"That was what I thought," answered Clare. "Why don't you have luncheon in your room, mother?" she asked suddenly.
"He would think I was afraid to meet him," said the elder woman.
A long silence followed, and Clare sat down on a stiff straw chair, looking out of the window. At last she turned to her mother again.
"You couldn't tell me all about it, could you, mother dear?" she asked. "It seems to me it would be so much easier for us both. Perhaps I could help you. And I myself--I should know better how to act."
"No. I can't tell you. I only pray that I may never have to. As for you, darling--be natural. It is a very strange position to be in, but you cannot know it--you can't be supposed to know it. I wish I could have kept my secret better--but I broke down when you told me about the yacht. You can only help me in one way--don't ask me questions, dear. It would be harder for me, if you knew--indeed it would. Be natural. You need not run after them, you know--"
"I should think not!" cried Clare indignantly.
"I mean, you need not go and sit by them and talk to them for long at a time. But don't be suddenly cold and rude to their son. There's nothing against--I mean, it has nothing to do with him. You mustn't think it has, you know. Be natural--be yourself."
"It's not altogether easy to be natural under the circumstances," Clare answered, with some truth, and a great deal of repressed curiosity which she did her best to hide away altogether for her mother's sake.
At luncheon the Johnstones were all three placed on the opposite side of the table, and Brook was no longer Clare's neighbour. The Bowrings were already in their places when the three entered, Sir Adam giving his arm to his wife, who seemed to need help in walking, or at all events to be glad of it. Brook followed at a little distance, and Clare saw that he was looking at her regretfully, as though he wished himself at her side again. Had she been less young and unconscious and thoroughly innocent, she must have seen by this time that he was seriously in love with her.
Sir Adam held his wife's chair for her, with somewhat old-fashioned courtesy, and pushed it gently as she sat down. Then he raised his head, and his eyes met Mrs. Bowring's. For a few moments they looked at each other. Then his expression changed and softened, as it had when he had first met Clare, but Mrs. Bowring's face grew hard and pale. He did not sit down, but to his wife's surprise walked quietly all round the end of the table and up the other side to where Mrs. Bowring sat. She knew that he was coming, and she turned a little to meet his hand. The English old maids watched the proceedings with keen interest from the upper end.