“No,” said Claude; “the light here is perfect. I never can understand why people should want so much light only to talk by. Will you sit here, Miss Waring? Here is a corner out of the draught. I want to say something more about Bordighera—one other little renseignement, and then I shall not require to trouble you any more.”
Frances looked at Markham for help, but he did not interfere. He looked a little grave, she thought; but he took Sir Thomas by the arm, and presently led him away. She was too shy to refuse on her own account Claude’s demand, and sat down reluctantly on the sofa, where he placed himself at her side.
“Your sister,” he said, “never had much sympathy with me about draughts. She used to think it ridiculous to take so much care. But my doctrine always is, take care beforehand, and then you don’t need to trouble yourself after. Don’t you think I am right?”
She understood very well how Constance would receive his little speeches. In the agitation in which she was, gleams of perception coming through the chaos, sudden visions of Constance, who had been swept out of her mind by the progress of events, and of her father, whom her late companion had been talking about—as if it would be so easy to induce him to change all his ways, and do what other people wished!—came back to her mind. They seemed to stand before her there, both appearing out of the mists, both so completely aware of what they wanted to do—so little likely to be persuaded into some one else’s mode of thought.
“I think Constance and you were not at all likely to think the same,” she said.
Ramsay looked at her with a glance which for him was hasty and almost excited. “No?” he said in an interrogative tone. “What makes you think so? Perhaps when one comes to consider, you are right. She was always so well and strong. You and I, perhaps, do you think, are more alike?”
“No,” said Frances, very decidedly. “I am much stronger than Constance. She might have some patience with—with—what was fanciful; but I should have none.”
“With what was fanciful? Then you think I am fanciful?” said Claude, raising himself up from his feeble attitude. He laughed a little, quite undisturbed in temper by this reproach. “I wish other people thought so; I wish they would let me stay comfortably at home, and do what everybody does. But, Miss Waring, you are not so sympathetic as I thought.”
“I am afraid I am not sympathetic,” said Frances, feeling much ashamed of herself. “Oh, Mr Ramsay, forgive me; I did not mean to say anything so disagreeable.”
“Never mind,” said Claude. “When people don’t know me, they often think so. I am sorry, because I thought perhaps you and I might agree better. But very likely it was a mistake. Are you feeling the draught again? It is astonishing how a draught will creep round, when you think you are quite out of the way of it. If you feel it, you must not run the risk of a cold, out of consideration for me.”