The next morning brought a letter from the farm bidding Claire welcome
as soon as she chose to arrive, but there was no second letter on the
table. Claire had not realised how confidently she had expected its
presence, until her heart sank with a sick, heavy faintness as she
lifted the one envelope, and looked in vain for a second.
Erskine had not written. Did that mean that he had taken her hasty
answer as final, and would make no further appeal? She had read of men
who had boasted haughtily that no girl should have an opportunity of
refusing them _twice_; that the woman who did not know her own mind was
no wife for them, but like every other lover she felt her own case to be
unique. Driven to answer in a moment of intolerable irritation, what
else could she have said?
But he had not written! What did that mean? At the moment of
discovering her departure, Erskine had been consumed with anger, but
afterwards, had his mother's counsels prevailed? Had he repented
himself of his hasty impulse? Would the days pass on, and the months,
and the years, and leave her like Cecil, solitary, apart?
Claire made a pretence at eating her breakfast, and then, too restless
to stay indoors, put on her hat, and went out to roam the streets until
it should be time to visit Sophie in her hospital.
Two hours later she returned and packed up not only her entire wardrobe,
but the whole of her personal possessions. In the course of her walk
there had come to her one of those curious contradictory impulses which
are so characteristic of a woman's nature. Having poured out her heart
in grief because Erskine had neither written nor followed her to town,
she was now restlessly impatient to make communication impossible, and
to bury herself where she could not be found. Before leaving the house
she made Lizzie happy by a present of money, accompanied by quite a
goodly bundle of clothing, after which she interviewed the landlady,
gave notice that she no longer needed the rooms, and wrote out a cheque
in payment of all claims. Then a taxi was summoned, the various boxes
piled on top, and another chapter of life had come to an end.
Claire drove to the station, whence she proposed to take a late
afternoon train to the farm, deposited her boxes in the left luggage
office, and strolled listlessly towards the great bookstall under the
clock. Another hour remained to be whiled away before she could start
for the hospital; she would buy a book, sit in the waiting-room, and try
to bury herself in its pages. She strolled slowly down the length of
the stall, her eyes passing listlessly from one pile of books to
another, finding little interest in them, and even less in the men and
women who stood by her side. As Mrs Fanshawe would have said, "No one
was in town"; even school-mistresses had flown from the region of bricks
and mortar. If she had thought about it at all, Claire would have said
that there was no one she _could_ meet, but suddenly a hand grasped her
arm, and brought her to a halt. She started violently, and for an
instant her heart leapt with a wild glad hope. It was not Erskine
Fanshawe who confronted her, however, but a girl clad in a tweed costume
with a cloth cap to match, on the side of which a sprig of heather was
fastened by a gold brooch fashioned in the shape of a thistle. In
bewildered surprise Claire recognised the brown eyes and round freckled
face of Janet Willoughby, whom she had believed to be hundreds of miles
away, in the highlands of Scotland.
"Just come back," Janet explained. "The weather was impossible.
Nothing but sheets of rain. I got tired, and came back to pay some
visits in the south." She hesitated, then asked a sudden question.
"Are you busy? Going anywhere at once? Could you spare half an hour?
We might have lunch together in the refreshment room!"
"Yes. No. I'd like to. I've had no lunch." Claire faltered
nervously, whereupon Janet turned to her maid, who was standing near,
dressing-bag in hand, and gave a few quick instructions.
"Get a taxi, Ross, and take all the things home. The car can wait for
me. I'll follow later."
The maid disappeared, and the two girls made their way across the open
space. Both looked nervous and ill at ease, both dreaded the coming
_tete-a-tete_, yet felt that it was a thing to be faced. Janet led the
way to a table in the farthest corner of the room, and they talked
trivialities until the ordered dishes were set on the table, and the
waiter had taken his departure. Claire had ordered coffee, and drank
eagerly, hoping that the physical refreshment would help to steady her
nerves. Janet played with her knife and fork, and said, without looking
up--
"You have left the Fanshawes, then! I heard that you were staying on."
"Yes. Yesterday I--came back."
The very lameness of the answer made it significant. Janet's freckled
face turned noticeably pale.
