“Lizzie, I have had no lunch. I’m starving. Could you bring up the tea now, and make some fresh for Miss Rhodes when she arrives?”
“Why couldn’t you say so before?” Lizzie asked with the freedom of the lodging-house slavey, but the question was spoken in sympathy rather than anger. “The kettle’s boiling, and I’ve cut the bread and butter. You shall have it in two two’s. I’ll cut you a sanguidge,” she cried as a supreme proof of goodwill, and clattered down the kitchen stairs at express speed.
She was as good as her word. In five minutes tea was ready, and Claire ate and drank, keeping her eyes turned resolutely from the clock. Before it had struck the hour, there came from the hall the sound of a well-known double knock, and she knew that the hour of her ordeal had arrived.
She did not rise from the table; the tea-things were clattering with the trembling of the hand that was resting upon the tray, she literally had not the strength to rise. She lay back in her chair and stared helplessly at the opening door.
Cecil came in. It came as a shock to see her looking so natural, so entirely the Cecil Claire was accustomed to see. She looked tired, and a trifle cross, but alas! these had been prevailing expressions even in the days when things were going comparatively well. Casual in her own manner, she saw nothing unusual in Claire’s lack of welcome, she nodded an off-hand greeting, and drew up a chair to the table.
“Well! I’ve come. Give me a cup of tea as a start. I’ve had a rush for it. You said to-day, if possible, and I had nothing special on hand, so I thought I had better come. What’s the news, and what’s the danger? Which of us does it affect,—me or you?”
“Oh, it’s—horrid, horrid, horrid! It’s a long story. Finish your tea first, then I’ll tell you. I’m so miserable!”
“Poor old girl!” Cecil said kindly, and helped herself to bread and butter. Claire had a miserable conviction that her reply had had a deceptive effect, and that the shock when it came, would be all the more severe. Nevertheless, she was thankful for the reprieve; thankful to see Cecil eat sandwiches with honest enjoyment, until the last one had disappeared from the plate.
“Well!” Cecil pushed aside her cup, and rested an arm on the table. “Let’s get to business. I promised mother I’d catch the six o’clock train back. What’s it all about? Some young squire wanting to marry you, and you want my advice? Take him, my dear! You won’t always be young and beautiful!”
Claire shook her head.