“Engaged, I suppose! It doesn’t say much for her discrimination. Her ideas of what constitute a gentleman must be somewhat vague!” Mrs Fanshawe said disagreeably. She felt disagreeable, and she never made any effort to conceal her feelings, kindly or the reverse. It was annoying that one of her own guests should be mixed up in an unsavoury scandal with a common soldier: annoying to have people going about with long faces, when she had planned a festive week. Really this Claire Gifford was becoming more and more of an incumbrance! Mrs Fanshawe paused with her hand on the coffee-pot, to ask a pointed question—
“Have you also known this man under his false name, may I ask?”
Claire flushed uncomfortably.
“I met him twice. Only twice. For a very short time.”
Mrs Fanshawe did not speak, but she arched her eyebrows in a fashion which was more scorching than words. “So you, also, are ignorant of what constitutes a gentleman!” said those eyebrows. “You also have been including my friend’s servant among your acquaintances!”
Claire felt the hopelessness of trying to justify herself, and relapsed into silence also, the while she made a pretence of eating one of the most miserable meals of her life. According to his mother, Erskine was “quite disgusted” with the whole affair! Claire’s heart sank at the thought, but she acknowledged that such an attitude would be no more than was natural under the circumstances. A soldier himself, Captain Fanshawe would be a stern judge of a soldier’s fraud, while his amour propre could not fail to be touched. Claire had too much faith to believe that his displeasure would be extended to herself, yet she was miserably aware that it was through her instrumentality that he had been brought in contact with the scandal.
In the midst of much confusion of mind only one thing seemed certain, and that was that it was impossible to face a tennis party that afternoon. Claire made her apologies to Mrs Fanshawe as she rose from the table, and they were accepted with disconcerting readiness.
“Of course! Of course! I never imagined that you would. Under the circumstances it would be most awkward. I expect by afternoon the story will be the talk of the place. Your friend, I understand, is still ignorant of the man’s real station? What do you propose to do with regard to breaking the news?”
“In. I’m going to write. I thought I would sit in my room and compose a letter.—It will be difficult!”
“Difficult!” Mrs Fanshawe repeated the word with disagreeable emphasis. “Impossible, I should say, and, excuse me! cruel into the bargain. To open a letter from a friend, expecting to find the ordinary chit-chat, and to receive a blow that shatters one’s life! My dear, it’s unthinkable! You cannot seriously intend it.”