The Independence of Claire Part 33

"You felt the need of companions.h.i.+p?"

"No. I had mother, and we were like girls together." The twin dimples showed in a mischievous smile. "You seem very anxious to hear that I was lonely!"

"Well!" said Erskine, and hesitated as though he found it impossible to deny the accusation. "I wanted to feel that you could sympathise with me! I've been more or less lonely all my life, but I have always felt that a time would come when it would be all right--when I'd meet some one who'd understand. I was great chums with my father, but he died when I was twelve, and my school chum went off to China, and comes home for a few months every three years, when it has usually happened that I've been abroad. There are nice enough fellows in the regiment, but I suppose I'm not quick at making friends--"

Strive as she would Claire could not resist a twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt, their eyes met, and both went off into a peal of laughter.

"Oh, well, there are exceptions! That's different. I felt that I knew you at once, without any preliminary stages. It must always be like that when people really fit." And then after a short pause he added in boyish, ingenuous tones, "Did you feel that you knew me?"

"I--I think I did!" Claire acknowledged. To both it seemed the most wonderful, the most absorbing of conversations. They were blissfully unconscious that it was old as the hills themselves, and had been repeated with ceaseless reiteration from prehistoric periods. Only once was there an interruption of the deep mutual happiness and that came without warning. Claire was smiling in blissful contentment, unconscious of a care, when suddenly a knife-like pain stabbed her heart. Imagination had wafted her back to Staff-Room. She saw the faces of the fifteen women seated around the table, women who were with but one exception past their youth, approaching nearer and nearer to dreaded age, and an inward voice whispered that to each in her turn had come this golden hour, the hour of dreams, of sweet, illuminative hope.

The hour had come, and the hour had pa.s.sed, leaving behind nothing but a memory and a regret. Why should she herself be more blessed than others? She looked forward and saw a vision of herself ten years hence still hurrying along the well-known street looking up at the clock in the church tower to a.s.sure herself that she was in time, still mounting the same bare staircase, still hanging up her hat on the same peg. The prose of it in contradistinction with the poetry of the present was terrifying to Claire's youthful mind, and her look was so white, so strained, that Erskine took instant alarm.

"What is it? What is it? Are you ill? Have I said anything to upset you? I say, what _is_ the matter!"

"Nothing. Nothing! I had a--thought! Talk hard, please, and make me forget!"

The end of the two hours found the cross-questioning still in full force; the man and the girl alike still feeling that the half was not yet told. They resented the quick pa.s.sage of time, resented the disturbance of the afternoon hours.

"What on earth do we want with a tennis party?" grumbled the Captain.

"Wish to goodness we could be left alone. I suppose the mater wanted them to amuse you before I came back."

Claire murmured incoherently. She knew better, but she was not going to say so! They turned unwillingly towards the house.

In the afternoon the guests arrived. They came early, for the Fanshawe tennis courts were in fine condition, and the prospect of meeting a new man and a new girl, plus the son of the house, was a treat in itself in the quiet countryside where the members of the same set met regularly at every function of the year. One of the courts was reserved for men's fours, for Mrs Fanshawe believed in giving her guests what they liked, and there is no doubt that men as a rule are ungallant enough to prefer their own s.e.x in outdoor games.

In the second court the younger girls took part in mixed fours, while others sat about, or took part in lengthy croquet contests on the furthest of the three lawns. Claire as a member of the house-party had a good deal of time on her hands, and helped Mrs Fanshawe with the entertainment of the older guests, who one and all eyed her with speculative interest.

One thin, faded woman had spent a few years in Bombay and was roused to interest by hearing that Claire's mother was now settled in that city.

Yes! she had met a Mr Judge. Robert Judge, was it not? Her husband knew him quite well. He had dined at their house. Quite a dear man.

She had heard of his marriage, "but"--here came a look of mystification--"to a _young_ wife; very pretty, very charming--"

Claire laughed, and held out a little coloured photograph in a round gla.s.s frame which hung by a chain round her neck.

