Anne spoke with quite unusual vehemence, and Claudia reddened and did not answer. A month ago, she would have made light of such a tale, but love had already taught her something of its divine power of self-sacrifice, and it touched her. At the same time, by one of the contrarieties of a woman’s nature, she felt indignant with Harry because she had been the means of losing him another of life’s blessings. Why had he been so stupid? He had only to hold his tongue for them to have remained excellent friends. Then she fell to wondering whether, if the same accident had threatened her when Harry was by her side, he would have acted as Fenwick had acted, and was the more vexed to have to own that he could have done nothing else. She wanted, it will be seen, to keep all the glory for her special hero, but the mental training she had received, would not allow her to make her mind a present to her emotions.
They left her, however, restless, and she regretfully decided that Elmslie was dull, and looked impatiently for the invitation to Aldershot. It came quite as quickly as was possible, Fenwick took care of that, and then she—she, Claudia!—had to wait for an escort, to Philippa’s private and unbounded amusement; for although Fenwick wished her to have a maid, space was too limited in the hut to receive her, and that concession to helpless young ladyhood, as Claudia scornfully called it, had to be postponed until her return. Finally she went off in the companionship of two of the Dean’s daughters, and Mrs Leslie’s maid was to meet her at the junction where they parted. The bicycle was left behind, and Emily commented—
“How odd! I thought you took it everywhere.”
Claudia was trying to forget this innocent speech as she whirled along in the train by the side of the Dean’s daughters, who, had she but known it, were as much astonished at the reversal of the position as she could be, but it rankled. She had made larger concessions without feeling as sore as she felt through the journey, and was only soothed by the glad sight of Fenwick’s tall figure on the junction platform, in place of the maid she had expected. The next moment she frowned. He was not alone, Mrs Leslie was with him, and she felt oddly shy. She reflected, further, that the Dean’s daughters had done nothing to require so many thanks.
“As if I were a helpless parcel!” she murmured rebelliously.
It was unfortunate, for it revived the spirit of antagonism which had met Mrs Leslie at Huntingdon. There, however, Claudia had seen but little of her, here she was somebody to be taken in hand, advised, checked, arranged for, informed that Arthur did not like this, that, or the other, and treated in fact as a very average young woman of early years, whose inexperience required superior counselling.
“Arthur’s is a curious nature,” said his sister on the morning after Claudia’s arrival. The girl lifted her eyebrows.
“I think I understand him. Few persons do,” pursued Mrs Leslie, reflectively, “and I always felt anxious that his wife should be a person of experience. You will require patience, for one thing, I warn you.”
“Perhaps he will require it, too,” said Claudia, with a short laugh which made Mrs Leslie look at her.
“I hope not,” she said gravely. “I don’t think his stock is large. I advise you to be the one to yield.”