And after all, they hadn’t stood still themselves. They had gone on. If they hadn’t, she wouldn’t have fitted into the picture to-day, as she knew she did, nor would Stephen have found so much in common with Judy. No, she had long ago said good-by to the hansom bells and the bustles and the bad doctors and the inferior plumbing—let’s be honest—and the extremely uncomfortable traveling, and she had said good-by without regret.
She was writing to him the following afternoon, putting these thoughts on paper while they were still fresh in her mind, when Major Crosby called. She had hoped he would come. Certainly he wouldn’t go to Eaton Square for news of Judy. He would come to her. She wondered how far he would commit himself. Here was another simple man, but simple in a different way from Eric’s way. Major Crosby’s was the simplicity of the hermit, Eric’s of the clear thinking man of action who had no use for subtleties. She hoped he would feel that he could unburden himself to a woman of her age.
That, evidently, was one of the things he had come for. Madame Claire wanted to be able to make up her mind about him to-day. She had liked him before, but to-day she hoped to be able to say, “Yes, that’s the man for Judy.”
He very soon asked for news of her.
“She’s being extraordinarily good for my old friend Stephen de Lisle,” she told him. “It’s well, Major Crosby, to keep one’s hold on the present generation. Mr. de Lisle had almost lost his, and he was slipping back. That’s why I sent Judy to him.”
“Will she be back in time to see her brother before he goes?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure of it. She’ll be very lonely without Noel.”
What nice eyes the man had! Blue-gray eyes, rather misty, like the eyes of a kitten or a baby. The face was serious—a little too serious, she thought. She liked it though. It was a good face. She liked the thin, rather aquiline nose, the close-cut, brown mustache, the mouth with its expression of peculiar sweetness. She could picture him performing acts of curious bravery, unconscious of any heroism. A man who could study Druidism in the trenches!… But life was passing him by, as it would pass Judy by, unless she made up her mind to grasp it.
“Tell me,” she said, “how nearly finished is that prodigious book of yours?”
“It’s practically done. I’m still polishing it up though. It won’t be a popular book, Lady Gregory. In fact I think it will be very unpopular.”