"That is my mother. She is thirty-nine, and looks thirty. And she is prettier than that."

The faded lady looked, and sighed. Mrs Fanshawe brightened into vivid interest. "You know Mr Judge, then? You have met him? That's quite interesting. That's very interesting!" Claire realised with some irritability that the fact that one of her own acquaintances knew and approved, instantaneously raised Mr Judge in her hostess's estimation.

Hitherto he had been a name, a n.o.body; now he became a real man, "quite a dear man," a man one could know! The result was satisfactory enough, but Claire was irritated by the means. She was irritated also by the subtle but very real change in her hostess's manner to herself in the last twenty-four hours; irritated because the precious hours were pa.s.sing, and Erskine was surrounded by his guests, playing endless sets on the hot lawn. He looked as though he were enjoying himself, too, and that added to her annoyance, for like many another girl she had not yet realised that a man can forget even his love in his whole-hearted enjoyment of sport!

At tea-time, however, there was a lull when Erskine carried a chair to Claire's side, and seated himself with an air of contentment. Once and again as the meal progressed she saw his eyes rove around, and then come back to dwell upon herself. She knew that he was comparing her with the other girls who were present, knew also by the deep glow of that returning glance, that in his eyes she was fairest and best. The former irritation dropped from her like a cloak.

Tea was over, the guests rose from their seats. Erskine stood by Claire's side looking down at her with a quizzical smile.

"Er--did you notice that man who came in just before tea, with the girl in the pink frock? He was sitting over there, on the right?"

"Yes, I noticed him. I could see him quite well. Why?"

"What did you think of him?"

"Quite nice. I liked his face. Good-natured and interesting."

Erskine laughed.

"Sure?"

"Quite sure. Why?"

"Don't recognise him at all? Doesn't remind you of any one you know?"

"Not in the least. Why should he?"

Erskine laughed again.

"I'm afraid your memory is defective. I must introduce you again!" He walked away, laid his hand on the arm of the new-comer, and led him back to Claire's side. "Miss Gifford," he said gravely, "allow me to introduce--Major Carew!"

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

FOUND OUT.

The man with the good-natured, interesting face bowed to Claire with the alacrity which the normal man shows at an introduction to a pretty girl; Claire stared blankly, recovered herself, and returned his bow in formal manner. Erskine looked from one to the other in undisguised surprise.

"I thought you had met... You told me you had met Carew in town!"

"Not _this_ Major Carew!" Claire could not suppress a tone of regret.

With all her heart she wished that the man before her had been Cecil's fiance.

"It was the same name, but--"

"Not the same man? It's not an unusual name, I expect there are several of us knocking about," the present Major Carew said smilingly. "Do you happen to know his regiment?"

Claire knew it well, but as she p.r.o.nounced the name, the hearer's face crinkled in confusion.

"But that is my own regiment! There _is_ no other Carew! There's some mistake. You have mixed up the names."

"Oh no. I've heard it a hundred times. It is impossible to be mistaken. His Christian name is Frank."

"_My_ name is Frank!" the strange man said, and stared at Claire in increasing perplexity. "There is certainly not another Frank Carew in the M---. There is something wrong about this. I don't understand!"

"He is a member of the --- Club, and his people live in Surrey. He has an old father who is an invalid, and the name of the house is 'The Moat'--"

Major Carew's face turned a deep, apoplectic red, his light eyes seemed to protrude from his head, so violent was his anger and surprise.

"But--that's _me_! That's my club, my father, my home! Somebody has been taking my name, and pa.s.sing himself off under false colours for some mysterious reason. I can't imagine what good it is going to do him."

He broke off in alarm, and cast an appealing look at Erskine as Claire suddenly collapsed on the nearest chair, her face as white as her gown.

"I say, this is a bad business I'm most awfully sorry. I'm afraid Miss Gifford is distressed--"