# Madame Claire/Chapter 22

Judy reached London at ten o'clock one night, tired but in the best of spirits. She felt that she was returning, thanks to Stephen, to a new life. Eaton Square no longer seemed to her a prison. Money had opened the doors of that solemn house. Millie's powers of suppression and repression had been lessened. Noel's departure for Germany no longer hung over her like a tragedy. What was there to prevent her going to see him half way through that interminable year?
She felt that she had never appreciated money before. It cut binding ropes like a knife. It gave one seven league boots. A pair of wings, too. People who belittled its powers were either hypocrites or fools. Why did old people prefer to make young people glad when they were dead instead of glad while they were alive?
After helping to disentangle her luggage, Noel took her back to the dark house in Eaton Square. A light had been left burning half way up the stairs, but Millie, as a protest against this trip that she had never approved of—"It isn't as ​though Mr. de Lisle were a relation," she had frequently said—had gone early to bed, followed by her obedient John.
The two crept up to Judy's room and talked until nearly two. Noel heard all about Cannes and about the people she had met there, including Mr. Colebridge, whom he at once decided he wanted to know.
"He's coming to London in a few days," said Judy, "so your wish may be granted."
Finally he consented to talk about himself. He had heard that afternoon that their departure had been postponed and that they were not leaving for a week—he and his chief with the ridiculous name. He thought he was going to like the job, and it was wonderful how his German was beginning to come back to him at the very thought of the journey.
"The only drawback to the whole thing," he said, "is the feeling that I'm leaving you to fight your battles alone."
That was the moment she had waited for. She told him why she was not utterly dashed to earth by his going. His delight was equal to her own.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Stephen's an old sportsman! I wish there were more like him. I can hardly wait to tell him what I think of him. ​Judy, with an income of her own! What will you do with it besides coming to see me?"
She hesitated, and then said flushing but meeting his eyes courageously:
"I'm thinking of marrying Chip with it, Noel."
He wasn't altogether astonished, nor did he pretend to be; but although he had discussed that possibility with her more or less seriously before, he felt he ought now point out its very obvious drawbacks. It would mean an arduous life, with few pleasures.
"I'm almost afraid to encourage you to do it, old girl," he said. "Only I like him so much. He may be a dreamer, and he may be unpractical, and that book of his may not be worth the paper it's written on, for all I know. But I do know that he's one of the very best fellows I ever met. One of the very best. And he's hard hit."
"It's awful—this deciding," said Judy. "That's where Claire and Stephen have the advantage of us. They can just live from day to day and take what the gods bring. And if they don't bring anything—well, they've lived. But this not knowing what to do with your life—this trying to make the most of it and not knowing how—it's hell, sometimes."
​"Poor old Judy! 'Standing with reluctant feet——' Is that it? But I know what you mean."
"Tell me," she said, "are you sure, are you absolutely sure that Chip——?"
"Is hard hit? Good Lord! A baby could have seen it. All the same you'll have your work cut out for you. He's so terribly modest. He doesn't seem to think that you or any other woman would give him a thought."
Later she remembered that she had news for him, and wondered how she could have forgotten it.
"Noel, I meant to have told you before. About Chiozzi. You haven't heard, have you?"
"Chiozzi? No. What about him?"
"He's dead. He was stabbed—by that pretty dancer, Mlle. Pauline, they think."
Noel looked concerned.
"That's the worst news I've heard in a long time."
"The worst? What do you mean?"
"It's most upsetting, in fact. Connie told me the other day that Petrovitch's second wife, an American, had just divorced him."
"Well? I'm not surprised at that."
​"Well, don't you see? She'll marry Petrovitch now, and be miserable forever after."
"Marry him?" Judy was incredulous. "She wouldn't be such a fool."
"Ho! Wouldn't she? You don't know your Aunt Constance as well as I do. And I won't be here to prevent it. Hang it all! I wish Chiozzi hadn't got himself done in just now."
"Let's not tell her," suggested Judy.
"That's no good. She's probably heard from her solicitors in Paris already. I haven't seen her for two or three days. She's at Eastbourne and won't be back till the day after to-morrow. What's to be done now, I wonder? I never guessed that a fallen aunt would be such a responsibility."
"But," said Judy, "suppose she does marry Petrovitch. Wouldn't that be a solution, in a way?"
Noel's jaw looked uncompromisingly firm at that moment.
"Not in the way I would like. Connie's a fool, but she's not bad. Petrovitch is a brute. If she marries him she's done for, for good."
"Leave it to Claire. She'll find a way to stop it."
"No, she won't. She can't. I've got more ​influence with Connie than anybody, but if she sees a chance of marrying Petrovitch she won't listen to me, even."
He sat for a moment lost in thought, then looked at his watch.
"Well, this wants thinking out. Get to bed, Judy. You're dead tired. I hope they're pleasant to you at breakfast. They seemed to think you had no right to go away and enjoy yourself."
