Claire Part 21

He winced at her immediate application of his promise.

"Perhaps we would better," he answered sadly, and turned toward the cabin.

As she walked by his side she had already dismissed him from her attention and was busy planning what she might do to make Lawrence happy.

When they entered the cabin, Claire looked eagerly about the room. As she glanced around, her face clouded. Lawrence was gone. His coat and hat were not on the rack, and the cane which he had carved one day from a stick which she had brought him from the woods was also missing.

Claire walked slowly into the room, her mind filled with an unaccountable apprehension.

"Why, how abandoned the place seems without Lawrence! Where is he, I wonder?" She tried to appear casual.

Philip followed her in and placed a chair for her. His mind, already touched with the potential jealousy that Claire's talk had begun, leaped ahead at her words and he felt more than ever doubtful of her att.i.tude toward Lawrence. Though he quickly dispelled his fear, the thought left behind, as such things do, the readier soil for a stronger weed to spring up in.

"He has gone out for a walk, I suppose. Doubtless, he will be back soon." His voice was indifferent. "Will you not sit down, Claire? You stand there looking about you as though you had lost something."

She was on the point of saying she had, but checked herself, and accepted the chair.

"It's so unusual. He never did this before." Claire forced a smile.

"Well, he will be the better for it; I am glad that he has gone out,"

Philip answered.

"I know, but it is so difficult for him to find his way through the snow," she said. "He told me it m.u.f.fles sounds until he is almost helpless in it. His feet can't feel the ground, and he doesn't know which way to turn."

"He cannot possibly go far, and he cannot get lost." Philip's tone was becoming a little edged.

"All the same, it worries me to have him out this way."

Philip started toward the door.

"Shall I go search for him?" His voice, unknown to himself, was heavy.

Claire glanced at him quickly. Her intuition told her he was jealous, and she saw he was angry. She wanted to shout at him, "Go find Lawrence!" and she was surprised at the sudden panicky nervousness that seized her. But she rose calmly and crossed to the fireplace, saying as she sat down, "No, thank you; I think he is able to take care of himself."

Philip also seated himself.

"I think he is," he said. "Certainly he thinks so, and comes near enough to proving his a.s.sertion."

She was both angry and pleased with his words.

"I never saw a man less handicapped by misfortune," she remarked.

"He does do very well."

"Lawrence seems all capable sense-nerves, and he is so very efficient with his touch. What a keen appreciation of beauty he has!"

"I think he does remarkably well."

"In the hills he used to describe scenes to me, and do it accurately just from their sound; running water and wind in the trees," she went on, not noticing Philip's short replies.

"Yes, that is quite surprising."

"He certainly has taught me a great deal about blindness."

"a.s.sociation with him does do that."

"Do you know, I believe he is one of the most unusual men I have ever known."

Philip rose quickly.

"Doubtless. He is not the only topic of conversation our friendship permits, is he, Claire?"

She looked up at him, and rose immediately, her eyes flashing.

"I think you are more selfish with your theories of altruism than he with his egoism."

Philip looked quietly back at her.

"Perhaps I am where the woman I love is concerned."

Claire turned away and walked angrily toward her room.

"I see you can't maintain a friendship," she exclaimed.

"Meaning, you cannot." Philip's voice was bitter.

She turned quickly and looked at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, fearing.

"I mean that you are unfair. You ask me not to talk of my love, you wish to talk friendship, while you are forcing me by your every word and act to think of my own misery."

Claire stood aghast before him. His words seemed to her to be an accusation so grossly false that she was stunned beyond anger.

"I don't understand," she said anxiously.

"You ought to understand. I love you, I cannot help but love you, fight it as I will. You say you cannot love me because of your husband. Yet your talk is not of your husband, but of this blind man. You say you desire friendship, yet you allow me all that a woman allows her accepted suitor."

Claire was appalled. She stared at him in amazement, faltering.

"Why, Philip, I--what is the matter? I don't do any such thing."

He laughed.

"Of course not," he replied. "You look at me with that warm light in your eyes, because you think I am not human. I am a mere duenna, a chaperon, perhaps."

She sank into a chair and covered her face. "I didn't think," she moaned, and could say no more. A thousand memories of her intimate treatment of Philip swept through her mind. She had considered him as one of her own family, without thought, without intent, because she had believed so strongly in his a.s.surance of friendship. After a pause, she gathered her thoughts.