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Haberton hoped it would pass off; Claudia was not to feel alarmed; Pinsett had again proved herself invaluable, and between them they could nurse the patient comfortably. Claudia hastened to the second letter. Her fears were justified.
"So natural to young heads," said Aunt Ruth, with a shake of her curls. But Claudia was ashamed of herself, and ran upstairs for the first letter. A hasty glance showed her that, whilst it began in ordinary gossip, the long postscript dealt with a more serious subject. Mr. Haberton was ill; he had driven home late at night from a distance, and had taken a chill. Mrs.
"My dear," she said one day, when her daughter had been more than commonly eloquent upon the want of purpose in her life, "why don't you think of some occupation?" "But what occupation?" said Claudia. "Here I am at home, with everything around me, and no wants to supply " "That is something," put in Mrs. Haberton.
Haberton recovered very slowly, and was warned always to use the utmost care. Mrs. Haberton, when the worst of her husband's illness was over, showed signs of collapse herself. Claudia gave herself up to a new ministry. Her mother no longer called for Pinsett; Mr. Haberton found an admirable successor to his trained nurse.
He stared from one of these people to another, and his heart went down down. He saw that his case was hopeless. He had no one to help him or to advise him, and he had less than eleven dollars in his pocket. "What do you propose to do?" he asked, weakly. "I have already telegraphed to Richard Haberton," said Jones.
"Oh, yes, people always tell you that; but after all, wouldn't it be better to have life to face, and to " "Poor dear!" said Mrs. Haberton, stroking her daughter's cheek with a thin hand. "Please don't, mamma," said Claudia; "you know how I dislike being petted like a child." "My dear," said Mrs. Haberton, "I feel my pain again; do give me my medicine."
Haberton, immersed in affairs, had little time to consider his daughter's whims. Mrs. Haberton, long an invalid, was too much occupied in battling with her own ailments, and bearing the pain which was her daily lot, to feel acute sympathy with Claudia's woes.
"What I feel," said Claudia Haberton, sitting up with a movement of indignation, "is the miserable lack of purpose in one's life." "Nothing to do?" said Mary Windsor. "To do! Yes, of a kind; common, insignificant work about which it is impossible to feel any enthusiasm." "'The trivial round'?" "Trivial enough. A thousand could do it as well or better than I can.
She confided to her mother her readiness to accept the recent invitation. "Go, my dear, by all means," said the invalid; "I am sure you must want a change, especially after so many weeks of looking after me." "Pinsett," said Claudia, salving her own conscience, "is so very careful and efficient." "And so good," added Mrs. Haberton; "you may be sure I shall be safe in her hands."
And she told others about this strange poet, who was obviously almost starving, and yet had refused to let Richard Haberton revise his play for him, and had all but refused to let Robertson Jones Inc., produce it. Before long she came to Thyrsis to say that one of her friends desired to meet him, and would he come to a supper-party. Thyrsis heard this with perplexity.
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