"Crippled? Ridiculous! I _refuse_ to be crippled. I want to run, and
run, and run, and run, and dance, and sing, and jump about! I feel
pent! I feel caged! And all that precious money squandered on
injections..."
The six weeks' course of treatment had been, from the doctor's point of
view, a complete success; from Sophie's a big disappointment. She
argued that she was still stiff, still in pain, that the improvement was
but small; he pointed out that without the injections she would of a
certainty have been worse, and since in arthritis even to remain
stationary was a success, to have improved in the smallest degree in six
weeks' time might be regarded as a triumph. He prescribed a restful
holiday during the Easter vacation, and a second course of treatment on
her return. Sophie resigned herself to do without new clothes for the
summer, and sold her most treasured possession, a diamond ring which had
belonged to her mother, so that the second ten pounds was secure. But
how was she to pay back the original loan?
Meanwhile Mrs Willoughby was inquiring among her friends for a suitable
post, and had played the good fairy by arranging to send Sophie for the
Easter holidays to a country cottage on the Surrey heights, which she
ran as a health resort for gentlewomen. Here on a fine dry soil, the
air scented with the fragrant breath of the pines, with nothing to do,
and plenty of appetising food to eat, the Gym. mistress's general health
improved so rapidly that she came back to school with her thin cheeks
quite filled out.
"Very satisfactory," said the doctor. "Now I shall be able to get on to
stronger doses!"
"What's the good of getting better, only to be made worse?" cried Sophie
in rebellion.
Cecil's loan remained unpaid. She had spent her holidays with her
mother as arranged, but her finances did not appear to have profited
thereby. Dunning for bills became so incessant that the landlady spoke
severely of the "credit of the house." She went out constantly in the
evening, and several times Claire heard Major Carew's voice at the door,
but he never came into the house, and there was no talk of an open
engagement.
As for Claire herself, she had had a happy time in Brussels, staying
with both English and Belgian friends and re-visiting all the old
haunts. She thoroughly enjoyed the change, but could not honestly say
that she wished the old life to return. If she came back with a heavy
heart, it was neither poverty nor work which she feared, but rather the
want of that atmosphere of love and kindliness which make the very
essence of home. At the best of times Mary Rhodes was a difficult
companion and far from affectionate in manner, but since the giving of
that last loan, there had arisen a mental barrier which it seemed
impossible to surmount. It had become difficult to keep up a
conversation apart from school topics, and both girls found themselves
dreading the evening's _tete-a-tete_.
Claire felt like a caged bird beating against the bars. She wanted an
outlet from the school life, and the call of the spring was insistent to
one who until now had spent the summer in wandering about some of the
loveliest scenes in Europe. She wearied of the everlasting streets, and
discovered that by hurrying home after afternoon school, making a quick
change of clothing, and catching a motor-'bus at the corner of the road,
she could reach Hyde Park by half-past five, and spend a happy hour
sitting on one of the green chairs, enjoying the beauty of the flowers,
and watching the never-ending stream of pedestrians and vehicles.
Sometimes she recognised Mrs Willoughby and Janet bowling past in their
luxurious motor, but they never saw her, and she was not anxious that
they should. What she wanted was to sit still and rest. Sometimes a
smartly-dressed woman, obviously American, would seat herself on the
next chair, and inquire as to the best chance of seeing the Queen, and
the question being amiably answered, would proceed to unasked
confidences. She thought England "sweet." She had just come over to
this side. She was staying till the fall. Who was the lady in the
elegant blue auto? The London fashions were just too cute! When they
parted, the fair American invariably said, "Pleased to have met you!"
and looked as though she meant it into the bargain, and Claire whole-
heartedly echoed the sentiment. She liked these women with their keen,
child-like enthusiasm, their friendly, gracious ways. In contrast to
them the ordinary Englishwoman seemed cold and aloof.
One brilliant afternoon when the Park was unusually bright and gay,
Claire was seated near the Achilles statue, carelessly scanning the
passers-by, when, with a sudden leap of the heart, she saw Erskine
Fanshawe some twenty yards ahead, strolling towards her, accompanied by
two ladies. He was talking to his companions with every appearance of
enjoyment, and had no attention to spare for the rows of spectators on
the massed green chairs. Claire felt the blood rush to her face in the
shock of surprise and agitation. She had never contemplated the
possibility of such a meeting, for Captain Fanshawe had not appeared the
type of man who would care to take part in a fashionable parade, and the
sudden appearance of the familiar face among the crowd made her heart
leap with a force that was physically painful. Then, the excitement
over, she realised with a second pang, almost as painful as the first,
that in another minute he would have passed by, unseeing, unknowing, to
disappear into space for probably months to come. At the thought
rebellion arose in her heart. She felt a wild impulse to leave her seat
and advance towards him; she longed with a sudden desperation of longing
to meet his eyes, to see his smile, but pride held her back. She sat
motionless watching with strained eyes.
