“I think I will go abroad for three or four months,” she announced to Anne one wet autumn day, as they trudged back from the town. “It would do me a lot of good to study some of the old Italian gardens. There’s one in particular near Viterbo, laid out by Vignola. Will you come?”
“Ah, I can’t,” Anne returned, shaking her head and smiling. “I have reached the point in life in which I know the world would collapse if I left Elmslie for more than a week. Ask Philippa. She’s the adventurous one.”
“Well. Fox wouldn’t like it, though.”
“We’ll send him back to Thornbury.”
“And you could have Harry Hilton,” mused Claudia. She gave an impatient shake. “How silly it all has been, and how many lives have been made uncomfortable! I suppose if I went away he would be here as much as he used to be?”
“Perhaps he will come by-and-by even if you stayed.”
“No; and if he did, he would be looking or saying something which I should hate. Unless you can make him understand that I shall never marry.”
Anne was silent, and employed herself in closing her umbrella. The rain had ceased, but there was a wintry wind, and yellow leaves lay rotting in the road. As they came towards the gate, they saw a man’s figure emerging, and Fox was off like a shot.
“Harry!” cried Anne, and with such delight that Claudia stifled her own displeasure. She was displeased, because she expected a renewal of all that she disliked, but as the days went on, she was obliged to admit that Harry behaved admirably. That she was first with him—always—she could not fail to see, but neither word nor look forced the knowledge to her embarrassment. By degrees she unstiffened, and fell back on their old friendliness. Nor did he stay long. Perhaps to have done so and yet have made no sign, might have been beyond his powers, but, be that as it may, Claudia accepted his unexpected silence as proof of a stronger character than she had credited him with. Nor, now that she did not obstinately close her eyes, could she fail to see how in trouble or difficulty of whatever kind, it was to Harry that the trouble was taken with absolute confidence in his helpfulness. On the whole, Anne hoped he had rather made ground than lost it.
Philippa and Claudia went abroad that winter, travelling in sun-baked out-of-the-way places in Italy, perhaps even more to Philippa’s delight than Claudia’s. Philippa wrote to her sister that the girl showed no sign of wishing to shock people, “but she seems resolved to pick up her work again when she returns to England, and is studying eagerly. The note-book, however, seldom steps into prominence, and I have never heard the word ‘career.’ I remark that she is careful to check all interests that show signs of undue development.”