Claire made a protesting grimace.
“Does it? That’s discouraging. I’ve always flattered myself that it would grow easier. When one is young, everything is vague and unsettled, and naturally one feels anxious about what is to happen next. It is almost impossible to be philosophical about the unknown, but when your life has shaped itself, it ought to be easy to settle down and make the best of it, and cultivate an easy mind.”
Mrs Fanshawe laughed.
“Well reasoned, my dear, well reasoned! Most logical and sound. And just as futile in practice as logical things usually are! You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that it is the very uncertainty which makes the charm of youth, or that being certain is the bane of old age, but it’s the truth, all the same, and when you are sixty you will have discovered it for yourself. Well! so my letter to Mrs Willoughby was of some use after all? She did send you a card!”
Claire looked across the room to where Mrs Willoughby sat. Hero-worship is an instinct in hearts which are still fired with youth’s enthusiasm, and this stout, middle-aged woman was Claire’s heroine par excellence. She was kind, and to be kind is in good truth the fulfilment of Christ’s law. Among Claire’s favourite books was Professor Drummond’s “The Greatest Thing in the World,” with its wonderful exposition of the thirteenth chapter of 1st Corinthians. When she read its pages, her thoughts flew instinctively to this rich woman of society, who was not puffed up, thought no evil, was not easily provoked, suffered long, and was kind.
The girl’s eyes were eloquent with love and admiration as they rested on the plain, elderly face, and the woman who was watching felt a stab of envy at the sight. The old crave for the love of the young, and cherish it, when found, as one of their dearest possessions, and despite the natural gaiety of her disposition there were moments when Mrs Fanshawe felt the burden of loneliness press heavily upon her.
“She has done much more than send me a card!” Claire said deeply. “She has been a friend. She has taken away the terrible feeling of loneliness. If I were in trouble, or needed any help, I know that she would give it!”
“Oh, yes, yes, naturally she would. So would any one, my dear, who had the chance. But she’s a good creature, of course; a dear creature. I’m devoted to her, and to Janet. Janet and I are the best of friends!”
Again the meaning look, the meaning tone, and again in Claire’s heart the same sweet sense of certainty mingled with a tender compassion for Janet, who was less fortunate than herself. It was a help to look across at the tea-table, and to realise that consolation was waiting for Janet if she chose to take it.
Suddenly Mrs Fanshawe switched off on to yet another topic.