Claire lost no time in writing to Miss Farnborough to apply for the post of French mistress if it were still vacant, and by return of post received a cordial reply.  Several applications had been received, but no appointment had been made, and the Head was pleased to confirm her previous offer of a commencing salary of a hundred and ten pounds, and would expect Miss Gifford to take up her duties at the beginning of the autumn term.  She congratulated her on her decision, and felt sure she would never regret devoting her life to so interesting and valuable a work, instead of being content to waste it in the pursuit of idle pleasure.

Poor Claire looked a little dubious as she read those last words.  The pursuit of pleasure does not as a rule begin to pall at twenty-one; and the old life looked very sweet and pleasant viewed from the new standpoint of change.  She put on a bright face, however, and sternly repressed all signs of depression in discussing the matter with her mother and Mr Judge.  Her determination evoked the expected opposition, but slowly and surely the opposition decreased, and her arguments were listened to with increasing respect.  The lovers were sincerely desirous of securing the girl’s happiness, but middle-aged though they were, they were deeply in love, and felt a natural desire to begin their married life without the presence of a third person, however dear that person might be.

Mr Judge applauded Claire’s spirit, and prophesied her rapid success as a teacher.  Mrs Gifford murmured sweetly, “And if you don’t like it, dear, you can always come out by the next boat.  Try it for a year.  It will be quite an amusing experience to live the life of a bachelor girl.  And, of course, in a year or two we’ll be coming home.  Then you must spend the whole leave with us.  We’ll see, won’t we?  We won’t make any plans, but just be guided by circumstances.  If you want somewhere to go in the holidays, there’s my old Aunt Mary in Preston, but you’d be bored to sobs, darling.  No doubt Miss Farnborough will introduce you to lots of nice people in London, and you will have all the fifteen other mistresses to take you about.  I expect you’ll be quite gay! ...  Claire, darling, would you have gold tissue under this ninon, or just a handsome lace?”

For the next few weeks things moved quickly.  In answer to inquiries about lodgings, Miss Farnborough wrote a second time to say that Miss Rhodes, the English mistress, had comfortable rooms which she was sharing with the present French teacher.  She was willing to continue the arrangement, and, as a stranger in town, Claire would doubtless find it agreeable as well as economical.  The letter was entirely business-like and formal, and, as such, a trifle chilling to Claire, for Miss Farnborough had been so warm in her spoken invitation that Claire had expected a more cordial welcome.  Could it be that the shadow of officialdom was already making itself felt?

The next few weeks were given up to trousseau-hunting and farewell visits, and no girl could have shown a livelier interest in the selection of pretty things than did this bride of thirty-nine.  Claire came in for a charming costume to wear at the wedding, and for the rest, what fitted her mother fitted herself, and as Mrs Gifford said sweetly, “It would be a sin to waste all my nice things, but they’re quite unsuitable for India.  Just use them out, darling, for a month or two, and then get what you need,” an arrangement which seemed sensible enough, if one could only be sure of money to supply that need when it arose!

The day before her marriage Mrs Gifford thrust an envelope into her daughter’s hand, blushing the while with an expression of real distress.

“I’m so sorry, darling, that it’s so little.  I’ve tried to be careful, but the money has flown.  Going out to India one needs so many clothes, and there were quite a number of bills.  I’ll send more by and by, and remember always to say if you run short.  I want you to have plenty for all you need.  With what you have, this will see you nicely through your first term, and after that you’ll be quite rich.”

Claire kissed her, and was careful not to look at the cheque until she was alone.  She had counted on at least a hundred to put in the bank as a refuge against a rainy day.  Surely at this parting of the ways mother would wish her to have this security; but when she looked at her cheque, it was to discover that it was made out for fifty pounds-only half that sum.  Claire felt sore at that moment, and for the first time a chill of fear entered into her anticipations.  Fifty pounds seemed a dreadfully small sum to stand between herself and want.  A hundred might be only twice its value, but its three figures sounded so much more substantial.  She struggled hard to allow no signs of resentment to be seen, and felt that virtue was rewarded, when late that evening Mr Judge presented her with yet another envelope, saying awkwardly-

“That’s-er-that’s the bridesmaid’s present.  Thought you’d like to choose for yourself.  Something to do, you know, some fine half-holiday, to go out and look in the shops.  I’ve no views-don’t get jewellery unless you wish.  Just-er-`blew it’ your own way!”

Claire kissed him, and remarked that he was a sweet old dear; and this time the opening of the envelope brought a surprise of an agreeable nature, for this cheque also was for fifty pounds, so that the desired hundred was really in her possession.  No jewellery for her!  Into the bank the money should go-every penny of it, and her bridesmaid present should be represented by peace of mind, which, after the financial shock of the last month, seemed more precious than many rubies.

Mr and Mrs Judge were married at the Embassy, and afterwards at an English church, the bride looking her most charming self in a costume of diaphanous chiffon and lace and the most fascinating of French hats, and the bridegroom his worst in his stiff conventional garments.  They were a very radiant couple, however, and the dejeuner held after the ceremony at the “Hotel Britannique” was a cheerful occasion, despite the parting which lay ahead.

The gathering was quite a large one, for Mr Judge had insisted upon inviting all the friends who had been kind to his fiancee and her daughter during their three years’ sojourn in the city, while the pensionnaires at “Villa Beau Sejour” came en masse, headed by Madame herself, in a new black silk costume, her white transformation elaborately waved and curled for the occasion.

There were speeches, and there were toasts.  There were kindly words of farewell and cheerful anticipations of future meetings, there were good wishes for the bride and bridegroom, and more good wishes for the bridesmaid, and many protestations that it was “her turn next.”

Then the bride retired to change her dress.  Claire went with her, and tried valiantly not to cry as she fastened buttons and hooks, and realised how long it might be before she next waited on her mother.  Mrs Judge was tearful, too, and the two knew a bitter moment as they clung together for the real farewell before rejoining the guests.

“I’ve been careless; I’ve made a mess of things.  I’ve not been half as thoughtful as I should have been,” sobbed the bride, “but I have loved you, Claire, and this will make no difference!  I shall love you just the same.”

Claire flushed and nodded, but could not trust herself to speak.  The love of a mother in far-off India could never be the same as the love of the dear companion of every day.  But she was too generous to add to her mother’s distress by refusing to be comforted, and the bride nervously powdered her eyes, and re-arranged her veil before descending to the hall, anxious as ever to shelve a painful subject, and turn her face to the sun.

Five minutes later Mr and Mrs Judge drove away from the door, and the girl who was left behind turned slowly to re-enter the hotel.  It was very big, and fine, and spacious, but at that moment it was a type of desolation in Claire’s eyes.  With a sickening wave of loneliness she realised that she was motherless and alone!