‘For my sake?’ said Claudia, raising her eyebrows. ‘Why, my dear child, how am I supposed to profit by it?’ The question took his breath away. ‘I certainly never asked you, or advised you to do anything so very silly. You have very likely ruined your whole career. At least, you have thrown away such a position as you won’t see again for years to come. How many people do you think there are in the world who will give you the salary Darco gave you, or treat you as he treated you? Oh, you needn’t look at me in that way, Paul, as if I were responsible. It is none of my doing, and I wash my hands of it.’
‘But, Claudia,’ cried Paul, ‘I told you what I was going to do.’
‘You certainly told me some nonsense of the kind,’ she answered, ‘and I remember the very words I used. I told you that you must not dream of following me to London. I said—I remember my very words distinctly—that I could not bear to think of your imperilling your prospects.’
‘Claudia,’ said Paul, ‘I thought you would be glad.’
‘Why should I be glad to see you making a fool of yourself?’ Claudia asked disdainfully. ‘I thought you had more sense.’
‘I shall find work in London,’ Paul said rather helplessly. ‘I have saved more than fifty pounds.’
Possibly the sisterly lady had thought Paul very much poorer than he was, and had been in fear that he might in some way become a burden to her. The fancy did not touch Paul at the time, but he remembered afterwards how swiftly the acerbity of her manner faded.
‘Well,’ she answered, ‘you are sillier than I thought you were; but it’s of no use crying over spilt milk. You must make the best of things.’
‘I shan’t care for anything,’ said Paul, rallying a little, ‘so long as I’m not parted from you, Claudia.’
‘That’s all very well, Paul dear,’ returned Claudia, ‘but this is a practical world, and the people who live in it have got to be practical too.’ She pinched his cheek as she said this, and laughed at him in quite the old delicious way. ‘What makes you so absurdly romantic, Paul?’