"Now, my dear!" Mrs. Crayford
began, "what does this mean?"
"Nothing."
"That won't
do, Clara. Try again."
"The heat of
the room--"
"That won't
do, either. Say that you choose
to keep your
own secrets, and I shall understand
what you mean."
Clara's sad, clear gray eyes
looked up for the first time
in Mrs. Crayford's face, and
suddenly became dimmed with tears.
"If I only dared tell you!" she
murmured. "I hold so to your
good opinion of me, Lucy--and
I am so afraid of losing it."
Mrs. Crayford's manner changed.
Her eyes rested gravely and anxiously
on Clara's face.
"You know as well as I do that
nothing can shake my affection
for you," she said. "Do justice,
my child, to your old friend.
There is nobody here to listen
to what we say. Open your heart,
Clara. I see you are in trouble,
and I want to comfort you."
Clara began to yield. In other
words, she began to make conditions.
"Will you promise to keep what
I tell you a secret from every
living creature?" she began.
Mrs. Crayford met that question,
by putting a question on her
side.
"Does 'every
living creature' include my
husband?"
"Your husband
more than anybody! I love him,
I revere him. He
is so noble; he is so good! If
I told him what I am going to
tell you, he would despise me.
Own it plainly, Lucy, if I am
asking too much in asking you
to keep a secret from your husband."
"Nonsense,
child! When you are married,
you will know that
the easiest of all secrets to
keep is a secret from your husband.
I give you my promise. Now begin!"
Clara hesitated painfully.
"I don't know how to begin!" she
exclaimed, with a burst of despair. "The
words won't come to me."
"Then I must
help you. Do you feel ill tonight?
Do you feel
as you felt that day when you
were with my sister and me in
the garden?"
"Oh no."
"You are not
ill, you are not really affected
by the heat--and
yet you turn as pale as ashes,
and you are obliged to leave
the quadrille! There must be
some reason for this."
"There is a
reason. Captain Helding--"
"Captain Helding!
What in the name of wonder
has the captain
to do with it?"
"He told you
something about the _Atalanta_.
He said the _Atalanta_
was expected back from Africa
immediately."
"Well, and
what of that? Is there anybody
in whom you are
interested coming home in the
ship?"
"Somebody whom
I am afraid of is coming home
in the ship."
Mrs. Crayford's magnificent
black eyes opened wide in amazement.
"My dear Clara!
do you really mean what you
say?"
"Wait a little,
Lucy, and you shall judge for
yourself. We
must go back--if I am to make
you understand me--to the year
before we knew each other--to
the last year of my father's
life. Did I ever tell you that
my father moved southward, for
the sake of his health, to a
house in Kent that was lent to
him by a friend?"
"No, my dear;
I don't remember ever hearing
of the house in
Kent. Tell me about it."
"There is nothing
to tell, except this: the new
house was
near a fine country-seat standing
in its own park. The owner of
the place was a gentleman named
Wardour. He, too, was one of
my father's Kentish friends.
He had an only son."
She paused,
and played nervously with her
fan. Mrs. Crayford looked
at her attentively. Clara's eyes
remained fixed on her fan--Clara
said no more. "What was the son's
name?" asked Mrs. Crayford, quietly.
"Richard."
"Am I right,
Clara, in suspecting that Mr.
Richard Wardour admired
you?"
The question produced its intended
effect. The question helped Clara
to go on.
"I hardly knew at first," she
said, "whether he admired me
or not. He was very strange in
his ways--headstrong, terribly
headstrong and passionate; but
generous and affectionate in
spite of his faults of temper.
Can you understand such a character?"
"Such characters
exist by thousands. I have
my faults of temper. I
begin to like Richard already.
Go on."
"The days went
by, Lucy, and the weeks went
by. We were thrown
very much together. I began,
little by little, to have some
suspicion of the truth."
"And Richard
helped to confirm your suspicions,
of course?
"No. He was
not--unhappily for me--he was
not that sort
of man. He never spoke of the
feeling with which he regarded
me. It was I who saw it. I couldn't
help seeing it. I did all I could
to show that I was willing to
be a sister to him, and that
I could never be anything else.
He did not understand me, or
he would not, I can't say which."
"'Would not,'
is the most likely, my dear.
Go on."
"It might have
been as you say. There was
a strange, rough
bashfulness about him. He confused
and puzzled me. He never spoke
out. He seemed to treat me as
if our future lives had been
provided for while we were children.
What could I do, Lucy?"
"Do? You could
have asked your father to end
the difficulty
for you."
"Impossible!
You forget what I have just
told you. My father
was suffering at that time under
the illness which afterward caused
his death. He was quite unfit
to interfere."
"Was there
no one else who could help
you?"
"No one."
"No lady in
whom you could confide?"
"I had acquaintances
among the ladies in the neighborhood.
I had no friends."
"What did you
do, then?"
"Nothing. I
hesitated; I put off coming
to an explanation
with him, unfortunately, until
it was too late."
"What do you
mean by too late?"
"You shall
hear. I ought to have told
you that Richard Wardour
is in the navy--"
"Indeed! I
am more interested in him than
ever. Well?"