"What will they say when they hear I've accepted this settlement from Stephen?"
"You leave them to me," he said.
Judy kissed him.
"Good night, you wonderfullest of brothers!"
Three days later, Judy was at Madame Claire's when Mr. Colebridge was announced.
"I knew he'd come," she whispered.
He came, looking exactly as he had looked at Cannes. His heavy and rather expressionless face never lost its look of solemn imperturbability. No smile disturbed his features at sight of Judy, though he could not have known he would meet her there. Madame Claire extended a hand with lace at the wrist.
"Mr. Colebridge! How nice of you to come and see an old lady! I've heard so much about ​you from Mr. de Lisle and my granddaughter that I feel I know you quite well."
He took her hand.
"It's real kind of you to welcome me like this." He turned to Judy. "Well, Miss Pendleton, I'm glad to see you got here safe and sound. Cannes seemed sorter dead after you left it, so I made up my mind to pull up stakes and quit."
"But you had to come on business," she reminded him.
"That's so. There's a lot of different kinds of business. Seems as if I kinder knew you too, Lady Gregory. Say, I'm just cracked about that old Mr. de Lisle. He sure is a fine old gentleman."
"I think he's rather nice," agreed Madame Claire. "You saw him the most recently. Tell us how he was?"
"Just living for the day when he can get back here. But improving right along. I said to him, 'Mr. de Lisle,' I said, 'I guess you'll pine away if you don't get to London soon.' And that's just what he'd do. He'd pine away. Mind if I smoke a cigar, Lady Gregory?"
"No, no. Do smoke. You were very kind to him and to Judy there. She's told me about the delightful trips you took."
​"Well, say, it was a pleasure. I don't take much stock in scenery. I like to have folks to talk to. Maybe we can take some rides around London later on, Miss Pendleton."
Judy was surprised. Surely she had made herself clear. Or was it that he merely wished to continue friendly relations? She replied evasively, and Madame Claire changed the subject for her.
"How long will you be in London?" she asked.
"A matter of six months or so, I shouldn't wonder. I'm not figuring on going back just yet. We've got some factories over here that I want to look into, and I may run over to Paris later on."
"Do you know London at all?"
"No, but my chauffeur does, so I don't worry. I picked up an English chauffeur in Cannes, Miss Pendleton. The French fellow I had wouldn't leave his wife and family, and anyway, he didn't speak any language that I could understand. But with this English chauffeur, if I listen real carefully, I can pick up a word now and then."
They laughed at this. Madame Claire felt that she was going to enjoy Mr. Colebridge.
"You seem to be interested in a great many things," she remarked presently. "Didn't I ​understand Judy to say that the theater was one of them?'
"Only from a business point of view," he explained. "I don't claim to know anything about the stage. But when I see that a certain theater is about to go smash because it's been managed by a lot of bone-heads, why, I don't mind lending a hand. I practically own one in New York, and one in Cincinnati. There's another one in New York that looks like getting into difficulties pretty soon."
"Ah! And then you step in. But does that mean that you can put on certain plays, and have an actual voice in the production of them?"
"Well, I don't concern myself much with that side of it. I don't know a good play from a bad one. I like a good lively show now and then. But if I wanted a certain play put on, I'd get it put on, all right."
Judy wondered why it was that financial weight and an understanding of the arts so seldom went hand in hand. Madame Claire pursued a line of thought of her own for a moment or two while Mr. Colebridge enlarged upon his powers.
And then, most unexpectedly, Dawson opened the door and announced Major Crosby.
How strange that those two men should meet, ​thought Judy! She remembered telling Claire in one of her letters that it was impossible to imagine two men less alike. And now that she saw them together she knew that what she had said was true.
Major Crosby was introduced to Mr. Colebridge, who was pleased to make his acquaintance, and Madame Claire ordered tea.
"This is a wonderful afternoon for me," she said. "I don't often have so many visitors. It's very exciting."
It didn't take Chip more than a second or two to place the other caller. Judy had mentioned an American she had met in Cannes, and lo! Here he was. She had only been home two or three days. He hadn't waited very long before following after. Judy tried to talk to him, but Mr. Colebridge had the floor and meant to keep it. Chip retired into his shell—that haven of refuge from which he seldom advanced very far in company—and contented himself with looking and listening. He looked chiefly at Judy. She was looking very lovely, he thought. No wonder that people followed her from Cannes to London. Powerful, authoritative-looking people, who booked large outside cabins on ocean liners as a matter of course, and always gravitated to the ​most expensive hotels. What a fool he had been! This man could give her everything. Why not, as he seemed to own it? What was he saying?
"So I told them I wasn't having any. I told them I had all the irons in the fire I wanted. It was a good thing all right, but say, what's the good of any more money to me? I've got all I want right now. And if I ever do make any more, it will be just to turn it over to my wife if I've got one"—he looked straight at Judy as he said it—"and say, 'There you are. It's yours to do as you like with. Throw it away, spend it, it's all the same to me. So long as you have a good time with it, and it makes you happy.'"
