CHAPTER NINE.
THE SUPPER.
Claire stepped down from the platform to be surrounded by a throng ofguests all eager to express their admiration of her interestingperformance, to marvel how she could "do it," and to congratulate herupon so unusual an accomplishment; and she smiled and bowed, declaredthat it was quite easy, and perjured herself by maintaining that anyonecould do as well, acutely conscious all the time that Captain Fanshawewas drawing nearer with determined steps, edging his way towards thefront of the crowd. The next moment her hand was in his, and he wasgreeting her with the assurance of a lifelong friend.
"Good evening, Miss Gifford. Hadn't we better make straight for suppernow? I am sure you must need it."
It was practically the ordinary invitation. There was nothing to findfault with in the words themselves, yet the impression of a previousarrangement was obviously left with the hearers, who fell back, givingway as to a superior right. As for Claire, she laid her hand on theextended arm, with all the good will in the world, and made a triumphantpassage through the crowd, which smiled upon her as though agreeing thatit was now her turn to be amused.
"This table, I think!" Captain Fanshawe said, leading the way to thefurthest corner of the dining-room, and Claire found herself sipping ahot cup of soup, and realising that the world was an agreeable place,and that it was folly ever to allow oneself to be downhearted, sincesuch delightful surprises awaited round corners ready to transform thegrey into gold!
Captain Fanshawe looked exactly as memory had pictured him--plain offeature, distinguished in bearing, grave, self-contained, yet with thatlurking light in his eyes which showed that humour lay beneath. Clairesmiled at him across the table, and asked an obvious question--
"Rather a different meeting-place from our last! Did you know me atonce?"
"I did," he said, and added deliberately, "Just as you knew me."
"Oh, well!" Claire tried to look unconcerned. "Men are always prettymuch the same. Evening dress does not make the same difference tothem."
She knew a momentary fear lest he should believe she was fishing for acompliment, and give the ordinary banal reply; but he looked at her witha grave scrutiny, and asked quietly--
"Was that one of the frocks which went astray?"
"Yes! All of it. It wasn't even divided in half."
"It was a good thing the box turned up!" he said; and there, after all,was the compliment, but so delicately inferred that the most fastidioustaste could not object.
With the finishing of the soup came the first reference to Claire'swork, for the Captain's casual "Do you care for anything solid, or wouldyou prefer a sweet?" evoked a round-eyed stare of dismay.
"Oh, _please_!" cried Claire deeply. "I want to go straight through.I've been living on mutton and cabbage for over two months, and cookingsuppers on a chafing-dish. I looked forward to supper as part of thetreat!"
The plain face lightened into a delightful smile.
"That's all right!" he cried. "Now we know where we are. I hadn't muchdinner myself, so I'm quite game. Let us study the book of the words."
A _menu_ lay on the table, a square white card emblazoned with manygolden words. Captain Fanshawe drew his chair nearer, and ran hisfinger down the list, while Claire bent forward to signify a yea or nay.Every delicacy in season and out of season seemed to find its place onthat list, which certainly justified Master Reginald's eulogy of hismother's "good feeds." Claire found it quite a serious matter to decidebetween so many good things, and even with various curtailments, maderather out of pride than inclination, the meal threatened to last someconsiderable time.
Well! there was obvious satisfaction in the manner in which CaptainFanshawe delivered his orders, and for herself, she had been dignifiedand self-denying; she had resolutely shut the door between this man andherself, and devoted herself to work, and now, since fate had thrown himin her way for a chance hour, she could enjoy herself with a light mind.It was good to talk to a man again, to hear a deep masculine voice, tolook at a broad strong frame. Putting aside all question of love andmarriage, the convent life is no more satisfying than the monastic.Each sex was designed by God to be the complement of the other. Eachmust suffer from lack of the other's companionship.
"I arrived just as you began your performance," Captain Fanshaweinformed her. "It was a great `draw.' Everybody had crowded forward tolisten. It was only towards the end of your second--er--how exactlyshould one express it?--_morceau_, that I managed to get into seeingline. It was a surprise! Have you known the Willoughbys long?"
