"Who's that man with the Thorntons?"
"Gertrude fancied it was very likely Mr Pelham."
"What an ass the fellow looks!"
To this she made no answer. Fenwick was silent and abrupt; he took her
to Mrs Leslie, and then left her to ride back to Aldershot.
That evening was the Thorntons' dinner, and Claudia, who plumed herself
upon her own powers of independent decision, found herself swept away by
Mrs Leslie.
"What are you going to wear?" she asked. "It had better be the green.
I'm sure Arthur would prefer the green."
And green she wore, although she scourged herself with hard words as she
dressed.
"It only remains to stick a white camellia in my hair, and go down,
blushing and simpering behind ringlets. Whose business is it what I
wear? Why do I give way? Why can't I hold my own? Oh, Claudia,
Claudia, is this the end of all your fine theories?" And then the
anguish of a question broke from her, a question which she had been
prising down, dreading that if once it took form it might be
unanswerable--"Does he care? Does he really care? He did, when I did
not, and why was he so cruel as to force me into loving him, if he was
not certain of himself? If I were only sure of him, should I mind one
bit all his sister's domineering ways? Not I! I could hold my own
against her, wear what I liked, say what I liked, do what I liked, in
spite of all the `in laws' in the world. But now she has me at a
disadvantage, and knows it. He is behind her, and when she says,
`Arthur prefers this, Arthur chooses that,' all the resistance goes out
of me and leaves me a limp coward. I fancy that she must know best, and
that I had better do what she suggests, and I am not myself one bit. I
have never been myself since I came here, I am just somebody else, and
worse, for I am just the sort of girl I so despised, the very feeble
creature I could not have imagined myself sinking into. How we used to
laugh at them at the college! How the girls would laugh if they could
see me now! And I am afraid I shouldn't even mind their laughing. I am
fallen too low to have any self-respect left, and I know that if I were
only sure in my own heart, I should give up all that I cared for--
everything--for him, just as he made me tell him I could; if only, only,
I were convinced that he felt the same now that he did. And perhaps he
does. Perhaps it is only that I don't quite understand. Perhaps it is
all part of my turning into an idiotic girl. Perhaps all men--nice
men--are the same. Certainly, I should hate his taking too much notice,
being too effusive, too silly! I dare say it is only a foolish fancy of
mine. On with your green frock, stupid Claudia, and for pity's sake
look at things healthily, instead of taking to morbid fancies!"
She sighed as she finished, but no self-harangue could have been wiser,
and she resolutely set herself to carry it out; bore without flinching
Mrs Leslie's comments upon her dress, and tried to be quite content
with the young subaltern who fell to her lot at dinner, while to Fenwick
was given Miss Arbuthnot, and Mr Pelham took in Mrs Thornton and sat
by the side of Miss Arbuthnot. Claudia even tried to convince herself
that the arrangement was one she would have chosen, because she was thus
able to look at the others. She was curious to know whether the story
of Helen's engagement was true.
"She does not say much to him," she reflected, "but--as Arthur said--he
does look rather a non-entity. And then she and Arthur have known each
other a long time, and he can be so pleasant, and able to talk of things
which I dare say that other man knows nothing about. It is odd, though,
that when we were at Thornbury it never struck me that they were
particularly friends." She stifled another sigh. "I suppose I was
taken up with other things, and didn't notice. Well, now I mustn't
stare at them so much, however interesting it is. I must talk to this
poor boy next me, who is smiling, and quite pleased all about nothing."
"Your Claudia looks pretty to-night," Miss Arbuthnot was remarking. She
put up her glasses as she spoke.
"My Claudia--as you call her--has a trick of looking pretty."
"She has, and I never denied it. But she has upset my theories. I
thought she would prove herself indifferent to you all for some time to
come. Oh, don't smile! A man may be vain--he can't help himself, I
suppose, but when his vanity peeps out it is insupportable."
"Have you impressed that upon the individual to your right?"
"Time enough," said Miss Arbuthnot coolly. "Besides, you are mistaken.
He is not vain."
"Fortunate man to have secured you as his advocate!"
She was silent.
"What other excellent characteristics does he boast?"
"I did not know we were talking of him."
"Oh, I must talk. I have been thinking of him ever since yesterday."
"And why yesterday?"
"Because it was then I heard what the world is saying."
"I should have thought you of all men would have hesitated to believe
what the world says."
"Is it wrong, then?" asked Fenwick eagerly.
She made a movement as of balancing her hands.
"It may or may not be. You will see."
"You speak as if it were a matter of indifference," he said so bitterly
that she slowly turned her face towards him, and lifted her eyebrows.
"As it must be--to you," she replied coldly.
"Forgive me--that is impossible," he said, dropping his voice, and
staring before him. The next moment Miss Arbuthnot was addressing a
remark to her other neighbour.
Fenwick marched up to Claudia directly the men reached the drawing-room.
The Thorntons lived in the permanent barracks, and the regimental band
was playing on the drilling ground.
"How are you getting on? Bored?" he inquired.
