“Indeed, I won’t! Why should I?” Claire cried heartily. “I’m only too thankful. Mother needs someone to look after her, and I’d sooner you did it than anyone else. I like you awfully—always did, until I began to be afraid—I didn’t want to marry you myself, but if mother does, I think it’s a splendid thing.”
“Thank you, dear, thank you a thousand times. That’s a great relief.” Robert Judge stretched himself with a deep breath of satisfaction. Then he grew confidential, reviewing the past with true lover-like enjoyment.
“I fell in love with her that first afternoon at the tennis club. Thought Bridges introduced her as Miss Gifford, put her down at twenty-five, and hoped she wouldn’t think me a hopeless old fogey. Never had such a surprise in my life as when she introduced you. Thought for a time I should have to give it up. Then she asked my advice on one or two business matters, and I discovered—” He hesitated, flushing uncomfortably, and Claire finished the sentence.
“That we are coming to the end of our resources?”
Mr. Judge nodded.
“And so, of course,” he continued simply, “that settled it. I couldn’t go away and leave her to face a struggle. I was jolly thankful to feel that I had met her in time.”
“I think you are a dear, good man. I think mother is very lucky. Thank you so much for being my step-papa!” cried Claire, her grey eyes softening with a charming friendliness as they dwelt on the man’s honest face, and he took her hand in his, and squeezed it with affectionate ardour.
“Thank you, my dear. Thank you! I shall be jolly proud of having such a pretty daughter. I’m not a rich man, but I am comfortably well-off, and I’ll do my best to give you a good time. Your mother feels sure she will enjoy the Indian life. Most girls think it great fun. And of course I have lots of friends.”
Claire stared at him, a new seriousness dawning in her eyes. She looked very pretty and very young, and not a little pathetic into the bargain. For the first time since the realisation of her mistake the personal application of the situation burst upon her, and a chill crept through her veins. If she herself had married Robert Judge, her mother would have made her home with them as a matter of course; but it was by no means a matter of course that she should make her home with her mother. She stared into the honest face of the man before her—the man who was not rich, the man who was in love for the first time in his life, and a smile twisted the corner of her lips.
“Mr. Judge, if I ask you a question, will you promise to give me an absolutely honest answer?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Well, then, will you like having a third person living with you all the time?”
Up to the man’s forehead rushed the treacherous blood. He frowned, he scowled, he opened his lips to protest; but that flush had answered for him, and Claire refused to listen. “No, no—don’t! Of course you wouldn’t. Who would, in your place? Poor darlings—I quite understand. You are middle-aged, you know, though you feel about nineteen, and mother is prettier and more charming than half the girl brides. And you will want to be just as young and foolish as you like, not to be obliged to be sensible because a grown-up daughter is there all the time, staring at you with big eyes? I should be in the way, and I should feel in the way, and—”
Mr. Judge interrupted in an urgent voice:
“Look here, Claire, I don’t think you ought to corner me like this. It’s not fair. I’ve told you that I am prepared to do everything for your happiness. You ought surely to realise that I—”
“And you ought to realise that I—” Claire broke off suddenly, and held out her hand with a charming smile. “Oh, but there’s plenty of time—we can arrange all that later on. Let’s go and find mother and put her out of her misery. She will be longing to see us come back.”
They walked down the avenue together, and, as they went, Claire turned her head from side to side, taking in the well-known scene with wistful intensity. How many times would she see it again? As she had said, many discussions would certainly take place as to her future destination, but she knew in her heart that the result was sure. Providence had decided or her. The future was London and work!
Chapter Three.
Mrs. Gifford is married.
Claire lost no time in writing to Miss Farnborough to apply for the post of French mistress if it were still vacant, and by return of post received a cordial reply. Several applications had been received, but no appointment had been made, and the Head was pleased to confirm her previous offer of a commencing salary of a hundred and ten pounds, and would expect Miss Gifford to take up her duties at the beginning of the autumn term. She congratulated her on her decision, and felt sure she would never regret devoting her life to so interesting and valuable a work, instead of being content to waste it in the pursuit of idle pleasure.
Poor Claire looked a little dubious as she read those last words. The pursuit of pleasure does not as a rule begin to pall at twenty-one; and the old life looked very sweet and pleasant viewed from the new standpoint of change. She put on a bright face, however, and sternly repressed all signs of depression in discussing the matter with her mother and Mr. Judge. Her determination evoked the expected opposition, but slowly and surely the opposition decreased, and her arguments were listened to with increasing respect. The lovers were sincerely desirous of securing the girl’s happiness, but middle-aged though they were, they were deeply in love, and felt a natural desire to begin their married life without the presence of a third person, however dear that person might be.
Mr. Judge applauded Claire’s spirit, and prophesied her rapid success as a teacher. Mrs. Gifford murmured sweetly, “And if you don’t like it, dear, you can always come out by the next boat. Try it for a year. It will be quite an amusing experience to live the life of a bachelor girl. And, of course, in a year or two we’ll be coming home. Then you must spend the whole leave with us. We’ll see, won’t we? We won’t make any plans, but just be guided by circumstances. If you want somewhere to go in the holidays, there’s my old Aunt Mary in Preston, but you’d be bored to sobs, darling. No doubt Miss Farnborough will introduce you to lots of nice people in London, and you will have all the fifteen other mistresses to take you about. I expect you’ll be quite gay! … Claire, darling, would you have gold tissue under this ninon, or just a handsome lace?”
For the next few weeks things moved quickly. In answer to inquiries about lodgings, Miss Farnborough wrote a second time to say that Miss Rhodes, the English mistress, had comfortable rooms which she was sharing with the present French teacher. She was willing to continue the arrangement, and, as a stranger in town, Claire would doubtless find it agreeable as well as economical. The letter was entirely business-like and formal, and, as such, a trifle chilling to Claire, for Miss Farnborough had been so warm in her spoken invitation that Claire had expected a more cordial welcome. Could it be that the shadow of officialdom was already making itself felt?
The next few weeks were given up to trousseau-hunting and farewell visits, and no girl could have shown a livelier interest in the selection of pretty things than did this bride of thirty-nine. Claire came in for a charming costume to wear at the wedding, and for the rest, what fitted her mother fitted herself, and as Mrs. Gifford said sweetly, “It would be a sin to waste all my nice things, but they’re quite unsuitable for India. Just use them out, darling, for a month or two, and then get what you need,” an arrangement which seemed sensible enough, if one could only be sure of money to supply that need when it arose!
The day before her marriage Mrs. Gifford thrust an envelope into her daughter’s hand, blushing the while with an expression of real distress.
“I’m