Claire looked at him blankly.
"I never saw them before to-night. Your mother wrote to ask them ifthey would send me a card."
"Oh!" Captain Fanshawe was certainly surprised, and Claire mentallysnubbed herself because at the bottom of her heart there had lain asuspicion that perhaps--just perhaps--he had come to-night in the hopeof meeting his acquaintance of the railway station. This was not thecase; no thought of her had been in his mind. Probably until the momentof meeting he had forgotten her existence. Never mind! They _had_ met,and he was agreeable and friendly. Now for a delightful half-hour...
"That was a good thought of the _mater's_. You will like them. Theyare delightful people. Just the people you ought to know as a strangerin town. How goes the school teaching, by the way? As well as youexpected?"
Claire deliberated, with pursed lips.
"No. I expected so much; I always do. But much better than otherpeople expected for me. Theoretically it's a fine life. There aretimes when it seems that nothing could be finer. But--"
"But what?"
"I don't think it's quite satisfying, as a _whole_ life!"
"Does anyone suppose it is?"
"They try to. They have to. For most teachers there is so littleelse."
The waiter handed plates of lobster mayonnaise, and Captain Fanshawesaid quietly--
"Tell me about the times when the work seems fine."
"Ah--many times! It depends on one's own mood and health, because, ofcourse, the circumstances are always the same. There are mornings whenone looks round a big class-room and sees all the girls' faces lookingupwards, and it gives one quite a thrilling sense of power andopportunity. That is what the heaven-born teacher must feel everytime.--`Here is the fresh virgin soil, and mine is the joy of plantingthe right seed! Here are the women of the future, the mothers of therace. For this hour they are mine. What I say, they must hear. Theywill listen with an attention which even their parents cannot gain. Thewords which I speak this morning may bear fruit in many lives.' That'sthe ideal attitude, but the ordinary human woman has other mornings whenall she feels is--`Oh, dear me, six hours of this! And what's the use?Everything I batter in to-day will be forgotten by to-morrow. What'sthe ideal anyway in teaching French verbs? I want to go to bed.'"
They laughed together, but Captain Fanshawe sobered quickly, and hisbrow showed furrows of distress. Claire looked at him and saidquickly--
"Do you mind if we don't talk school? I am Cinderella to-night, wearingfine clothes and supping in state. I'd so much rather talk Cinderellato match."
"Certainly, certainly. Just as you wish." Lolling back in his chair,Captain Fanshawe adopted an air of _blase_ indifference, and drawledslowly, "Quite a good winter, isn't it? Lots going on. Have you beento the Opera lately?"
"Oh dear!" thought Claire with a gush, "how refreshing to meet a grown-up man who can pretend like a child!" She simpered, and repliedartificially, "Oh, yes--quite often. The dear Duchess is _so_ kind; herbox is open to me whenever I choose to go. Wonderful scene, isn't it?All those tiers rising one above another. Do you ever look up at thegalleries? Such funny people sit there--men in tweed suits; girls inwhite blouses. Who _are_ they, should you think? Clerks and typistsand school-mistresses, and people of that persuasion?"
"Possibly, I dare say. One never knows. They look quite respectableand quiet, don't you know!"
The twinkle was alight in Captain Fanshawe's eyes. It shone morebrightly still as he added, "Everybody turns up sooner or later in theDuchess's box. Have you happened to meet--the Prince!"
For a moment Claire groped for the connection, then dimpled merrily.
"Not yet. No! but I am hoping--"
The waiter approached with plates of chicken in aspic, and more rolls ofcrisp browned bread. Claire sent a thought to Cecil finishing a box ofsardines, with her book propped up against the cocoa jug. TheCinderella _role_ was forgotten while her eyes roved around, studyingthe silver dishes on the various tables.
"When you were a small boy, Captain Fanshawe, did you go out toparties?"
Captain Fanshawe knitted his brows. This charming girl was a littledifficult to follow conversationally; she leapt from one subject toanother with disconcerting agility.
"Er--pardon me! Is that question put to me in my--er--private, orimaginary capacity?"
"Private, of course. But naturally you did. Did you have pockets?"
