“There’s not much fear about that! I shall take very good care that we do!”
Chapter Seventeen.
God’s opportunity.
After the meeting with Captain Fanshawe in the Park, Claire’s relationship with Mary Rhodes sensibly improved. In the first place, her own happiness made her softer and more lenient in her judgment, for she was deeply, intensely happy, with a happiness which all her reasonings were powerless to destroy.
“My dear, what nonsense!” she preached to herself in elderly remonstrating fashion. “You met the man, and he was pleased to see you—he seemed quite anxious to meet you again. Perfectly natural! Pray don’t imagine any special meaning in that! You looked quite an attractive little girl in your pretty blue dress, and men like to talk to attractive little girls. I dare say he says just the same to dozens of girls!” So spake the inner voice, but spoke in vain. The best things of life are beyond reasoning. As in religion reason leads us, as it were, to the very edge of the rock of proven fact, then faith takes wing, and soars above the things of earth into the great silence where the soul communes with God, so in love there comes to the heart a sweetness, a certainty, which no reasoning can shake. As Erskine’s eyes had looked into hers in those moments of farewell, Claire had realised that between this man and herself there existed a bond which was stronger than spoken word.
So far as she could foresee, they were hopelessly divided by the circumstances of life, but in the first dawn of love no lover troubles himself about what the future may bring; the sweetness of the present is all-sufficient. Claire was happy, and longed for every one else to be as happy as herself. Moreover, her suspicions concerning Major Carew had been lulled to rest by Erskine’s favourable pronouncement. Personally she did not like him, but this was, after all, a matter of taste; she could not approve his actions, but conceivably there might be explanations of which she was unaware. Her manner to Cecil regained its old spontaneous friendliness, and Cecil responded with almost pathetic readiness. In her ungracious way she had grown fond of her pretty, kindly companion, and had missed the atmosphere of home which her presence had given to the saffron parlour. As they sat over their simple supper, she would study Claire’s face with a questioning glance, and one night the question found vent in words.
“You look mightily pleased with yourself, young woman! Your eyes are sparkling as if you were having a firework exhibition on your own account. I never saw a school-mistress look so perky at the end of the summer term! Look as if you’d come into a fortune!”
“Wish I had!” sighed Claire, thankful to switch the conversation on to a safe topic. “It would come in most usefully at the moment. What are you going to do for the summer hols, Cecil? Is there any possibility of—”