‘But you’re not going to enjoy the liberties I allow you here. You must understand that, Paul.’
‘I shall see you,’ said Paul ‘I shall be near you.’
‘Very well. Now, I’ll write the letter. And when it is written you will take the very first train to town and give it into Walton’s hands to-night.’
‘But I am going on with you to Cardiff,’ Paul cried.
‘Indeed,’ said Claudia, ‘you will do nothing of the kind. I am not so absurd as to allow it I am not going to be compromised in that way in my last week with the company.’ Paul stared at her with a face so disconsolate that she laughed; but she put on a tender seriousness a moment later. ‘Do you call that love, Paul? Ah, no! Few men—very few—ever so much as learn the meaning of the word. It is pure selfishness. You don’t think of poor Claudia. You would let her reputation be torn to rags and tatters, but what would that amount to if only you could gratify your own wishes?’
‘I’ll go, Claudia,’ cried Paul. ‘I’ll go to London. Great Heaven ‘what a selfish, unreasonable beast I am ‘Forgive me, Claudia. I did not think.’
‘Now you are my own dear Paul again. But you mustn’t expect me to find all the wisdom.’
She wrote her letter, and Paul watched the white hand skimming over the paper. When it was written she read it out to him. It was really an excellent letter of introduction, business-like and cordial. Paul received it with devout thanksgiving. Then Claudia gave him the address of the boarding-house to which she herself was bound, and looked up his train in the time-table.
‘You must start in half an hour,’ she said. ‘Oh, Paul dear! Paul! I wonder if, in spite of all your protestations, you are so sorry to part as I am.’
‘Claudia!’ said Paul, and ran to the open arms.