'm very glad I came," said Harry manfully.
He was not clever, but he had that gift of helpfulness which makes the
man or woman who possesses it a tower of strength to their friends.
Everything looked brighter to Claudia, and she cast no reflection at
what it cost him to walk by her side and feel convinced that all her
thoughts were centred upon Fenwick. He owned with a sigh that it could
hardly have been otherwise.
Lady Wilmot insisted upon his remaining to luncheon, and Sir Peter
welcomed him warmly. A more hopeful spirit seemed to have sprung up
with his advent, yet the accounts of Fenwick remained alarming enough.
"We've sent for Gertrude Leslie. Peter would have it, but it's a great
bore," said Lady Wilmot, making a face. "She has all poor Arthur's
faults and none of his charm. However! She hates nursing, so perhaps
she won't stay."
"Oh, she won't stay when she sees he's better," Harry agreed.
"If he does get better," remarked Lady Bodmin, looking pointedly at
Claudia.
"Of course he will," said Harry, with decision. "What I expect is that
he's having a touch of the fever he picked up in India, and that your
doctor doesn't know about it, and is puzzled. How are your improvements
getting on here, Miss Hamilton?" he went on cheerily. "My mother
insists upon every one going to look at that view of the Marldon hills
which you opened out for us, and my father is awfully pleased, because
he says his father used to talk about seeing them when he was a boy, and
he'd forgotten."
She flung him a grateful look.
"We're going to rival you, but not just yet," said Sir Peter. "We've
got to take it on trust for some time. What I admire in Miss Hamilton
is the determination she shows."
Claudia was wishing that she had stuck to her work, and taken no
holiday, but she owned with relief that Harry had made things brighter,
and flung a ray of hope upon the situation. She liked him extremely,
and flattered herself that he had forgotten that stupid slip of his
which had vexed her so much, and obliged her to speak severely. But the
past weeks had sufficiently shaken her sense of security to make her
glad that when Sir Peter suggested a walk to the Black Pond, that Harry
might see what she proposed doing, he came himself, and brought Charlie
Carter.
It was the spot she liked best at Huntingdon. The fine firs which,
flinging their sullen shadows on the water, had given it its name, now
stood out, bold and black, and free from cramping surroundings. Claudia
had cleared with an unsparing hand, and with good results. Long grass
and rushes fringed the waters edge, the moor-fowl's haunt, and on a
still day the clear reflections doubled each green blade, while the
great stems of the firs sprang up clean and straight and strong as
columns. A little boathouse stood, picturesquely shadowed, and Charlie
had got out the boat before any one saw what he was doing, and insisted
on pulling them round the Pond. Harry took the other oar, Sir Peter
steered, and Claudia sat looking round her, as the others supposed, with
an eye to effects. She did, indeed, honestly try to call them up. But
her work had suddenly become, if not distasteful, at least a labour, so
that instead of the enthusiasm which used to possess her, as some
thought, unduly, it required whip and scourge to hold her to it at all.
And as they rowed along, through an opening in the trees, the house
stood out distinctly, and, with the house, Fenwick's open window. Her
eye fell upon it, and remained. She recollected how one day when she
was planning and arranging, she had seen him coming along, striding
through brake fern, and evidently in pursuit of her, and how she had
slipped behind a trunk and so baffled his search. It was one of those
little remembrances which circumstances may arm with a sting. What
would she not have given to have seen him coming now! Tears, remorseful
tears, gathered in her eyes, and as she glanced hastily at her
companions she was sure that Harry Hilton had surprised them. She, on
her part, had surprised the look which she dreaded, and when they
parted, her good-bye was wanting in the frank friendliness which had
marked her greeting.