“You are a nice child, Claire; you have some sense! I’ll tell you, because you never pried or asked questions. You would never have got anything out of me that way, but sometimes I feel as if it would be a relief to talk. I was twenty-three, and very pretty; not as pretty as you are, perhaps, but very nearly, and he was twenty-eight, a lawyer—brother of one of the girls. He came to one of the prize-givings, and we were introduced. After that he made his people invite me once or twice, and he found out where I was going in the summer holidays, and came down to the same inn. He stayed a fortnight.” Cecil sighed, and stared dreamily at her cup. “Even now, Claire, after all that has happened, I can never quite make up my mind to be sorry that he came. It made things harder when the parting came, but I had had it. For two whole weeks I had been as perfectly, blissfully happy as a human creature can be! I had wakened every morning to feel that life was too good to be true, I had gone to bed every night grudging the time for sleep. A fortnight is not very long, but it’s not every woman who gets even as much as that. I shall never feel that happiness again, but I’m glad that I know what it is like.”
“But, Cecil dear, if—if Major Carew—”
Cecil shook her head.
“No! Never again. One may be happy enough, but it’s never the same. I can’t feel now as I did then. The power has gone. I cared so much, you see; I would have given my life for him a dozen times over. I thought of him night and day for over a year; I lived for the times when we could meet. It wasn’t very often, for his people had taken fright, and would not ask me to the house. They were rich people, and didn’t want him to marry a poor girl who was working for herself. It’s a great mistake, Claire, to be friends with a man when his relations ignore you. If I’d had any pride I would have realised that, but I hadn’t, and I didn’t care; I didn’t care for anything but just to see him, and do what he wished. And then, my dear, after a year he began to change. He didn’t write to me for weeks, and I had to go to school every day, and try to think of the work, and be patient with the girls, and seem bright and interested, as if I had nothing on my mind. It was near Christmas-time, and we were rehearsing a play. I used to feel as if I should go mad, staying behind after four o’clock to go over those wretched scenes, when I was panting to run home to see if a letter had come! But each time that we met again I forgot everything; I was so happy that I had no time to grumble. That surprises you, doesn’t it? You can hardly believe that of me, but I was different then. I was quite nice. You would have liked me, if you had known me then!”
“Dear old Cecil! I like you now. You know I do!”
“Oh, you put up with me! We get along well enough, but we are not friends. If we had not been thrown together, you would never have singled me out. Don’t apologise, my dear; there’s no need. I’m a grumbling old thing, and you’ve been very patient. Well, that’s how it happened. I went out to meet him one night, and he told me quite calmly that he was going to be married. She was the sweetest girl in the world, and he was the happiest of men. Wanted me to know, because we had been such good friends, and he was sure I should be pleased!”
Claire drew her breath with a sharp, sibilant sound.
“And you? Oh, Cecil! What did you say?”
Mary Rhodes compressed her lips; the set look was in her face.
“I said what I thought! Quite plainly, and simply, and very much to the point. I suppose it would have been dignified to congratulate him, and pretend to be delighted; but I couldn’t do it. He had broken my heart for his own amusement, and he knew it as well as I did, so why should I pretend? Something inside me seemed to go snap at that moment, and I’ve been sour and bitter ever since; but I’ve learnt one lesson, and that is, that it is folly to go on waiting for perfection in this world. Much better take what comes along, and make the best of it!”