“Oh, certainly! I shall be delighted.”
Claire thawed at the prospect of a present for Cecil, but could it be possible that it was this man with the flushed cheeks, and harsh, uncultivated voice, who had so revolutionised Cecil’s life! Could it be for the delectation of those bold eyes that she had worked far into the night, contriving her pitiful fineries? Claire’s instinctive dislike was so strong that she would not seat herself and so give an opportunity for prolonging the interview; she crossed the room to a bureau that stood in the corner, and took a slip of paper from one of the pigeon-holes.
“Perhaps it would be simpler if I gave you the address?”
The man laughed complacently.
“No need, thank you, I’ve got it all right, but it’s safer not to write. The old lady, you know! Parcel coming in for her daughter addressed in a man’s writing—no end of fuss and questioning. You know what old ladies are! Never satisfied till they’ve ferreted to the bottom of everything that comes along. It’s not good enough, that sort of thing, but she’ll expect a present. It’s all stamped and made up, if you’ll be good enough just to address it, and slip it into the post to-morrow.”
He put his hand in his pocket as he spoke and drew out a little package some two inches square, the sort of package which might contain an article of jewellery, such as a brooch or ring. Could it by any chance be an engagement ring? Claire’s blood shuddered as she took the little packet and dropped it quietly on the bureau.
“Certainly I will post it. Do you wish it registered?”
He looked at her sharply as though suspicious of an under-meaning to the inquiry, then, meeting the glance of her clear eyes, had the grace to look ashamed.
“N–no. No! It is not worth while. A trifle, just a trifle—Christmas, you know—must do the proper thing!” He mumbled vaguely the while he collected his hat and gloves, the aloofness in Claire’s attitude making it impossible to prolong the interview; but as he held out his hand in farewell, his self-possession returned. He laughed meaningly, and said—
“Odd, you know; I imagined that you were quite old! Miss Rhodes gave me that impression. Nothing definite, you know; no false statements; just the way she spoke. Clever of her, what?—very clever! Knew better than to spoil her own game!”