“Dearest Claire,” wrote Judy.
“Every moment that I spend here in this lovely place, I say to myself, ‘You have Claire to thank for this.’ I know now how cleverly you managed it all. A hint here, a word there. And I know that you never intended to let Eric come, even if he could have arranged it. That was merely to satisfy the family. Oh, I know your little ways!
“As for your old Stephen, I adore him. And he’s really making a wonderful recovery. I’ll bring him back to you, Claire. My one object in life now is to help to bring you and him together again.
“I wonder if you’ve seen Major Crosby again? I do hope you have, for I feel you’d be so good for him, and it’s absurd for him to be so out of touch with things. I know you like him and I’m very glad, for I like him, and I know Noel does too. I don’t suppose for a moment that he’ll ever be anything but poor. Even if his book should prove to be a classic, it would never bring him in much money. All the same I feel sure that it’s a remarkable book.
“There is a man here who is the very opposite of Major Crosby. I feel they can hardly be made of the same stuff. This man is an American whom Stephen knew years ago in the Argentine. He’s very rich, and not afflicted with modesty. He has no moods, no reserves, and no curiosity. I never realized before what an agreeable quality curiosity was until I met him. Europe is a playground for him. Not that he knows how to play—he doesn’t. He merely does what other people do, and spends prodigious sums of money, and when he tries to be gay or facetious it’s like watching a steam engine playing with its tail. We spar a good deal, but he seems to like it. He makes me ponderous compliments—oh, so ponderous! I tell him I’m not used to compliments, and that in England the more we approve of people the less we trouble to let them know it, and that the only person who sometimes tells me I’m rather nice is my brother Noel.
“‘Say,’ remarks Mr. Colebridge, ‘that brother of yours must be kinder human!’
“Mr. and Mrs. Assheton are here and they chaperon me at the Casino evenings after Stephen has gone to bed. We usually make a foursome, for Mr. Colebridge nearly always joins us.
“You don’t know how much I’m enjoying it all, Claire. I think I must have died and gone to Heaven. Certainly the Channel wasn’t unlike the Styx. I feel all the time though that it’s you who ought to be here with Stephen instead of me. But he’s going to get well, and you’re going to see him again. Miss McPherson is a dear. I gathered that she was from Stephen’s letters.
“How are Eric and Louise getting on? But I expect Noel will tell me all the news. You have all you can do to keep Stephen supplied with letters.
“Good-by, Madame Claire. Remember me to your daughter Millie when you see her. Really, mother took my coming here as a personal affront. She thinks that no one but Gordon should have any advantages. Aren’t some parents odd, sometimes?
“Your very loving,
“Judy.”
Very satisfactory, thought Madame Claire, as she finished reading the letter. All sorts of ends were furthered by this visit. Stephen would take a new lease on life with Judy there. It was just the tonic that he needed. He would be certain to want to settle something on her. If he had wished to before he knew her, how much more would he now! She would, more or less unconsciously, present her own image to him, as she was to-day. Heaven alone knew how he had been picturing her all these years! And, too, Judy would meet—was meeting—new people. She already had an admirer. Madame Claire was no matchmaker; she abhorred matchmaking; but she knew that Judy was interested in Major Crosby and it would help her to know how deeply she was interested if she could compare him with other men. This Mr. Colebridge—he wasn’t at all Judy’s sort, perhaps—and yet he might attract her by his very differences. Or, if he failed to attract her, he might help her to define her feelings for the other more clearly.
Madame Claire was no advocate of marriage as the only career for women, but Judy’s gifts seemed all to be in that direction. She had charm, tact, good sense. Her other qualities would emerge once she was away from the suffocating atmosphere of Eaton Square and Millie. She had never had a chance. Not that marriage with Major Crosby, for instance, would offer much scope for her talents … and yet, on the other hand, it might … it might. Well, well, Madame Claire told herself, she wouldn’t raise a finger to bring it about. But she meant the girl to have a breathing space … time to think, and a new environment to think in. If she herself had had that at a certain period of her own life.…
She was expecting Eric this afternoon between five and six. Eric and Louise … there was a problem for her untangling! Two charming people—for Louise could be charming—who were at heart fond of each other, and yet were utterly at cross purposes. Madame Claire held the remarkable belief that no problem existed without its solution—however difficult that solution might be to come by—just as she believed that every poison had its antidote, and every evil its complementary good. Why, then, couldn’t she think of a way to bring those two together? Louise’s mind wanted prying open. It had closed on its jealousies as a pitcher plant closes on its food. Nothing that was in could get out, and nothing that was out could get in. An unfortunate state of affairs!
Eric came in bringing with him something fresh and vital that always seemed to accompany him. Judy called it his aura. He was quick in all his movements—the sort of man who gets through a great deal in a day and without fuss or bustle.
He advanced on Madame Claire and kissed her.
“You look wonderful! I’ve half an hour to spend with you to-day.”
He drew up a chair beside hers.
“Don’t you get very tired of being always busy?” she asked him, smiling.
“Yes. I do. But I must either be in the thick of things or out of them altogether. And just now things are very thick indeed, and getting thicker.”