"And of course it will," said Judy with faint sarcasm.
"Sure it will," he agreed, taking her words at their face value. "I guess it's what every woman wants. Isn't that so, Lady Gregory?"
Madame Claire regarded him seriously.
"You never can tell, Mr. Colebridge," she said. "Women are the most unaccountable creatures. Sometimes it takes more than money to make them happy."
"Oh, well," Mr. Colebridge defended the sex, "when it comes to unreasonableness, I guess men aren't all reasonable either."
​Judy glanced at Chip, hoping to catch a twinkle of amusement in his eye, but he was looking at Mr. Colebridge.
Chip stayed for an hour or more, saying very little, seeming to prefer listening to talking.
"You make me such very short visits," complained Madame Claire when he got up to go. "I hardly have time to say five words to you before you're off again. But perhaps you'll pay me another visit soon."
"My plans are rather unsettled just now," said Chip vaguely. "May I ring you up one day?"
"Yes, do."
He turned to Judy.
"Tell me," she asked as she took his hand, "are you prefectly well again? No more of those headaches?"
"Oh, yes, I'm as well as ever, thank you. I've almost forgotten that it ever happened—I mean as far as the injuries are concerned."
Judy smiled at him, sorry because she knew he felt he had said something stupid.
"Noel wants to see you, too. We must meet again soon."
"I want to see him. I'll write. It's just possible that I may go away soon, but I'll let you know."
​He said good-by to Mr. Colebridge, who shook him by the hand, and in a moment he was gone.
"Could anything," Judy asked herself, "be more unsatisfactory?"
She stayed half an hour longer, hoping for a few words alone with Madame Claire, but as Mr. Colebridge made no move she presently got up to go.
"Good-by, Claire, dear. Let me know the moment you get a wire from Stephen."
Mr. Colebridge also rose.
"My car's outside," he said. "I trust you'll allow me to drop you at your home, Miss Pendleton."
She was about to refuse on the grounds that she wanted a walk, but thought better of it. It would be a good opportunity for a few words with him. She kissed Madame Claire, and Mr. Colebridge, after announcing his intention of coming again soon, followed her out.
The same car, a different chauffeur, and very different surroundings. Mr. Colebridge, however, was as unchanged as his car.
"That's a lovely old lady," he remarked as they left the hotel.
"Isn't she wonderful?"
"I hope," he said, "that we can sorter meet ​there often. I don't mind telling you, Miss Pendleton, that when I say I'm here on business, that business is partly you. I don't get easily cast down. I kinder bob up again. Now," he went on as she tried to interrupt, "I hope, little girl, that you're going to reconsider. I'm here to try to persuade you to reconsider."
"It's quite out of the question, Mr. Colebridge. I told you so before. Do, please, believe me this time."
"It's that voice of yours that gets me," he replied. "You'd make a hit in America, all right."
"You're hopeless!" she exclaimed. "I simply don't understand American men. But perhaps they're not all like you. You won't learn anything! It's like . . . it's like trying to teach an elephant to dance."
"Go ahead. Don't mind me."
"Very well, I will. The trouble with you is, you've no diffidence. You've never tried to see yourself as others see you. You're just Mr. Whitman Colebridge of Cincinnati—wherever that is—and you're worth I don't know and don't care how much, and as far as you're concerned, that's enough. You've never asked yourself if you lack anything. You're perfectly satisfied with ​yourself as you are. Perfectly. Isn't that true?"
He considered this, studying the end of a fresh cigar.
"I can't see," he said, "that I'm any worse than the general run."
"No. You don't see. You don't see anything that isn't business. You've gone through life like a rocket, with a good deal of noise and a lot of speed, and that's all."
"Well, there's no harm in a rocket," he said easily. "It gives people something to look at, and it's real pretty when it bursts."
Judy laughed helplessly.
"Perhaps if you'd do the same I might like you better. But at present you're so swollen with success that you're intolerable."
"Bully for you! That was straight from the shoulder."
"But what's the good of it? It goes in one ear and out the other. Well, here's something that will stick, perhaps. You met a Major Crosby at my grandmother's this afternoon."
"That his name? Quiet sorter fellow."
"Yes. I'm going to marry him."
She watched his face and saw that not a muscle of it changed.
"That so? I guessed there must be some one. ​Well, you won't hear me squeal. You've been fair and square with me, and I guess I can take my medicine."
"Now I'm beginning to like you better. I've liked some things about you all the time, even when you irritated me most. I'm sorry we can't be friends, but I see that's out of the question too."
"I'm not so sure. I'll just stick around for a while and see what happens, anyhow. You're the first woman who's ever taken enough interest in me to criticize me, and I think it's a hopeful sign. You engaged to that fellow?"
They had reached the house in Eaton Square.
"That," she said, shaking hands with him, "I prefer not to say."
"Oh, well," he answered, returning to the car, "I just kinder thought I'd ask."