: The Independence of Claire by Vaizey George De Horne Mrs - Young women Fiction; Love stories; Teachers Fiction; Mothers and daughters Fiction

@FreeBooksTue 06 Jun, 2023

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Claire pushed her chair from the table, her face looked suddenly white and tired, there was a suspicious quiver in her voice.

Mary Rhodes stared, abashed. Since the night when Claire had implored her not to poison her mind, she had never seen her merry, easy-going companion so aroused; but for the moment regret was swamped in curiosity. Ostensibly Claire was arguing in the plural, but in reality she was defending a definite man; Cecil was sure of it; saw her suspicion confirmed in the paling cheeks and distended eyes; heard it confirmed in the shaking voice. But who could the man be? Claire was the most candid, the most open of colleagues; she loved to talk and describe any experiences which came her way; every time she returned from an afternoon in town she had a dozen amusing incidents to recount, which in themselves constituted a guide to her doings. Cecil felt satisfied that Claire had had no masculine escort on any of these occasions, and with the one exception of Mrs Willoughby's "At Home" she had paid no social visits. Yet there did exist a man on whose honour she was prepared to pin her faith; of that Cecil was convinced. Probably it was someone in Brussels whom she was still hoping to meet again!

"Well, don't get excited," she said coolly. "If you choose to look upon life as a fairy tale, it's not my business to wake you up. The Sleeping Beauty position is very soothing while it lasts. Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all! I don't call it exactly `poisonous' to try to prevent another girl from suffering as badly as one has suffered oneself."

Cecil's laugh had rather a hard intonation.

"He hasn't taken you down to see it?"

"Not yet. No. It's a private engagement. His father doesn't know. He is waiting for a chance to tell him."

"Wouldn't the father be glad for his heir to marry?"

"A big country house in Surrey! That's the ideal residence of the heroine of fiction. It does sound romantic, Cecil! I should love to think of you as the mistress of a house like that. Come and sit by the fire, and let us talk. It's so exciting to talk of love affairs instead of exercises and exams... Let's pretend we are just two happy, ordinary girls, with no form-rooms looming ahead, and that one of us is just engaged, and telling the other `all about it.' Now begin! Begin at the beginning. How did you meet him first?"

But there a difficulty arose, for Cecil grew suddenly red, and stumbled over her words.

Cecil brightened with relief.

Silence. Mary Rhodes waited wistfully for a helping word. Claire stared into the fire, her brows knitted in suspense.

Claire sent her thoughts back and recalled a certain Sunday evening when she had offered to accompany Cecil to church, and had been bluntly informed that her company was not desired. She had taken the hint, and had not offered it again. She was silent, waiting for the revelations which were still to come.

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