Anne was in the drawing-room when Claudia reached Elmslie, Anne
unquestioning and kindly. Claudia felt herself made welcome, and was
conscious of a quiet atmosphere, grateful after the jar and turmoil of
the past days. She was glad to rest in an easy-chair, to drink tea from
the little old silver teapot which was the pride of Anne's heart, and to
hear that Philippa and Emily had gone off to a garden-party.
"Harry Hilton has been here," said Anne, occupying herself with cutting
cake, "but he has gone."
Claudia breathed relief. She had dreaded to find Harry established.
The telegram announcing her unexpected return must have given an inkling
of what had happened, and she could not have endured the sight of his
face, with possibly a reawakened hope beaming in it. Now she could more
freely tell her story.
"Anne," she said, in a voice not quite steady, "I want to explain why I
have come back."
"If you like," Anne replied gently. "But you know this is to be home,
without any need for explanations."
"I know. And I don't think explain was quite the word to use, for I
can't explain yet, even to myself. Only it is all over between Captain
Fenwick and me." As Anne did not speak, she went on hurriedly, "You
don't mind my not saying more, do you?"
"No, I don't mind," said Anne, with that warm inflexion of the voice
which is like a caress. "I am only wondering whether it is quite right
to leave you to fight your own battles single-handed. Can nothing be
done?"
Claudia sprang up and went to the window.
"Please," she said, with her back to her cousin, "I don't want
sympathy."
"Or help?"
"Or help."
"Then you shall go your own way in peace," Anne said, smiling.
"And one thing more." Claudia came back to the table. "Whatever it is,
you must understand that it is my own, absolutely my own doing."
"I understand. For," said Anne afterwards to Philippa, "when people are
miserable, the best one can do for them is to let them be miserable in
their own fashion."
"Is she miserable, or only sore?"
"Only sore!" repeated Anne. "As if to be sore and shamed were not
misery enough for a nature like Claudia's! But I believe she really
loved the man, and has been hard hit, poor child!"
"Well, it will do her no harm," Philippa announced. "What a pity it is
that nothing of the sort ever happened to Emily!"
"Philippa!"
"To be sure Emily has never taken her independence fiercely, has never,
indeed, taken it at all, but she has always sighed for it. If once the
thing had advanced towards her, Emily would have screamed and run away,
while Claudia has been so entranced with its charms that she has been
ready to take shadow for substance. Harry, now, Harry's good stout
sense would have allowed her a long tether, but no doubt Captain Fenwick
jerked the rope too sharply."
Claudia's departure made no stir at Aldershot, because it was supposed
that her visit had come naturally to an end; and if there were any who
had gleams of suspicion as to the real cause, Fenwick was not a man to
offer himself readily for questioning, and Mrs Leslie took the
opportunity of going away for a week or two.
"Of course he and Helen Arbuthnot will make it up again, and then there
will be a pretty talk!" she said irritably to her husband. "Well, I am
sick of Arthur's love affairs. I wash my hands of them for the future."
"Helen Arbuthnot? But isn't she engaged to young Pelham?"
"Oh, what of that!" cried Mrs Leslie, with a fine scorn.
Two or three days passed, however, and nothing had occurred to justify
her words. On the fourth, Fenwick and Miss Arbuthnot met at a dinner
given at a commanding officer's quarters. They did not exchange a word
until the end of the evening, when the guests strolled out into the
garden.
Pelham was not there, and if Fenwick had watched for an opportunity, he
took it, as usual, boldly. He walked straight to Miss Arbuthnot.
"I must speak to you," he said. "Alone." She shrugged her shoulders,
but made no objection. The night was hot, she wore a white dress, and
round her throat had wrapped a scarf of a soft gauze, with silver
threads running through it. In the moonlight these shimmered and
flashed, and set off the rich brown of her hair. The regimental band
was playing, otherwise it was strangely quiet for the neighbourhood of a
camp. Presently they reached the limit of the turf, and Helen stopped.
"Well," she asked abruptly, "what have you to say?"
"How can I say anything when you speak in such a tone?" he demanded.
"There is a seat under that tree beyond."
She walked on.
"Are you aware that we are affording much food for remarks?" she said
presently. He took no notice of her question.
"I had to speak to you," he began; "I want to be the first to tell you
what has happened."
"It was scarcely necessary," she returned coldly. "After hearing that
Miss Hamilton had departed, I could draw in the details myself. For
that matter, I could have drawn them beforehand."
"No doubt you could, considering how much you had to do with them," he
said, with a laugh so self-assured that Miss Arbuthnot bit her lip.
"I?"
"Yes. She was jealous of you, and I can hardly blame her."
"Oh, I don't blame her at all."
"Blame? No. Why, I bless her. She opened my eyes. A little longer,
and it might have been too late."
"Oh no. That misfortune," said Miss Arbuthnot scornfully, "could never
happen to you. A means of deliverance always offers itself in good
time. And did she--Claudia, I mean--enjoy her mission?"
She had stung him at last, for he moved fretfully.
"You might understand that--that it was all painful, and I don't want to
talk about it. The point is--" he used Claudia's words--"that it is
over and done with."
"Well, go on," she said, opening and shutting her fan. "I understand
that I am to keep my intelligence fixed on the fact that it is over and
done with, and that Claudia's feelings belong to a side issue with which
one has nothing to do. Go on."
This time he turned angrily upon her. "You speak as if I had done the
girl an injury. Granted that I was a fool--a double-distilled fool--
would it have been for her happiness to have persisted in the folly?"
"No," said Miss Arbuthnot, in a low voice; "it would not."
"Then you own I was right?"
"Oh, don't make me your judge!" she cried impatiently. "Right? I see
no right from beginning to end. But what of that? What have I to do
with it?"