He opened the window, and Clare stepped out among the pigeons that rose in a cloud to meet her. Claude followed her slowly. Agnes watched them without leaving her seat. They stood side by side in the fading light. “God help her! God help her!” said Agnes, in a low voice. CHAPTER XVII. |I wonder if you will think our life here desperately dull,” said Agnes, when she had dined _tête-à-tête_ with Clare that same night. “I wonder will you beg of me to turn you out after you have experienced a week of our country life.” “I don't think it very likely,” said Clare. “I feel too deeply your kindness in taking me in. You see, I was not brought up to look upon much society as indispensable. We lived in many places on the Continent, my mother and I, but we never mingled with the English colony in any place. My mother seemed to shun her own countrypeople. We made only a few friends in Italy, and even fewer during the two years we were in Spain. Of course, when we went to Egypt we had to be more or less with the English there; but I suppose my mother had her own reasons for never becoming amalgamated with the regular colony. As a rule, we saw very little society; and, indeed, I don't feel as if I wanted much more now. I think I have become pretty independent of my fellow-creatures. If I am allowed to paint all day and to sing all night, I'll ask for nothing more.” “You will sing for me to-night,” said Agnes, “and to-morrow you can begin your painting. I suppose you had many chances of studying both arts in Italy.” “No one could have had more,” replied Clare. “I know that my education generally was neglected. I'm not sure of my spelling of English, and as for my sums, I know they are deplorable. But my dear mother was afraid that one day I might find myself compelled to earn money to live, and she said that no girl ever made money by spelling and working out sums.” “I think she was right in that idea. Being a governess is not the same as making money. And so she gave you a chance of studying painting and music? But painting and music do not invariably mean making money either.” Clare laughed. “No one knows that better than I do, Miss Mowbray,” she cried. “Please do not call me Miss Mowbray,” said Agnes. “Have I once called you Miss Tristram? My name is not a horrid one. It does not set one's teeth on edge to pronounce it. Now don't say that there's such a difference between our ages; there really is not, you know.” “I shall never call you anything but Agnes again,” said the girl. “That's right; and perhaps in time I shall come to think myself as young as you are. The story of your education interests me greatly. Pray continue it. Did you learn painting or singing first? I suppose that question is absurd; you must have found your voice when you were a child.”