“I am not intimate with any of them, and with Charlotte Waldron perhaps less than with any; and of course I have never been at their house nor at anybody’s house without your knowing. I would never do such a thing, dear aunt; you know I wouldn’t,” said Claudia gently. “But I can tell quite well that they are poor,” she went on, seeing Lady Mildred’s face clear again; “it is a sort of instinct, because you see I know so well about it myself. Charlotte has had the same dress ever since I have known her, and once or twice, when it had got wet or muddy, she came with a still plainer and much older one. And—other little things that I don’t suppose most girls would notice—I have seen her look quite troubled when her clean cuffs got inked, or when a copy-book was lost and she had to get an extra one. She is a very, very neat and careful girl. Some of the others call her mean—once they began doing so before me as if they thought I would join with them in it, because they fancy I am rich! I did feel so angry; for I know it all so well, you see, Aunt Mildred.”
“Bless the child—she talks as if she were a char woman with half-a-dozen children,” said Lady Mildred. “I suppose you think you know a great deal more of the practical side of life than I do, my dear?”
But though her tone was sharp, Claudia could see that she was not vexed, but on the contrary interested, and even touched.
“I know more in some ways about being poor than you do, I think, Aunt Mildred,” she replied. “Oh, in hundreds of little ways that one would be almost ashamed to put into words, that rich people would really not understand! You see with my being the eldest at home, and mamma always wanting to save papa all the worries she could, I could not but know a great deal. But nothing is too hard when we are together. You can’t know, aunt, how different everything seems now that I can look forward to staying at home, and helping them so beautifully—all thanks to you. There were times when mamma and I used sometimes to think I should have to go away as a teacher in some school, or as a sort of nursery governess even. And now it is so different.”
“I wish it were going to be still more different,” said Lady Mildred. “I wish I could help you all more effectually; but—”
“Dear Aunt Mildred, you couldn’t have helped us more effectually,” said Claudia, her eyes beaming. “We don’t want to be rich, even if you had a fortune to leave us, we couldn’t wish to be happier than we shall be when I am quite grown-up and able to begin my school, as mamma calls it. And we are all so strong and well, if it wasn’t for papa’s eyes.”
“Yes, that is a blessing,” Lady Mildred agreed: “the Meredons are a very sturdy race, much stronger than the Osberts. And that reminds me, I am sorry about that little Waldron boy; I cannot forget his poor little white face.”
“I hope he will get stronger soon,” said Claudia.
Lady Mildred said no more, and her niece saw little of her for the rest of that day, for there was another long interview with Mr Miller, and Claudia was sent out sight-seeing under the convoy of Lady Mildred’s maid.
It was some days later, Christmas Eve in fact, when the old lady said suddenly to her young companion: