Claire laughed.
“Nobody but relations and my fascinating self; but you needn’t be so blighting. I enjoyed every moment, and they were angelically kind. Janet was like an old friend.”
“Did she give you a present?”
“Yes, she did. Half a dozen pairs of gloves.”
“The wrong size, of course! They always are!”
“No, my pessimist, they were not! She had diagnosed me as a six and a half, and six and a half I am, so all was peace and joy. I put on a new pair the next day when I went out for a constitutional. It was quite a tonic. Gloves are much cheaper abroad, and I never wore a shabby pair in my life until this winter. It’s been one of the things I’ve hated most.”
“Six pairs will soon go,” said Cecil; “I prefer to have things that last. Oh, by the way, you addressed a parcel. How did it come? Was it left at the door?”
Instinctively Claire busied herself over the tea-tray. She had a feeling that Cecil would rather be unobserved; she was also afraid that her own expression might betray too much.
“Oh no, he called. When I came in after morning church on Sunday, Lizzie said that a gentleman was waiting. It was Major Carew. He asked me if I would address the parcel and send it on.”
Silence. Claire bent over the tea-tray, but she knew without looking that Cecil’s face had fallen into the cold set lines which she had seen times and again, when things had gone wrong; she knew that when she spoke again the coldness would be in her voice, but her own conscience was clear. She had done nothing to offend.