"To the best of my remembrance I was disguised as a midshipmite, withwhite duck trousers of a prodigious width. They used to crackle, Iremember. There was room for a dozen pockets."
Claire laid her arms on the table, so that her face drew nearer his own.Her voice fell to a stage whisper--
"Did you--ever--take--something--home?"
The Captain threw back his head with a peal of laughter.
"Miss Gifford, what a question! I was an ordinary human boy. _Ofcourse_ I did. And sat on my spoils in the carriage going back, and wasscolded for spoiling my clothes. I had a small brother at home."
"Well--I have a small friend! She has letters after her name, and isvery learned and clever, but she has a _very_ sweet tooth. Do youthink, perhaps--in this bag--"
"Leave it to me!" he said firmly, and when the waiter next appeared, hereceived an order to bring more bon-bons--plenty of bon-bons--aselection of all the small dainties in silver dishes.
"He thinks I _am_ having a feast!" Claire said demurely, as she watchedthe progress of selection; then she met Erskine Fanshawe's eyes, andnodded in response to an unspoken question, "And I _am_! I'm having alovely time!"
"I wish it were possible that you could oftener--"
"Well, who knows? A week ago I had made up my mind that nothingexciting would ever happen again, and then this invitation arrived.What a perfect dear Miss Willoughby seems to be!"
"Janet? She _is_!" he said warmly. "She is a girl who has hadeverything the world can give her, and yet has come through unspoiled.It's not often one can say that. Many society girls are selfish andvain, but Janet never seems to think of herself. You'd find her anideal friend."
Claire's brain leapt swiftly to several conclusions. Janet Willoughbywas devoted to Mrs Fanshawe; Mrs Fanshawe returned her devotion.Janet Willoughby was rich, and of good birth. Mrs Fanshawe hadmentally adopted her as a daughter-in-law. Given the non-appearance ofa rival on the scene, her desire would probably be fulfilled, since suchsincere liking could easily ripen into love. Just for a moment Clairefelt a stab of that lone and lorn feeling which comes to solitaryfemales at the realisation of another's happiness; then she ralliedherself and said regretfully--
"I'm afraid I shan't have the chance! Our lives lie too far apart, andmy time is not my own. It is only an occasional Saturday-night that Ican play Cinderella."
"What do you do on Sundays?"
"Go to church in the morning, and sleep in the afternoon. Soundselderly, doesn't it? But I do enjoy that sleep. The hour after lunchis the most trying of the school day. It's all I can do sometimes tosmother my yawns, and not upset the whole class. It's part of theSunday rest to be able to let go, lie down hugging a hot bottle, andsleep steadily till it's time for tea."
"Where do you go to church?"
"Oh!" Claire waved an airy hand, "it depends! I've not settled down.I am still trying which I like best."
Across the table the two pairs of eyes met. The man's questioning,protesting, the girl's steadily defiant. "Why won't you tell me?" camethe unspoken question. "Why won't you give me a chance?"
"I am too proud," came the unspoken answer. "Your mother did not thinkme good enough. I will accept no acquaintance by stealth."
Interruption came in the shape of the waiter bearing a tray of littlesilver dishes filled with dainties, which he proceeded to arrange inrows on the table. Claire relapsed into giggles at the sight, andCaptain Fanshawe took refuge, man-like, in preternatural solemnity; buthe made no comment, and the moment that the man had disappeared, bothheads craned eagerly to examine the spoils.
"Chocolates, _marrons glacis_, crystallised peaches, French bon-bons,plums. I don't recognise them by head mark. These are too sticky...These look uncommonly good!" The big fingers hovered over each dish inturn, lifting sample specimens, and placing them on Claire's plate,whence they were swiftly conveyed to her bag. Not a single sweetmeattouched her own lips. The unconventionality of the action seemed toreceive some justification from the fact that she was confiscating onlyher own share. When the waiter returned with ices, the little bagbulged suspiciously, and the silver dishes were no longer required. Thewaiter was ordered to carry them away, and plainly considered that somepeople did not know what they wanted.
