"Oh," ejaculated Clarice, and hastily left the room. It seemed strange to her that Ferdy should seek out the mother of Sarah Dumps, just when he became engaged. Surely he did not love the dancer, when he had only lately proposed to Prudence. Remembering Dr. Jerce's remarks, and recalling the conversation of Mrs. Rebson, the girl felt uneasy on account of her brother. Ferdy seemed to have two strings to his bow. Sarah Dumps was not at home, certainly, yet,--here Clarice stopped and thought. A sudden idea struck her. She returned quickly to the sick-room. "Chalks, you go sometimes to the Savoy Hotel," she remarked, "were you there last night?"
"For half an hour, Miss," replied the valet, apologetically, "Mrs. Rebson watched master while I was away. I hope I didn't do wrong, but master seemed to be sleeping so quietly that I thought I might get a breath of fresh air."
"No! no! that's all right, Chalks. But do you know if Mrs. Dumps' daughter has returned for Christmas."
"Yes, Miss. She came back last night, and a very pretty girl she is, Miss, quite a--"
"Yes, yes! I have seen her," interrupted Clarice, hurriedly, and went away feeling more upset than ever. This, then, was the reason of Ferdy's visit to the Savoy Hotel. Sarah Dumps was in the field, and Ferdy was in her nets. Yet weak as the boy was, it seemed incredible that he should propose to one woman and immediately seek the company of another. Here, then, was another trouble for Clarice, and she did not know very well what to do. It was impossible to speak to Ferdy, as she had no proof that he loved Sarah Dumps, save from what Mrs. Rebson had said. A simple denial on the part of Ferdy would take the wind out of her sails, so to speak, and she would be helpless to do anything. On the other hand, Clarice felt certain that in some way Ferdy was playing a double game. She knew his weak character too well to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew he might be engaged to both Sarah Dumps and Prudence at the same time. "Oh, dear me," cried her heart, "I wish Anthony would marry me and take me away from all these troubles;" but even as she thought, the wish seemed cowardly. She would have to remain and fight Ferdy's battles and those of the vicar. Also, if the purple fern meant any harm to Mr. Horran, she would be forced to help him also. The sole thing she could do was to seek Anthony's advice and aid.
Towards noon that young man arrived, having driven over from Gattlinsands in his dog-cart. Usually he came over on a motor bicycle, but as he explained to Clarice between kisses, the sudden thaw had made the roads death-traps in the way of slipping. "I'm jolly well splashed," said Ackworth, laughing, "but if Leander swam the Hellespont to see Hero, why shouldn't I wade through acres of slush to see you?"
"Of course," smiled Clarice, who felt much lighter-hearted, now that this strong young lover was present, "only you were driving instead of wading, my dear Anthony."
"Well, I dare say Leander would have taken a penny steamer had there been one," said Anthony, throwing back his handsome head, "so that makes my parallel the more perfect."
Clarice laughed again, and drew him silently to a sofa, whereon they sat hand in hand, after the delightfully foolish manner of lovers. Ackworth was certainly a Swain of whom any girl might have been proud. He was not the desperately good-looking god of the Family Herald, but was comely enough in his youth and strength to pass in a crowd. His closely clipped hair was fair, as was his moustache. He had a bronzed face and a pair of merry blue eyes, and was as well set up as military training and constant out-of-door exercise could make him. Finally, he had a well-groomed, clean look, and anyone could see that he was a thoroughly wholesome, honourable gentleman. Clarice, of course, deemed him to be perfection, which he was not; but he had more virtues than faults, and assuredly was masterful enough to satisfy the most exacting woman. As a Greek god, Anthony Ackworth was a failure; as a man to trust and love he came off very well. That he was not superlatively clever, did not lower Clarice's appreciation of his character.
"Well?" asked Anthony, unoriginally, "how are things?"