One of Captain Fanshawe's companions was old, the other young--a pretty,
fashionably-dressed girl, who appeared abundantly content with her
escort. All three were watching with amusement the movements of a stout
elderly dame, who sauntered immediately ahead, leading by a leash a
French poodle, fantastically shaved, and decorated with ribbon bows.
The stout dame was evidently extravagantly devoted to her pet, and
viewed with alarm the approach of a jaunty black and white terrier.
The terrier cocked his ears, and elevating his stump of a tail, yapped
at the be-ribboned spaniel with all a terrier's contempt, as he advanced
to the attack. The stout dame screamed, dropped the leash, and hit at
the terrier with the handle of her parasol. The poodle evidently
considering flight the best policy, doubled and fled in the direction of
the green chairs, to come violently to anchor against Claire's knee.
The crowd stared, the stout dame hurried forward. Claire, placing a
soothing hand on the dog's head, lifted a flushed, smiling face, and in
so doing caught the lift of a hat, met for the moment the glance of
startled eyes.
The stout lady was not at all grateful. She spoke as sharply as though
Claire, and Claire alone, had been the cause of her pet's upset. She
strode majestically away, leaving Claire trembling, confused, living
over again those short moments. She had seen him; he had seen her! He
was alive and well, living within a few miles of herself, yet as far
apart as in another continent. It was six months since they had last
met. It might be six years before they met again. But he had seemed
pleased to see her. Short as had been that passing glance, there was no
mistaking its interest. He was surprised, but pleasure had overridden
surprise. If he had been alone, he would have hurried forward with
outstretched hand. In imagination she could see him coming, his grave
face lightened with joy. Oh, if _only, only_ he had been alone! But he
was with friends; he had the air of being content and interested, and
the girl was pretty, far prettier than Janet Willoughby.
"Good afternoon!"
She turned gasping; he was standing before her, holding out his hand.
He had left his companions and come back to join her. His face looked
flushed, as though he had rushed back at express speed. He had seemed
interested and content, and the girl was pretty, yet he had come back to
her! He seated himself on the chair by her side, and looked at her with
eager eyes.
"I haven't seen you for six months!"
"I was just--" Claire began impulsively, drew herself up, and finished
demurely--"I suppose it is."
"You haven't been at either of Mrs Willoughby's `At Homes.'"
"No; but I've seen a good deal of them all the same. They have been so
kind."
"Don't you care for the `At Homes'? I asked Mrs Willoughby about you,
and she seemed to imply that you preferred not to go."
"Oh, no! Oh, no! That was quite wrong. I _did_ enjoy that evening.
It was a--a misunderstanding, I think," said Claire, much exercised to
find an explanation of what could really not be explained. Of the third
"At Home" she had heard nothing until this moment, and a pang of
retrospective disappointment mingled with her present content. "I have
been to the house several times when they were alone," she continued
eagerly. "They even asked me on Christmas Day."
"I know," he said shortly. "I was in Saint Moritz, skating in the
sunshine, when I heard how you were spending _your_ Christmas holidays."
His face looked suddenly grim and set. "A man feels pretty helpless at
a time like that. I didn't exactly enjoy myself for the rest of that
afternoon."
"That was stupid of you, but--but very nice all the same," Claire said
softly. "It wouldn't have made things easier for me if other people had
been dull, and, after all, I came off better than I expected."
"You were all alone--in your Grand Hotel?"
"Only for a week." Claire resolutely ignored the hit. "Then my friend
came back, and we made some little excursions together, and enjoyed
being lazy, and getting up late, and reading lots of nice books. I had
made all sorts of good resolutions about the work I was going to get
through in the holidays, but I never did one thing."
"Do you often come to the Park?"
Claire felt a pang of regret. Was it possible that even this simple
pleasure was to be denied her? She knew too well that if she said
"yes," Captain Fanshawe would look out for her again, would come with
the express intention of meeting her. To say "yes" would be virtually
to consent to such meetings. It was a temptation which took all her
strength to reject, but rejected it must be. She would not stoop to the
making of a rendez-vous.
"I have been several times, but I shan't be able to come any more. We
get busier towards the end of the term. Examinations--"