“Well, we’ll see.”
But though he said little, his heart was leaping. Women were women all the world over, and why should not his mother be as right as Helen Arbuthnot? Might he not in these last days have been playing the fool, and losing ground? It suddenly struck him—and he flushed at the thought—that he had been wanting in pluck, hanging back, and letting Captain Fenwick amuse himself—for he knew him well enough to be convinced that he meant nothing more. He jumped up, and went to a window which overlooked the small French garden. Beyond it the ground swept softly upwards towards a belt of fine trees, and beneath them Claudia was standing bare-headed, her hands clasped behind her. Harry looked, hesitated, turned away, and turned again. It was too much. Helen Arbuthnot and her counsels of prudence were flung on one side, he put his hand on the window-sill and vaulted out, enthusiastically followed by Vic and Venom, the terriers.
Claudia had been working for an hour with profound satisfaction to herself. Perhaps she had never been so happy in her life as in these last days at Thornbury. The sense of importance, the freedom from control, the range of ever-extending possibilities, were delightful, but beyond and above these causes for satisfaction there was the joy of youth, and a freshness which is its pleasant attribute, and puts it into delightful harmony with open-air nature. For the present it was as Miss Arbuthnot had divined; she needed nothing else, and would resent an unwelcome intrusion of disturbing elements. It was no less true that at some near time, and possibly at an unexpected moment, this tranquillity might be shattered, but by whom and when was as yet a problem. Was it by Harry, who now came towards her, walking as quickly as if he had just successfully accomplished the aim of a day’s search? She put up her hand.
“Two hundred feet by thirty,” she remarked meditatively.
“How are you getting on? Don’t you want something? Mayn’t I come and help?” He put the questions breathlessly.
“Please don’t interrupt. At last I do think I have got the proportions right.”
“But I shan’t interfere with them?”
“You do rather.” She glanced at him with a laugh of which she immediately had the grace to feel ashamed. Harry’s proportions might not be the best in the world, but she liked him very much indeed, and owed him kindliness. “You may stay if you won’t interrupt.”
“I won’t.”
“Then, look here,” she said. “I’m going to sacrifice all these low shrubs, straighten that curve, cut down two or three unimportant trees, and—do you know what will come of it?”