"LEND ME FIVE POUNDS!"
The contrasts of life seemed painfully strong to Claire Gifford that
Saturday afternoon as she seated herself in the luxurious car by Mrs
Willoughby's side, and thought of Sophie Blake obliged to borrow ten
pounds to pay for a chance of health, and the contrast deepened during
the next few hours, as she watched beautifully gowned women squandering
money on useless trifles which decked the various "stalls." Embroidered
cushions, painted sachets, veil cases, shaving cases, night-dress cases,
bridge bags, fan bags, handkerchief bags, work bags; bags of every size,
of every shape, of every conceivable material; bead necklaces, mats--a
wilderness of mats--a very pyramid of drawn-thread work. Claire found a
seat near the principal stall, where she caught the remarks of the
buyers as they turned away. "...I detest painted satin! Can't think why
I bought that ridiculous sachet. It will have to go on to the next
bazaar."
"...That makes my twenty-third bag! Rather a sweet, though, isn't he?
It will go with my grey dress."
"This is awful! I'm not getting on at all. I can't decently spend less
than five pounds. For goodness' sake tell me what to buy!"
"Can't think why people give bazaars! Such an upset in the house. For
some charity, I believe--I forget what. She asked me to come..."
So on and so on; scores of women surging to and fro, swinging bags of
gold and silver chain, buying baubles for which they had no use;
occasionally--very occasionally, for love of the cause; often--very
often because Lady --- had sent a personal invitation, and Lady --- was
a useful friend, and gave such charming balls!
At the two concerts Claire had a pleasant success, which she enjoyed
with all her heart. Her whistling performance seemed to act as a
general introduction, for every listener seemed to be anxious to talk to
her, and to ask an infinitude of questions. Was it difficult? How long
did it take to learn? Was she nervous? Wasn't it difficult not to
laugh? How did she manage not to look a fright? Did she do it often?
Did she _mind_? This last question usually led up to a tentative
mention of some entertainment in which the speaker was interested, but
after the first refusal Claire was on guard, and regretted that her time
was filled up. She was eager to help Mrs Willoughby, but had no desire
to be turned into an unpaid public performer!
Janet did not appear at the bazaar, so the drive home was once more a
_tete-a-tete_, during which Mrs Willoughby questioned Claire as to the
coming holidays, and expressed pleasure to hear that they were to be
spent in Brussels. She was so kind and motherly in her manner that
Claire was emboldened to bespeak her interest on Sophie's behalf.
"I suppose," she said tentatively, "you don't know of any family going
abroad to a dry climate--it must be a very dry climate--who would like
to take a girl with them to--er--to be a sort of help! She's a pretty
girl, and very gay and amusing, and she's had the highest possible
training in health exercises. She would be splendid if there was a
delicate child who needed physical development, and, of course, she is
quite well educated all round. She could teach up to a certain point.
She is the Gym. mistress in my school, and is very popular with the
girls."
"And why does she want to leave?"
"She's not well. It's rheumatism--a bad kind of rheumatism. It is just
beginning, and the doctor says it ought to be tackled at once, and that
to live on clay soil is the worst thing for her. If she stays at Saint
Cuthbert's she's practically bound to live on clay. And he says she
ought to get out of England for the next few winters. She has not a
penny beyond her salary, but if she could find a post--"
"Well, why not?" Mrs Willoughby's voice was full of a cheerful
optimism. "I don't know of anything at present, but I'll make inquiries
among my friends. There ought not to be any difficulty. So many people
winter abroad; and there is quite a craze for these physical exercises.
Oh, yes, my dear, I am sure I can help. Poor thing! poor girl! it's so
important to keep her health. I must find some one who will be
considerate, and not work her too hard."
She spoke as if the post were a settled thing; as if there were several
posts from which to choose. Probably there were. Among her large
circle of wealthy friends this popular and influential woman, given a
little trouble, could almost certainly find a chance for Sophie Blake.
_Given a little trouble_! That was the rub! Five out of six of the
women who had thronged Lady ---'s rooms that afternoon would have
dismissed Sophie's case with an easy sympathy, "Poor creature! Quite
too sad, but really, you know, my dear, it's a shocking mistake to
recommend any one to a friend. If anything goes wrong, you get blamed
yourself. Isn't there a Home?" Mrs Willoughby was the exception to
the rule; she helped in deed, as well as in word. Claire looked at the
large plain face with a very passion of admiration.
"Oh, I wish all women were like you! I'm so glad you are rich. I hope
you will go on growing richer and richer. You are the right person to
have money, because you help, you _want_ to help, you remember other
women who are poor."
