Cecil moaned loudly, but Claire was tired of aimless days, and welcomed the return to work. She determined to throw her whole heart into her task, and work as no junior French mistress had ever worked before; she determined never to lose patience, never to grow cross, never to indulge in a sarcastic word, always to be a model of tact and forbearance. She determined to wield such an ennobling influence over the girls in her form-room that they should take fire from her example, and go forth into the world perfect, high-souled women who should leaven the race. She determined also to be the life and soul of the staff-room—the general peace-maker, confidante, and consoler, beloved by one and all. She determined to seize tactfully upon every occasion of serving the Head, and acting as a buffer between her and disagreeables of every kind. She arranged a touching scene wherein Miss Farnborough, retiring from work and being asked by the Committee to name a worthy successor, pronounced unhesitatingly, “Claire Gifford; she is but young, but her wisdom and diplomacy are beyond all praise.” She saw herself Head of Saint Cuthbert’s, raised to the highest step of her scholastic ladder, but somehow the climax was not so exhilarating as the climb itself. To be head mistress was, no doubt, a fine achievement, but it left her cold.
Inside Saint Cuthbert’s all was life and bustle. Girls streaming along the corridors, in and out of every room; girls of all ages and sizes and shapes, but all to-day bearing an appearance of happiness and animation. Bright-coloured blouses shone forth in their first splendour; hair-ribbons stood out stiff and straight; many of the girls carried bunches of flowers to present to the special mistress for whom they cherished the fashionable “G.P.” (grand passion) so characteristic of school life.
Flora had a bunch of early daffodils for Claire. Another girl presented a pot of Roman hyacinths for the decoration of the form-room, a third a tiny bottle of scent; three separate donors supplied buttonholes of violets. The atmosphere was full of kindness and affection. Girls encountering each other would fall into each other’s arms with exclamations of ecstatic affection. “Oh, you precious lamb!”
“My angel child!”
“You dear, old, darling duck!” Claire heard a squat, ugly girl with spectacles and a turned-up nose addressed as “a princely pet” by an ardent adorer of fourteen. The mistresses came in for their own share of adulation—“Darling Miss Gifford, I do adore you!”
“Miss Gifford, darling, you are prettier than ever!”
“Oh, Miss Gifford, I was dying to see you!”
The morning flew past, and lunch-time brought the gathering of mistresses in staff-room. Mademoiselle’s greetings were politely detached, Fräulein was kindly and discursive, Sophie’s smile was as bright as ever, but she did not look well.
“Oh, I’m all right! It’s nothing. Only this horrid old pain!” she said cheerfully. Into her glass of water she dropped three tabloids of aspirin. Every one had been away for a longer or shorter time, visiting relatives and friends; they compared experiences; some had enjoyed themselves, some had not; but they all agreed that they were refreshed by the change.
“And where have you been?” asked the drawing mistress of Claire, and exclaimed in surprise at hearing that she had remained in town. “Dear me, I wish I had known! I’ve been back a fortnight. We might have done something together. Weren’t you dull?” asked the drawing mistress, staring with curious eyes.