The function of passing a moral judgment on Claudia’s conduct at this juncture is one that the historian respectfully declines.  It is easy to blame fair damsels for recklessness in the use of their dangerous weapons; and if they take the censure to heart—­which is not usually the case—­easy again to charge them with self-consciousness or self-conceit.  We do not know their temptations and may not presume to judge them.  And it may well be thought that Claudia would have been guilty of an excessive appreciation of herself had her conduct been influenced by the thought that such a man as Stafford was likely to fall in love with her.  Of the conscious design of attracting him she must be acquitted, for she acted under the force of a strong attraction exercised by him.  Her mind was not entirely engrossed in the pleasures, and what she imagined to be the duties, of her station.  She had a considerable, if untrained and erratic, instinct toward religion, and exhibited that leaning toward the mysterious and visionary which is the common mark of an acute mind that has not been presented with any methodical course of training worthy of its abilities.  Such a temperament could not fail to be powerfully influenced by Stafford; and when an obvious and creditable explanation lies on the surface, it is an ungracious task to probe deeper in the hope of coming to something less praiseworthy.  Claudia herself certainly undertook no such research.  It was not her habit to analyze her motives; and, if asked the reasons of her conduct, she would no doubt have replied that she sought Stafford because she liked him.  Perhaps, if further pressed, she would have admitted that she found him occasionally a useful refuge against attentions from two other quarters which she found it necessary to avoid; in the one case because she would have liked them, in the other for exactly the opposite reason.

It cannot, however, be supposed that this latter line of diplomacy could be permanently successful.  When you only meet your suitor at dances or operas, it may be no hard task to be always surrounded by a chevaux-de-frise of other admirers.  We have all seen that maneuver brilliantly and patiently executed.  But when you are staying at a country house with any man of average pertinacity, I make bold to say that nothing short of taking to bed can be permanently relied upon.  If this is the case with the ordinary man, how much more does it hold good when the assailant is one like Haddington—­a man of considerable address, unbounded persistence, and limitless complacency?  There came a time when Claudia’s forced marches failed her, and she had to turn and give battle.  When the moment came she was prepared with an audacious plan of campaign.

She had walked down to the village one morning, attended by Haddington and protected by Bob, to buy for Mrs. Lane a fresh supply of worsted wool, a commodity apparently necessary to sustain that lady’s life, and was returning at peace, when Bob suddenly exclaimed: