in general were suffering from his absence. The very next day James Daintree led Claire Harding into her father’s library, and, even with his face in happy flames, struck an attitude before the writing-table.
“She is mine!” he cried. “She has consented to share the poet’s bays—to divide with Esau his inheritance in the wilderness!”
It was notable that no consent was asked of Nicholas Harding. He sat back in his chair with a stifled sigh of unspeakable relief. Claire never forgot how his hand felt as he took both of hers and drew her towards him.
“But you spoke of sailing at once,” said he, cloaking eagerness with an air of extreme deprecation. “It would have to be a very hurried affair!”
The first cloud crossed Daintree’s face.
“Ah, no!” said he. “I could not take her at a moment’s notice to a house unfit for her reception. I must go and prepare it for her; that is a stern necessity. But you must bring her out to me yourself in six months’ time.”
Mr. Harding shook his head. He was a public man.
“Then Lady Starkie must.”
Mr. Harding spoke warmly and unselfishly in favour of an immediate marriage. To no purpose, however; they had indeed made up their minds, though the reason was not that which Daintree had given. Vanity forbade him to disclose the real reason. It was her solitary but firm stipulation; and so much for his brave desire to get first to Sydney on Claire’s account.
He was to sail in seven days.
Meanwhile the engagement was announced in the Morning Post of January 15th.