"My dear," said Mrs Willoughby softly, "I have been poor myself. My
father lost his money, and for years we had a hard struggle. Then I
married--for love, my dear, not money, but there was money, too,--more
money than I could spend. It was an intoxicating experience, and I
found it difficult not to be carried away. My dear husband had settled
a large income on me, for my own use, so I determined, as a safeguard,
to divide it in two, and use half for myself and half for gentlewomen
like your friend, who need a helping hand. I have done that now for
twenty-five years, but I give out of my abundance, my dear; it is easy
for me to give money; I deserve no credit for that."
"You give time, too, and sympathy, and kindness. It's no use, Mrs
Willoughby. I've put you on the topmost pinnacle in my mind, and
nothing that you can say can pull you down. I think you are the best
woman in London!"
"Dear, dear, you will turn my head! I'm not accustomed to such
wholesale flattery," cried Mrs Willoughby, laughing; then the car
stopped, and Claire made her adieux, and sprang lightly to the ground.
The chauffeur had stopped before the wrong house, but he did not
discover his mistake as Claire purposely stood still until he had turned
the car and started to retrace his way westward. The evening was fine
though chill, and the air was refreshing after the crowded heat of Lady
---'s rooms. Claire had only the length of a block to walk, and she
went slowly, drawing deep breaths to fill her tired lungs.
The afternoon had passed pleasantly enough, but it had left her feeling
flat and depressed. She questioned herself as to the cause of her
depression. Was she jealous of those other girls who lived lives of
luxury and idleness? Honestly she was not. She was not in the position
of a girl who had known nothing but poverty, and who therefore felt a
girl's natural longing for pretty rooms, pretty clothes, and a taste of
gaiety and excitement. Claire had known all these things, and could
know them again; neither was she in the position of a working girl who
has no one to help in the day of adversity, for a comfortable home was
open to her at any moment. No! she was not jealous: she probed still
deeper, and acknowledged that she was disappointed! Last time that she
had whistled in public--
Claire shook her head with an impatient toss. This was feeble. This
was ridiculous. A man whom she had met twice! A man whose mother had
refused an introduction. A man whom Janet--
"I must get to work, and prepare my lesson for Monday. Nothing like
good work to drive away these sentimental follies!"
But Fate was not kind, for right before her eyes were a couple of lovers
strolling onward, the man's hand through the girl's arm, his head bent
low over hers. Claire winced at the sight, but the next moment her
interest quickened in a somewhat painful fashion, as the man
straightened himself suddenly, and swung apart with a gesture of
offence. The lovers were quarrelling! Now the width of the pavement
was between them; they strode onward, ostentatiously detached. Claire
smiled to herself at the childishness of the display. One moment
embracing in the open street, the next flaunting their differences so
boldly that every passer-by must realise the position! Surely a grown
man or woman ought to have more self-control. Then suddenly the light
of a lamp shone on the pair, and she recognised the familiar figures of
Mary Rhodes and Major Carew. He wore a long light overcoat. Cecil had
evidently slipped out of the house to meet him, for she was attired in
her sports coat and knitted cap. Poor Cecil! The interview seemed to
be ending in anything but a pleasant fashion.
Claire lingered behind until the couple had passed her own doorway, let
herself in with her latch-key, and hastened to settle down to work.
When Cecil came in, she would not wish to be observed. Claire carried
her books to the bureau, so as to have her back to the fire, but before
she had been five minutes writing, she heard the click of the lock, and
Cecil herself came into the room.
"Halloa! I saw the light go up. I thought it must be you." She was
silent for a couple of minutes, then spoke again in a sharp, summoning
voice: "Claire!"
"Yes?"
Claire turned round, to behold Cecil standing at the end of the dining-
table, her bare hands clasping its rim. She was so white that her lips
looked of a startling redness; her eyes met Claire with a defiant
hardness.
"I want you to lend me five pounds _now_!"
Claire's anxiety was swallowed in a rising of irritation which brought
an edge of coldness into her voice.
"Five pounds! What for? Cecil, I have never spoken of it, I have never
worried you, but I've already paid--"
"I know! I know! I'll pay you back. But I must have this to-night,
and I've nowhere else to go. It's important. I would lend it to you,
Claire, if it were in my power."
"Cecil, I hate to refuse, but really--I _need_ my money! Just now I
need it particularly. I can't afford to go on lending. I'm dreadfully
sorry, but--"
"Claire, please! I implore you, just this one time! I'll pay you
back... There's my insurance policy--I can raise something on that.
For pity's sake, Claire, help me this time!"
Claire rose silently and went upstairs. It was not in her to refuse
such a request while a five-pound note lay in her desk upstairs. She
slipped the crackling paper into an envelope, and carried it down to the
parlour. Cecil took it without a word, and went back into the night.
