“I may go to Belgium. I haven’t decided.”
“There seem to be a good many things you cannot—decide. Miss Gifford, you haven’t forgotten what I asked you?”
“What did you ask?”
“That if ever I could help—if you ever needed help—”
“I shall want help badly during the next few weeks, when the examinations come on, and I have all the papers to set and correct.”
Captain Fanshawe refused to smile.
“The kind of help that a man can give—”
“Yes, I remember. You were very kind, and I am still so much under the influence of the old life that I do feel you might be a comfort; but no doubt, after some more months of school-mistressing, I shall resent the idea that a man could do any more than I could myself. So it’s a case of soon or never. You will hardly be cruel enough to wish to hasten my extremity!”
“I’m not so sure about that, if I could have the satisfaction of putting things to rights!”
It was while she was smiling her acknowledgment of this pretty speech that Claire became conscious of Janet Willoughby’s eyes bent searchingly upon her. She had entered the room on the arm of her supper partner, and came to a pause not a yard away from the table where a very animated, apparently very intimate conversation was taking place between the son of her old friend and the girl to whom she had believed him to be unknown. As she met Claire’s glance, Janet smiled automatically, but the friendliness was gone from her glance. The next moment Captain Fanshawe, had turned, seen her, and sprung to his feet.