Chapter Eleven.
Enter Major Carew.
In the street outside the church door the two girls shook hands and exchanged greetings. Janet wore a long fur coat, and a toque of dark Russian sable, with a sweeping feather at one side. The price of these two garments alone would equal the whole of Claire’s yearly salary, but it had the effect of making the wearer look clumsy and middle-aged compared with the graceful simplicity of the other’s French-cut costume. Janet Willoughby was not thinking of clothes at that moment, however; she was looking at reddened eyelids, and remembering the moment when she had seen a kneeling figure suddenly shaken with emotion. The sight of those tears had wiped away the rankling grudge which had lain at her heart since the evening of her mother’s At Home, and revived the warm liking which at first sight she had taken to this pretty attractive girl.
“Which way are you going? May I walk with you? It’s just the morning for a walk. I hope it will keep cold and bright over Christmas. It’s so inappropriate when it’s muggy. Last year we were in Switzerland, but mother is old-fashioned, and likes to have the day at home, so this time we don’t start till the new year. You are not going sporting by any chance?”
“I’m not!” said Claire, and, for all her determination, could not resist a grimace, so far from sporting seemed the prospect ahead. Janet caught the grimace, and smiled in sympathy, but the next moment her face sobered.
“But I hope you are going to have jolly holidays?”
“Oh, I hope so. Oh, yes, I mean to enjoy them very much,” Claire said valiantly, and swiftly turned the subject. “Where do you go in Switzerland?”
“Saint Moritz. We’ve gone there for years—a large party of friends. It has become quite a yearly reunion. It’s so comfy to have one’s own party, and be independent of the other hoteliers. They may be quite nice, of course, but then, again, they may not. I feel rather mean sometimes when I see a new arrival looking with big eyes at our merry table. Theoretically, I think one ought to be nice to new-comers in an hotel. It’s such a pelican-in-the-wilderness feeling. I’d hate it myself, but practically I’m afraid I’m not particularly friendly. We are so complete that we don’t want outsiders. They’d spoil the fun. Don’t you think one is justified in being a little bit selfish at Christmas-time?”