"The only thing lacking is a cracker. I invariably purloined a cracker,and doubled up the ends. I suppose we are hardly near enough toChristmas. By the by, what are you doing for Christmas? You will haveholidays, of course," Captain Fanshawe said, with an elaborateunconsciousness, and Claire kept her eyes on her plate.
"I may go to Belgium. I haven't decided."
"There seem to be a good many things you cannot--decide. Miss Gifford,you haven't forgotten what I asked you?"
"What did you ask?"
"That if ever I could help--if you ever needed help--"
"I shall want help badly during the next few weeks, when theexaminations come on, and I have all the papers to set and correct."
Captain Fanshawe refused to smile.
"The kind of help that a man can give--"
"Yes, I remember. You were very kind, and I am still so much under theinfluence of the old life that I do feel you might be a comfort; but nodoubt, after some more months of school-mistressing, I shall resent theidea that a man could do any more than I could myself. So it's a caseof soon or never. You will hardly be cruel enough to wish to hasten myextremity!"
"I'm not so sure about that, if I could have the satisfaction of puttingthings to rights!"
It was while she was smiling her acknowledgment of this pretty speechthat Claire became conscious of Janet Willoughby's eyes bent searchinglyupon her. She had entered the room on the arm of her supper partner,and came to a pause not a yard away from the table where a veryanimated, apparently very intimate conversation was taking place betweenthe son of her old friend and the girl to whom she had believed him tobe unknown. As she met Claire's glance, Janet smiled automatically, butthe friendliness was gone from her glance. The next moment CaptainFanshawe, had turned, seen her, and sprung to his feet.
"Janet! Are you waiting for a table? We have nearly finished. Won'tyou sit down and talk to Miss Gifford?"
"Oh, please don't hurry... We'll find another place. You have metbefore, then? I didn't know."
"I saw Miss Gifford when she was befriending my mother at LiverpoolStreet Station, and recognised her upstairs just now. Do sit down,Janet. You look tired."
Janet Willoughby took the offered chair and exchanged a few words withClaire as she gathered together her possessions, but the subtle changepersisted. Claire felt vaguely disturbed, but the next half-hour passedso pleasantly that she had no time to puzzle over the explanation.Captain Fanshawe never left her side; they sat together on the same sofawhich Great-aunt Jane had monopolised for the earlier part of theevening, and talked of many things, and discussed many problems, andsometimes agreed, and oftener disagreed, and when they disagreed mostwidely, lo
oked into each other's eyes and smiled, as who should say,"What do words matter? We understand!"
At one o'clock Claire rose to depart, and said her adieu to her hostessand her daughter, who were standing side by side.
"My dear, it is too bad. I have had _no_ time with you, and I am sograteful for the charming way in which you came to the rescue! We shallhope to see you often again. Shan't we, Janet? You girls must arrangea day which suits you both."
"Oh, yes, we must!" Janet said, as she shook hands, but she made noattempt to make the arrangement there and then, as her mother obviouslyexpected, and Claire realised, with a sinking of the heart, that apromised friendship had received a check.
When she descended to the hall wrapped in her filmy cloak it was to findCaptain Fanshawe waiting at the foot of the stairs. He looked worriedand grave, and the front door was reached before he made the firstremark. Then, lingering tentatively on the threshold, he looked down ather with a searching glance.
"Is--er--is your address still the Grand Hotel?"
Claire's face set into firm lines.
"Still the Grand Hotel!"
For a moment he looked her steadily in the eyes, then said quietly--
"And my address is still the Carlton Club!" He bowed, and turned intothe house.
The footman banged the door of the taxi, and stood awaitinginstructions.
"T-wenty-two, Laburnum Crescent," said Claire weakly. Halfway throughthe words a sudden obstacle arose in her throat. It was all she coulddo to struggle through. She hoped to goodness the footman did notnotice.
"There now! what did I tell you? You look fagged to death, and as crossas two sticks. Five shillings wasted on taxis, and nothing for it butgetting thoroughly upset. Next time I hope you will take my advice!"said Cecil, and took up her candle to grope her way up the dark stairwayto bed.
The Independence of Claire Page 9
