The Independence of Claire | Page 5

that she was going to marry Mr Judge?
Lately things had moved on apace, and as a result of the unwelcome
revelations of the morning's post, Claire was to-day asking herself a
different question. She was no longer occupied with other people; she
was thinking of herself... "Am I going to marry Mr Judge? Oh, good
gracious, is that My Husband sitting over there, and have I got to live
with him every day, as long as we both shall live?"

She shuddered at the thought, but in truth there was nothing to shudder
at in Robert Judge's appearance. He was a man of forty, bronzed, and
wiry, with agreeable if not regular features. Round his eyes the skin
was deeply furrowed, but the eyes themselves were bright and youthful,
and the prevailing expression was one of sincerity and kindliness. He
wore a loose grey tweed suit, with a soft-coloured shirt which showed a
length of brown neck. The fingers of his right band were deeply stained
with tobacco. During dejeuner he carried on a conversation with his
right-hand companion, in exceedingly bad French, but ever and anon he
glanced across the table as though his thoughts were not on his words.
Once, on looking up suddenly, Claire found his eyes fixed upon herself,
with a strained, anxious look, and her heart quickened as she looked,
then sank down heavy as lead.
"It's coming!" she said to herself. "It's coming! There's no running
away. I'll have to stay, and see it out. Oh, why can't I be French, and
sensible? I ought to be thankful to marry such a kind, good man, and be
able to give mother a comfortable home!"
But as a matter of fact she was neither glad nor thankful. Despite her
French training, the English instinct survived and clamoured for liberty,
for independence. "It's my own life. If I marry at all, I want to choose
the man for no other reason than that I love him; not as a duty, and to
please somebody else!" Then she glanced at her mother sitting by her
side, slim, and graceful, with the little air of pathos and helplessness
which even strangers found so appealing, and as she did so, a shiver
passed through Claire's veins.
"But I'll have to do it!" she said to herself helplessly. "I'll have to do it!"
CHAPTER TWO.
TOO SUCCESSFUL!
The next few days passed by slowly enough. It is a great trial for a
young creature to realise that a change is inevitable and, at the same
time, that one must be cautious about making it. The impulse is always
to rush into action, and it is difficult to sit still and agree with the

elderly precept in favour of consideration and delay. If matters had
been left to Claire she would have started out forthwith to search for a
cheap Pension, and would have also despatched a letter to Miss
Farnborough by the first post, to inquire if the school post were still
open, but her mother vetoed both proposals, and pleaded so urgently
for delay, that there was nothing left but to agree, and compose herself
as best she might.
The weather was too hot for tennis, and in truth Claire was not in the
mood for games. With every hour she realised more keenly that she had
come to the parting of the ways, and in the prospect of a new life old
interests lost their savour. Her mother seemed to share her restlessness,
but while Claire preferred to stay indoors, in the privacy of her own
room, Mrs Gifford seemed to find relief in action, and was often out for
hours at a time, without vouchsafing any explanation of her absence.
Claire was not curious. She was content to close the green shutters of
her windows, slip into a muslin wrapper, and employ herself at some
simple piece of needlework, which kept her hands busy while leaving
her thoughts free.
Where would she be this time next year? It was a question which no
mortal can answer with certainty, but many of us are happy in the
probability that we shall be still living in the same dear home,
surrounded by the people and the objects which we love, whereas
Claire's one certainty was that she must move on to fresh scenes.
Bombay or London--that seemed the choice ahead! Matrimony or
teaching. On the one hand a luxurious home, carriages and horses, a
staff of servants, and apparently as much society as one desired, with
the incubus of a husband whom she did not love, and who was twenty
years her senior. On the other hand, work and poverty, with the
advantages of freedom and independence.
Claire's eyes brightened at the sound of those two words, for dear as