"Erskine went straight home after he left Scotland?"
"Yes."
"And before he arrived, you had promised to stay on?"
"Mrs Fanshawe asked me, before he came, if I could stay for another
week, and I was very glad to accept. I had no other engagement."
"And then?"
"Oh, then things were different. She didn't need company, and--and--
things happened. My friend, Miss Rhodes--"
Janet waved aside "my friend, Miss Rhodes," with an impatient hand.
"And Erskine? What did _he_ say to your leaving?"
The colour flamed in Claire's cheek; she stammered in hopeless
confusion, and, in the midst of her stammering, Janet laid both hands on
the table, and, leaning forward so that the two faces were only a few
inches apart, spoke a few startling words--
"Has he--_proposed_ to you? I must know! You must tell me!"
It was a command, rather than an appeal, and Claire automatically
replied--
"He--he did! Yes, but--"
"And you?"
"I--couldn't. I said no!"
"You said no! Erskine asked you to be his wife, and you _refused_?"
Janet stared in incredulous bewilderment. A spark of indignation shone
in her brown eyes. "But why? You care for him. Any girl might be
proud to marry Erskine Fanshawe. _Why_?"
"I can't tell you. It's so difficult. His mother--she didn't want me.
She would have hated it. She almost turned me out."
"His _mother_! Mrs Fanshawe!" Janet's voice was full of an ineffable
surprise. "You refused Erskine because of _her_ prejudice? But she is
always changing; she is the most undependable woman on the face of the
earth! She is charming, and I'm fond of her, but I should not take her
advice about a pair of gloves. Nothing that she could say would
possibly have the slightest influence on my life. She's irresponsible;
she sees entirely from her own standpoint. And Erskine--Erskine is a
rock!" She paused, pressing her lips together to still their trembling,
and Claire answered with a note of apology in her voice.
"Janet, I _know_! Don't think I don't appreciate him. Wait till you
hear how it happened... He followed me to the station; it was the very
last moment, just as the train was starting. There was time for only
one word, and--I was sore and angry!"
Janet looked at her, a long, searching look.
"It's curious, but I always knew this would come. When I saw you
sitting together at supper that first night, I knew then. All the time
I knew it in my heart, but on the surface it seemed ridiculous, for you
never met!"
"Never that you did not know, except one time in the park. There was
nothing to tell you, Janet; nothing to hide."
"No. So he said. We talked of you in Scotland, you know, and it was
just as I thought--a case of recognising each other at first sight. He
said the moment he saw you you seemed different from everyone else, and
he hoped and believed that you felt the same. That is how people ought
to love; the right way, when both are attached, both feel the same...
And it is so rare. Yet you _refused_!"
"Would you marry a man if his family disapproved?"
"Oh, yes! I should not be marrying the family. I'd be sorry, of
course, but I'd make up my mind that in time I'd make them fall in love
with me, too. What are you going to do now?"
"Going away. Into the country. I want to be quiet, and think."
Janet did not ask the address. She sat silent, staring into space, then
asked a sudden irrelevant question:
"Did he send you the cuckoo clock?"
"I--think so! It had no name, but it came from Switzerland while he was
there. He has never referred to it since."
"Ah!" Janet began pulling on her gloves. "I knew that, too. I _felt_
that he had sent it. Well! I must go. It will all come right, of
course, and you will be very happy. I've known Erskine so long, and his
wife is sure to be happy." Janet forced an artificial little laugh.
"You will be engaged before me, after all, but I dare say I shall soon
follow suit. It's nice to be loved. As one grows older, one
appreciates it more. And Captain Humphreys is a good man."
"He is splendid! I loved his face. And he is so devoted to you. It
was quite beautiful to watch him," cried Claire, thankful from her heart
to be able to enthuse honestly.
A load was lifted from her heart by Janet's prophecy of her own future.
For the moment it had no doubt been made more out of bravado than any
real conviction, and inevitably there must be a period of suffering, but
Janet was of a naturally buoyant nature, and her wounded spirit would
gradually find consolation in the love which had waited so patiently for
its reward. It needed no great gift of prophecy to see her in the
future, a happy, contented wife.