When she had gone, Claire gathered her papers together in a neat little
heap, ranged them in a corner of the bureau, and seated herself on a
stiff-backed chair at the end of the table. She looked as if she were
mounted on a seat of justice, and the position suited her frame of mind.
She felt angry and ill-used. Cecil had no right to borrow money from a
fellow-worker! The money in the bank was dwindling rapidly; the ten
guineas for Sophie would make another big hole. She did not grudge
that--she was eager and ready to give it for so good a cause; but _what_
was Cecil doing with these repeated loans? To judge from appearances,
she was rather poorer than richer during the last few months, while
bills for her new clothes came in again and again, and received no
settlement. An obstinate look settled on Claire's face. She determined
to have this thing out.
In ten minutes' time Cecil was back again, still white, still defiant,
meeting Claire's glance with a shrug, seating herself at the opposite
end of the table with an air of callous indifference to what should come
next.
"Well?"
"Well?"
"You look as if you had something to say!"
"I have. Cecil, what are you doing with all this money?"
"That's my business, I suppose!"
"I don't see it, when the money is mine! I think I have the right to
ask?"
"I've told you I'll pay you back!"
"That's not the question. I want to know what you are doing _now_! You
are not paying your bills."
"I'll sell out some shares to-morrow, and--"
"You shall do no such thing. I can wait, and I will wait, but I can't
go on lending; and if I did, it could do you no good. Where does the
money go? It does _you_ no good!"
"I am the best judge of that."
"Cecil, _are you lending money to that man_?"
The words leapt out, as on occasion such words will leap, without
thought or premeditation on the speaker's part. She did not intend to
speak them; if she had given herself one moment for reflection she dared
not have spoken them; when their sound struck across the quiet room she
was almost as much startled as Cecil herself; yet heart and brain
approved their utterance; heart and brain pronounced that she had
discovered the truth.
Cecil's face was a deep glowing red.
"Really, Claire, you go too far! Why in the world should you think--"
"I saw you with him now in the street. I could see that you were
quarrelling; you took no pains to hide it. You left him to come in to
me, and went back again. It seems pretty obvious."
"Well! and if I did?" Cecil had plainly decided that denial was
useless. "I am responsible for the loan. What does it matter to you
who uses it?"
But at that Claire's anger vanished, and she shrank back with a cry of
pain and shame.
"And he _took_ it from you? Money! Took it from a girl he professes to
love--who is working for herself! Oh, Cecil, how _could_ he? How could
you allow him? How can you go on caring for such a man?"
"Don't get hysterical, Claire, please. There's nothing so extraordinary
in a man being hard up. It's happened before now in the history of the
world. Frank has a position to keep up, and his father--I've told you
before how mean and difficult his father is, and it's so important that
Frank should keep on good terms just now.--He dare not worry him for
money. When he is going to make me a rich woman some day, why should I
refuse to lend him a few trifling pounds when he runs short? He's in an
expensive regiment; he belongs to an expensive Club; he is obliged to
keep up with the other men. If I had twice as much I would lend it with
pleasure."
Claire opened her lips to say that at least no more borrowed money
should be supplied for Major Carew, but the words were never spoken.
Pity engulfed her, a passion of pity for the poor woman who a second
time had fallen under the spell of an unscrupulous man. Cecil's
explanation had fallen on deaf ears, for Claire could accept no excuses
for a man who borrowed from a woman to ensure comfort and luxury for
himself. An officer in the King's army! The thing seemed incredible;
so incredible that, for the first time, a rising of suspicion mingled
with her dislike. Mentally, she rehearsed the facts of Major Carew's
history as narrated by himself, and found herself doubting every one.
The beautiful house in the country--did it really exist? The eccentric
old father who refused to part with his gold--was he flesh and blood, or
a fictitious figure invented as a convenient excuse? The fortune which
was to enrich the future--_was_ there such a fortune? Or, if there
were, was Major Carew in truth the eldest son? Claire felt a
devastating helplessness her life abroad had left her ignorant of many
British institutions; she knew nothing of the books in which she might
have traced the Carew history; she had nothing to guide her but her own
feminine instinct, but if that instinct were right, what was to become
of Mary Rhodes?
Her face looked so sad, so downcast, that Cecil's conscience was
pricked.
"Poor old Claire!" she said gently, "how I do worry you, to be sure!
Never mind, my dear, I'll make it up to you one day. You've been a
brick to me, and I shan't forget it. And I'll go to my mother's for the
whole of the Easter holidays, and save up my pennies to pay you back.
The poor old soul felt defrauded because I stayed only a week at
Christmas, so she'll be thankful to have me. You can go to Brussels
with an easy mind, knowing that I'm out of temptation. That will be
killing two birds with one stone. What do you say to having cocoa now,
instead of waiting till nine o'clock? We've tired ourselves out with
all this fuss?"