She might have said no if she had been an older woman. As it was, she
replied truthfully that she had been, and allowed her eyes to express
the pleasure she felt.
"Every one was out of place at dinner. Mrs Thornton pitchforks people
about." He spoke almost apologetically, and added quickly, "That's a
pretty frock you've got on, Claudia."
"Is it?" She blest it.
"But," he went on, giving way to some inward irritation, "I agree with
you that it's an awful bore having to come out in this way among a lot
of people who can only talk rot. As for that,"--he indicated Pelham
with a movement of his head--"I should be surprised to find that he
owned a single idea."
He spoke with unusual bitterness, and the girl looked at him, surprised.
Fenwick not infrequently showed temper, but it required more to excite
it than an occasional foolish young man, whom it was quite easy to
avoid. Evidently, however, he was put out. He found fault with the
band, with the airs they played, with the quarters, and, indeed,
impartially, with whatever topic presented itself. Claudia, armed with
a new forbearance, exerted herself to charm away the mood, and partly
succeeded. She was conscious that, as he had implied, she was looking
her best, and that when his eye fell upon her, it softened. Yet, by a
curious contradiction, she was also conscious, and it gave her such a
sick conviction of impotence as she had never before experienced, that
he was not always attending to her, and, even worse than this, that she
was beating her brains for some subject with which to divert him. She
knew but little of those everyday topics to which most of us fly as to
blessed houses of refuge. She had really bound herself, as Philippa
quickly discovered, in narrowest fetters, flinging a strong personality
into one interest, of which being suddenly deprived, she became like a
dislodged hermit crab, unable to find another resting-place. But she
knew this much, that two persons in full sympathy with each other, would
have no need to seek for common subjects of interest. The love which
Fenwick's vanity had set himself to awake, was indeed alive, stirring
feelings partly of passionate joy, and partly sharp anguish; but she was
also aware of strange forces which seemed to draw her in directions
where she would not go, and of vague disturbances for which she could
not account.
It was a curious moment now for a swift flash of such discomfort to dart
through her, yet here it was, and for just that moment it blinded her to
her surroundings. She looked up with a start to find Fenwick on his
feet, and Helen Arbuthnot standing before her. Helen was holding out
her hand and smiling.
"As you would not come to me, I have come to you," she said. "So I hear
you are no longer a lady of the woods, but have joined the ordinary ways
of us mortals." Claudia coloured. She was taken by surprise, and
thought Miss Arbuthnot showed bad taste in harping upon these topics.
Displeasure made her answer as she might not otherwise have done--
"I hope to be in woods again one day."
"Really?"
Somewhat to her surprise, Fenwick came to her assistance.
"As she has nothing of that sort here on which to expend her energies,
she is going to take up the moral improvement of the British soldier
instead. I hear her asking very searching questions on the subject."
His tone was light but not sarcastic, and Claudia turned and smiled at
him.
"That's not fair," she said. "I only asked questions because I know
absolutely nothing."
"I should ask questions too, if the answers weren't so unsatisfactory,"
said Miss Arbuthnot, taking the chair Fenwick had left. "Don't you find
that people always know either too much or too little? But of course at
this point it is for Captain Fenwick to answer any questions you may be
pleased to put."
The girl, who was shy of open allusions to her position, was annoyed by
Miss Arbuthnot's manner. At Thornbury she had almost liked her, and to
Thornbury she returned, ignoring the last remark.
"Can you tell me anything about Mr Hilton? I hope he is better?"
"I suppose so, but I don't know why you should hope it. Life can't give
him much pleasure, and he manages to make it a burden for everybody
else, especially for Harry."
"Oh, Harry! Harry's a lucky beggar," said Fenwick. He had not sat
down, but stood with his hands behind him, holding the back of the chair
against which he leaned.
"You say so? That's what comes of not grumbling. I should like to see
you doing Harry's work for a day. We should all hear of it," she added
sarcastically.
"Oh, praise him as much as you like,"--was there a slight emphasis on
the him?--"you are right, he deserves it. Granting a few limitations,
Harry Hilton is a first-rate fellow."
He looked at Miss Arbuthnot smiling, she, too, smiled back. Claudia, on
the contrary, frowned slightly, not from displeasure, but from a feeling
of being puzzled.
"Now that they are both engaged they seem on better terms than they were
before," she pondered. "I wonder why it should be, I wonder what has
brought them together?"
For she knew they had not met. The next moment she heard Miss Arbuthnot
being invited to drive on the Artillery coach.
"Thanks, no," she said indifferently. "I've too much on hand just now."
"To go about with--him, I suppose," he said sharply. "But you can bring
him--if you must."
"What a real gush of hospitality!" she returned in a mocking tone.
"Alas! even if I must, it is doubtful whether he would."
"Well--ask him."
"I think not." She stood up as she spoke, massive and handsome. "I
don't think it would be any use. But I am going back now to talk to
him."
Claudia watched her cross the room, and caught Mr Pelham's beaming
look.
"Oh, it must be true, he looks so happy!" she cried impulsively. "And,
Arthur, I think you are hard on him. He has quite a good face."