“Oh, yes; quite often I feel very tired, but I should have felt the same about pleasuring, and work is more worth while. It has been very interesting. I have learnt a great deal.”
“More than the pupils—hey?” chuckled Mrs Fanshawe shrewdly. “Don’t try to pretend that you are a model school-mistress. I know better! I knew you were not the type when I saw you on that journey, and after a year’s trial you are less the type than ever.” She screwed up her eyes and looked Claire over with deliberate criticism up and down, down and up. “No, my dear! Nature did not intend you to be shut up in a girls’ school!” Suddenly she swerved to another topic. “What a journey that was! I nearly expired. If it hadn’t been for you, I should never have survived. I told my son you had saved my life. That was my son who met me on the platform!”
Was it fancy that an expression of watchfulness had come into the gay eyes? Claire imagined that she recognised such an expression, but, being prepared for some such reference, had herself well in command. Not a nicker of embarrassment passed over her face as she said quietly—
“Yes, I knew it was your son. I met Captain Fanshawe here one evening last winter, so I have been introduced.”
Mrs Fanshawe waved her lorgnon, and murmured some vague words which might, or might not, have been intended as an apology.
“Oh, yes. So nice! Naturally, that morning I was worn-out. I did not know what I was doing. I crawled into bed. Erskine told me about meeting you, and of your pretty performance. Quite a professional siffleuse! More amusing than school teaching, I should say. And more profitable. You ought to think of it as a profession. Erskine was quite pleased. He comes here a great deal. Of course—”
Mrs Fanshawe’s smile deepened in meaning fashion, then suddenly she sighed. “Very delightful for them, of course; but I see nothing of him. We mothers of modern children have a lonely time. I used to wish for a daughter, but perhaps, if I’d had one, she would have developed a fancy to fly off to India!”
That was a hit at Claire, but she received it in silence, being a little touched by the unaffected note of wistfulness in the other’s voice as she regretted her lonely estate. It was hard to be a widow, and to see so little of an only child, especially if that only child happened to be so altogether charming and attractive!
Mrs Fanshawe glanced across at the tea-table where Janet and her cavalier were still busy ministering to the needs of fresh arrivals.
“I asked Janet Willoughby to take pity on me for a few weeks this summer, but she’s too full up with her own plans. Says so, at least; but I dare say it would have been different if— Well, well! I have been young myself, and I dare say I shouldn’t have been too keen to accept an invitation to stay in the country with only an old woman as companion. Enjoy yourself while you are young, my dear. It gets more and more difficult with every year you live.”