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Page 9
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.
Chapter 3.
The burden on Clara's mind weighs on it more heavily than ever,
after what Mrs. Crayford has said to her. She is too unhappy to
feel the inspiriting influence of the dance. After a turn round
the room, she complains of fatigue. Mr. Francis Aldersley looks
at the conservatory (still as invitingly cool and empty as ever);
leads her back to it; and places her on a seat among the shrubs.
She tries--very feebly--to dismiss him.
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