Claire felt a pang of regret. Was it possible that even this simple pleasure was to be denied her? She knew too well that if she said “yes,” Captain Fanshawe would look out for her again, would come with the express intention of meeting her. To say “yes” would be virtually to consent to such meetings. It was a temptation which took all her strength to reject, but rejected it must be. She would not stoop to the making of a rendez-vous.
“I have been several times, but I shan’t be able to come any more. We get busier towards the end of the term. Examinations—”
Captain Fanshawe straightened himself, and said in a very stiff voice—
“I also, unfortunately, am extremely busy, so I shall not be able to see the rhododendrons in their full beauty. I had hoped you might be more fortunate.”
Claire stared at a passing motor, of which she saw nothing but a moving mass; when she turned back it was to find her companion’s eyes fixed on her face, with an expression half guilty, half appealing, altogether ingratiating. At the sight her lips twitched, and suddenly they were laughing together with a delicious consciousness of understanding.
“Well!” he cried, “it’s true! I mean it! There’s no need to stay away because of me; but as I am here to-day, and it’s my last chance, won’t you let me give you tea? If we walk along to Victoria Gate—”
Claire thought with a spasm of longing of the little tables under the awning; of the pretty animated scene; but no, it might not be. Her acquaintance with this man was too casual to allow her to accept his hospitality in a public place.
“Thank you very much, but I think not. I would rather stay here.”
“Well, at any rate,” he said defiantly, “I’ve paid for my chair, and you can’t turn me out. Of course, you can move yourself.”
“But I don’t want to move. I like being here. I’m very glad to see you. I should like very much to have tea, too. Oh, if you don’t understand I can’t explain!” cried poor Claire helplessly; and instantly the man’s expression altered to one of sympathy and contrition.