The Independence of Claire | Page 4

much might yet be done. Thousands
of people had built up great fortunes on smaller foundations. In a vague,
indefinite fashion she determined to devote these last pounds to settling
herself in some business, which would ensure a speedy and generous
return. School teaching was plainly out of the question, since two
gentlewomen could not exist on a hundred and ten pounds a year. She
must think of something quicker, more lucrative.
All through dinner that evening Claire debated her future vocation as
she sat by her mother's side, halfway down the long dining-table which
to English eyes appeared so bare and unattractive, but which was yet

supplied with the most appetising of food. Claire's eyes were
accustomed to the lack of pretty detail; she had quite an affection for
the Pension which stood for home in her migratory life, and a real love
for Madame Dupre, the cheery, kindly, most capable proprietor. Such
of the pensionnaires as were not purely birds of passage she regarded
as friends rather than acquaintances; the only person in the room to
whom she felt any antagonism was Mr Judge himself, but unfortunately
he was the one of all others whom she was expected to like best.
As she ate her salad and broke fragments of delicious crusty roll, Claire
threw furtive glances across the table at the man who for the last weeks
had exercised so disturbing an element in her life. Was it six weeks or
two months, since she and her mother had first made his acquaintance
at the tennis club at which they spent so many of their afternoons?
Claire had noticed that a new man had been present on that occasion,
had bestowed on him one critical glance, decided with youthful
arrogance: "Oh, quite old!" and promptly forgotten his existence, until
an hour later, when, as she was sitting in the pavilion enjoying the
luxury of a real English tea, the strange man and her mother had
entered side by side. Claire summoned in imagination the picture of her
mother as she had looked at that moment, slim and graceful in the
simplest of white dresses, an untrimmed linen hat shading her charming
face. She looked about twenty-five, and Claire was convinced that she
knew as much, and that it was a mischievous curiosity to see her
companion's surprise which prompted her to lead the way across the
floor, and formally introduce "My daughter!"
Mr Judge exhibited all the expected signs of bewilderment, but he
made himself exceedingly amiable to the daughter, and it was not until
a week later that it was discovered that he had concluded that the
relationship must surely be "step," when fresh explanations were made,
and all the bewilderment came over again.
Since then, oh, since then, Claire told herself, there had been no getting
away from the man! He was, it appeared, an Indian merchant spending
a few months on the Continent, at the conclusion of a year's leave. He
had come to Brussels because of the presence of an old school

friend--the same friend who was responsible for the introduction at the
tennis club--but week after week passed by, and he showed no
disposition to move on.
Now Brussels is a very gay and interesting little city, but when Paris
looms ahead, and Berlin, Vienna, to say nothing of the beauties of
Switzerland and the Tyrol, and the artistic treasures of Italy--well! it
did seem out of proportion to waste six whole weeks in that one spot!
At the end of the last fortnight, too, Mr Judge declared that he was sick
to death of hotels and lonely evenings in smoking rooms, and
approached Madame Dupre with a view to joining the party at Villa
Beau Sejour. Madame was delighted to receive him, but Claire Gifford
told her mother resentfully that she considered Mr Judge's behaviour
"very cool." How did he know that it would be pleasant for them to
have him poking about morning, noon, and night?
"It isn't our Pension, darling, and he is very nice to you," Mrs Gifford
had said in return, and as it was impossible to contradict either
statement, Claire had tossed her head, and relapsed into silence.
For the first weeks of her acquaintance with Mr Judge, Claire had
thoroughly enjoyed his attentions. It was agreeable to know a man who
had a habit of noting your wishes, and then setting to work to bring
them about forthwith, and who was also delightfully extravagant as
regards flowers, and seemed to grow chocolates in his coat pockets. It
was only when he spoke of moving to the Pension, and her girl friends
at the tennis club began to tease, roll meaning eyes, and ask when she
was to be congratulated, that she took fright.
Did people really think