"One spring day Richard came
to our house to take leave of
us before he joined his ship.
I thought he was gone, and I
went into the next room. It was
my own sitting-room, and it opened
on to the garden."--
"Yes?"
"Richard must
have been watching me. He suddenly
appeared in the
garden. Without waiting for me
to invite him, he walked into
the room. I was a little startled
as well as surprised, but I managed
to hide it. I said, 'What is
it, Mr. Wardour?' He stepped
close up to me; he said, in his
quick, rough way: 'Clara! I am
going to the African coast. If
I live, I shall come back promoted;
and we both know what will happen
then.' He kissed me. I was half
frightened, half angry. Before
I could compose myself to say
a word, he was out in the garden
again--he was gone! I ought to
have spoken, I know. It was not
honorable, not kind toward him.
You can't reproach me for my
want of courage and frankness
more bitterly than I reproach
myself!"
"My dear child,
I don't reproach you. I only
think you might have
written to him."
"I did write."
"Plainly?"
"Yes. I told
him in so many words that he
was deceiving himself,
and that I could never marry
him."
"Plain enough,
in all conscience! Having said
that, surely you
are not to blame. What are you
fretting about now?"
"Suppose my
letter has never reached him?"
"Why should
you suppose anything of the
sort?"
"What I wrote
required an answer, Lucy--_asked_
for an answer.
The answer has never come. What
is the plain conclusion? My letter
has never reached him. And the
_Atalanta_ is expected back!
Richard Wardour is returning
to England--Richard Wardour will
claim me as his wife! You wondered
just now if I really meant what
I said. Do you doubt it still?"
Mrs. Crayford leaned back absently
in her chair. For the first time
since the conversation had begun,
she let a question pass without
making a reply. The truth is,
Mrs. Crayford was thinking.
She saw Clara's position plainly;
she understood the disturbing
effect of it on the mind of a
young girl. Still, making all
allowances, she felt quite at
a loss, so far, to account for
Clara's excessive agitation.
Her quick observing faculty had
just detected that Clara's face
showed no signs of relief, now
that she had unburdened herself
of her secret. There was something
clearly under the surface here--something
of importance that still remained
to be discovered. A shrewd doubt
crossed Mrs. Crayford's mind,
and inspired the next words which
she addressed to her young friend.
"My dear," she said abruptly, "have
you told me all?"
Clara started as if the question
terrified her. Feeling sure that
she now had the clew in her hand,
Mrs. Crayford deliberately repeated
her question, in another form
of words. Instead of answering,
Clara suddenly looked up. At
the same moment a faint flush
of color appeared in her face
for the first time.
Looking up instinctively on
her side, Mrs. Crayford became
aware of the presence, in the
conservatory, of a young gentleman
who was claiming Clara as his
partner in the coming waltz.
Mrs. Crayford fell into thinking
once more. Had this young gentleman
(she asked herself) anything
to do with the untold end of
the story? Was this the true
secret of Clara Burnham's terror
at the impending return of Richard
Wardour? Mrs. Crayford decided
on putting her doubts to the
test.
"A friend of yours, my dear?" she
asked, innocently. "Suppose you
introduce us to each other."
Clara confusedly introduced
the young gentleman.
"Mr. Francis
Aldersley, Lucy. Mr. Aldersley
belongs to the
Arctic expedition."
"Attached to the expedition?" Mrs.
Crayford repeated. "I am attached
to the expedition too--in my
way. I had better introduce myself,
Mr. Aldersley, as Clara seems
to have forgotten to do it for
me. I am Mrs. Crayford. My husband
is Lieutenant Crayford, of the
_Wanderer_. Do you belong to
that ship?"
"I have not
the honor, Mrs. Crayford. I
belong to the _Sea-mew_."
Mrs. Crayford's superb eyes
looked shrewdly backward and
forward between Clara and Francis
Aldersley, and saw the untold
sequel to Clara's story. The
young officer was a bright, handsome,
gentleman-like lad. Just the
person to seriously complicate
the difficulty with Richard Wardour!
There was no time for making
any further inquiries. The band
had begun the prelude to the
waltz, and Francis Aldersley
was waiting for his partner.
With a word of apology to the
young man, Mrs. Crayford drew
Clara aside for a moment, and
spoke to her in a whisper.
"One word,
my dear, before you return
to the ball-room.
It may sound conceited, after
the little you have told me;
but I think I understand your
position _now_, better than you
do yourself. Do you want to hear
my opinion?"
"I am longing
to hear it, Lucy! I want your
opinion; I want your
advice."
"You shall
have both in the plainest and
fewest words. First,
my opinion: You have no choice
but to come to an explanation
with Mr. Wardour as soon as he
returns. Second, my advice: If
you wish to make the explanation
easy to both sides, take care
that you make it in the character
of a free woman."
She laid a
strong emphasis on the last
three words, and
looked pointedly at Francis Aldersley
as she pronounced them. "I won't
keep you from your partner any
longer, Clara," she resumed,
and led the way back to the ball-room.
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