So on and so on; scores of women surging to and fro, swinging bags of gold and silver chain, buying baubles for which they had no use; occasionally—very occasionally, for love of the cause; often—very often because Lady — had sent a personal invitation, and Lady — was a useful friend, and gave such charming balls!
At the two concerts Claire had a pleasant success, which she enjoyed with all her heart. Her whistling performance seemed to act as a general introduction, for every listener seemed to be anxious to talk to her, and to ask an infinitude of questions. Was it difficult? How long did it take to learn? Was she nervous? Wasn’t it difficult not to laugh? How did she manage not to look a fright? Did she do it often? Did she mind? This last question usually led up to a tentative mention of some entertainment in which the speaker was interested, but after the first refusal Claire was on guard, and regretted that her time was filled up. She was eager to help Mrs Willoughby, but had no desire to be turned into an unpaid public performer!
Janet did not appear at the bazaar, so the drive home was once more a tête-à-tête, during which Mrs Willoughby questioned Claire as to the coming holidays, and expressed pleasure to hear that they were to be spent in Brussels. She was so kind and motherly in her manner that Claire was emboldened to bespeak her interest on Sophie’s behalf.
“I suppose,” she said tentatively, “you don’t know of any family going abroad to a dry climate—it must be a very dry climate—who would like to take a girl with them to—er—to be a sort of help! She’s a pretty girl, and very gay and amusing, and she’s had the highest possible training in health exercises. She would be splendid if there was a delicate child who needed physical development, and, of course, she is quite well educated all round. She could teach up to a certain point. She is the Gym. mistress in my school, and is very popular with the girls.”
“And why does she want to leave?”
“She’s not well. It’s rheumatism—a bad kind of rheumatism. It is just beginning, and the doctor says it ought to be tackled at once, and that to live on clay soil is the worst thing for her. If she stays at Saint Cuthbert’s she’s practically bound to live on clay. And he says she ought to get out of England for the next few winters. She has not a penny beyond her salary, but if she could find a post—”
“Well, why not?” Mrs Willoughby’s voice was full of a cheerful optimism. “I don’t know of anything at present, but I’ll make inquiries among my friends. There ought not to be any difficulty. So many people winter abroad; and there is quite a craze for these physical exercises. Oh, yes, my dear, I am sure I can help. Poor thing! poor girl! it’s so important to keep her health. I must find some one who will be considerate, and not work her too hard.”
She spoke as if the post were a settled thing; as if there were several posts from which to choose. Probably there were. Among her large circle of wealthy friends this popular and influential woman, given a little trouble, could almost certainly find a chance for Sophie Blake. Given a little trouble! That was the rub! Five out of six of the women who had thronged Lady —’s rooms that afternoon would have dismissed Sophie’s case with an easy sympathy, “Poor creature! Quite too sad, but really, you know, my dear, it’s a shocking mistake to recommend any one to a friend. If anything goes wrong, you get blamed yourself. Isn’t there a Home?” Mrs Willoughby was the exception to the rule; she helped in deed, as well as in word. Claire looked at the large plain face with a very passion of admiration.
“Oh, I wish all women were like you! I’m so glad you are rich. I hope you will go on growing richer and richer. You are the right person to have money, because you help, you want to help, you remember other women who are poor.”
“My dear,” said Mrs Willoughby softly, “I have been poor myself. My father lost his money, and for years we had a hard struggle. Then I married—for love, my dear, not money, but there was money, too,—more money than I could spend. It was an intoxicating experience, and I found it difficult not to be carried away. My dear husband had settled a large income on me, for my own use, so I determined, as a safeguard, to divide it in two, and use half for myself and half for gentlewomen like your friend, who need a helping hand. I have done that now for twenty-five years, but I give out of my abundance, my dear; it is easy for me to give money; I deserve no credit for that.”