“What on earth do we want with a tennis party?” grumbled the Captain. “Wish to goodness we could be left alone. I suppose the mater wanted them to amuse you before I came back.”
Claire murmured incoherently. She knew better, but she was not going to say so! They turned unwillingly towards the house.
In the afternoon the guests arrived. They came early, for the Fanshawe tennis courts were in fine condition, and the prospect of meeting a new man and a new girl, plus the son of the house, was a treat in itself in the quiet countryside where the members of the same set met regularly at every function of the year. One of the courts was reserved for men’s fours, for Mrs Fanshawe believed in giving her guests what they liked, and there is no doubt that men as a rule are ungallant enough to prefer their own sex in outdoor games.
In the second court the younger girls took part in mixed fours, while others sat about, or took part in lengthy croquet contests on the furthest of the three lawns. Claire as a member of the house-party had a good deal of time on her hands, and helped Mrs Fanshawe with the entertainment of the older guests, who one and all eyed her with speculative interest.
One thin, faded woman had spent a few years in Bombay and was roused to interest by hearing that Claire’s mother was now settled in that city. Yes! she had met a Mr Judge. Robert Judge, was it not? Her husband knew him quite well. He had dined at their house. Quite a dear man. She had heard of his marriage, “but”—here came a look of mystification—“to a young wife; very pretty, very charming—”
Claire laughed, and held out a little coloured photograph in a round glass frame which hung by a chain round her neck.
“That is my mother. She is thirty-nine, and looks thirty. And she is prettier than that.”
The faded lady looked, and sighed. Mrs Fanshawe brightened into vivid interest. “You know Mr Judge, then? You have met him? That’s quite interesting. That’s very interesting!” Claire realised with some irritability that the fact that one of her own acquaintances knew and approved, instantaneously raised Mr Judge in her hostess’s estimation. Hitherto he had been a name, a nobody; now he became a real man, “quite a dear man,” a man one could know! The result was satisfactory enough, but Claire was irritated by the means. She was irritated also by the subtle but very real change in her hostess’s manner to herself in the last twenty-four hours; irritated because the precious hours were passing, and Erskine was surrounded by his guests, playing endless sets on the hot lawn. He looked as though he were enjoying himself, too, and that added to her annoyance, for like many another girl she had not yet realised that a man can forget even his love in his whole-hearted enjoyment of sport!
At tea-time, however, there was a lull when Erskine carried a chair to Claire’s side, and seated himself with an air of contentment. Once and again as the meal progressed she saw his eyes rove around, and then come back to dwell upon herself. She knew that he was comparing her with the other girls who were present, knew also by the deep glow of that returning glance, that in his eyes she was fairest and best. The former irritation dropped from her like a cloak.
Tea was over, the guests rose from their seats. Erskine stood by Claire’s side looking down at her with a quizzical smile.