She noticed a faint suspicion in his expression and voice.

"I know. I've been too eager, too keen on the opera. I haven't realized what a strain you are going through. But--it's just like a woman, I'm afraid!--now I see another urging you on, I see plainly. It may be jealousy--"

"You jealous of old Jernington!"

"I believe I am a tiny bit. But, apart really from that, you are looking dreadful these last few days. When you asked Jernington to prolong his visit I was horrified. You see, he's come to it all fresh. And then he's not creating. That's the tiring work. It's all very well helping and criticising."

"That's very true," Claude said.

He sighed heavily. She had told him that he was very tired, and he felt that he was very tired.

"It is a great strain," he added.

"It has got to stop, Claude."

There was a little silence. Then she said:

"These extra months have made a great difference, haven't they?"

"Enormous."

"You've got on very far?"

"Farther than I had thought would be possible."

Her heart bounded. But she only said:

"There's a boat to Ma.r.s.eilles the day after to-morrow. Old Jernington is going by it."

"Oh, but Charmian, we can't pack the dear old fellow--"

"The dear old fellow is going by that boat, Claudie."

"But what a tyrant you are!"

"I've been selfish. My keenness about your work has blinded me.

Jernington has made me see. We've been two slave-drivers. It can't go on. If he could stay and be different--but he can't. He's a marvel of learning, but he has only one subject--orchestration. You've got to forget that for a little. So Jernington must go. Dear old boy! When I see your pale cheeks and your burning eyes I--I--"

Tears came into her eyes. From beneath the trickster the woman arose.

Her own words touched her suddenly, made her understand how Claude had sacrificed himself to his work, and so to her ambition. She got up and turned away.

"Old Jernington shall go by the _Marechal Bugeaud_," she said, in a voice that slightly shook.

And by the _Marechal Bugeaud_ old Jernington did go.

So ingeniously did Charmian manage things that he believed he went of his own accord, indeed that it had been his "idea" to go. She told Claude to leave it to her and not to say one word. Then she went to Jernington, and began to talk of his extraordinary influence over her husband. He soon pulled at his boots, thrust his cuffs up his arms, and showed other unmistakable symptoms of gratification.

"You can do anything with him," she said presently. "I wish I could."

Jernington protested with guttural exclamations.

"He's killing himself," she resumed. "And I have to sit by and see it, and say nothing."

"Killing himself!"

Jernington, who believed in women, was shocked.

"With overwork. He's on the verge of a complete breakdown. And it's you, Mr. Jernington, it's all you!"

Jernington was more than shocked. His gratification had vanished. A piteous, almost a guilty expression, came into his large fair face.

"Ach!" he exclaimed. "What have I done?"

"Oh, it's not your fault. But Claude almost worships you. He thinks there is no one like you. He's afraid to lose a moment of time while you are with him. Your learning, your enthusiasm excite him till he's beside himself. He can't rest with such a worker as you in the house, and no wonder. You are an inspiration to him. Who could rest with such an influence near? What are we to do? Unless he has a complete holiday he is going to break completely down. Do watch him to-day! Notice! See for yourself!"

Jernington, much impressed--for Charmian's despair had been very definite indeed, "oleographic in type," as she acknowledged to herself--did notice, did see for himself, and inquired innocently of Charmian what was to be done.

"I leave that to you," she answered, fixing her eyes almost hypnotically upon him.

Secretly she was willing him to go. She was saying in her mind: "Go! Go!

Go!" was striving to "suggestion" him.

"Perhaps--" he paused, and pulled his cuffs down over his large, pale hands.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps I had better take him away for a little holiday."

She could have slapped him. But she only said eagerly:

"To England, you mean! Why not? There's a boat going the day after to-morrow take your pa.s.sage on the _Marechal Bugeaud_. Don't say a word to Claude. But and leave the rest to me. I know how to manage Claude.

And if I get a little help from you!"

Old Jernington took his pa.s.sage on the _Marechal Bugeaud_ and left the rest to Charmian, with this result. Late the next night, when they were all going to bed, she whispered to him, "I've put a note in your room.

Don't say a word to him!" She touched her lips. Much intrigued by all this feminine diplomacy Jernington went to his room, and found the following note under a candlestick. (Charmian had a sense of the dramatic.)

"DEAR MR. JERNINGTON,--Claude _won't_ go. It's no use for me to say anything. He is in a highly nervous state brought on by this overwork. I see the only thing is to let him have his own way in everything. Don't even mention that we had thought of this holiday in England. The least thing excites him. And as he _won't_ go, what is the use of speaking of it? If I can get him to join you later well and good. For the moment we can only give in and be discreet. You have been such a dear to us both. The house will seem quite different without you. _Not a word to Claude. Burn this!_ "C. H."

And old Jernington burnt it in the flame of the candle, and went away alone on the _Marechal Bugeaud_ the next morning, with apologies to Claude.

The house did seem to Charmian quite different without him.

CHAPTER XXVII

Two days later, on the 4th of September, Charmian had got rid of Claude as well as of old Jernington, and, in a condition of expectation that was tinged agreeably with triumph, was awaiting the arrival of important visitors. She had received a telegram from Lake: