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diff --git a/40264-0.txt b/40264-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94ab52b --- /dev/null +++ b/40264-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15759 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40264 *** + + REGIMENT OF WOMEN + + + + + [Illustration: Publisher's Device] + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS + ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO + + MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED + LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA + MELBOURNE + + THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. + TORONTO + + + + + REGIMENT OF WOMEN + + + BY + CLEMENCE DANE + + + 'The monstrous empire of a cruell woman we knowe to be the + onlie occasion of all these miseries: and yet with silence + we passe the time as thogh the mater did nothinge appertein + to us.' + JOHN KNOX, _First Blast of the Trumpet against + the Monstrous Regiment of Women_. + + + New York + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + 1922 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1917, + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + + Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1917. + + Norwood Press: + Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U. S. A. + + + + + To E. A. + + Here's Our Book + As it grew. + But it's Your Book! + For, but for you, + Who'd look + At My Book? + + C. D. + + + + +REGIMENT OF WOMEN + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The school secretary pattered down the long corridor and turned into a +class-room. + +The room was a big one. There were old-fashioned casement windows and +distempered walls; the modern desks, ranged in double rows, were small +and shallow, scarred, and incredibly inky. In the window-seats stood an +over-populous fish-bowl, two trays of silkworms, and a row of +experimental jam-pots. There were pictures on the walls--_The Infant +Samuel_ was paired with _Cherry Ripe_, and Alfred, in the costume of +Robin Hood, conscientiously ignored a neat row of halfpenny buns. The +form was obviously a low one. + +Through the opening door came the hive-like hum of a school at work, but +the room was empty, save for a mistress sitting at the raised desk, +idle, hands folded, ominously patient. A thin woman, undeveloped, +sallow-skinned, with a sensitive mouth, and eyes that were bold and +shining. + +They narrowed curiously at sight of the new-comer, but she was greeted +with sufficient courtesy. + +"Yes, Miss Vigers?" + +Henrietta Vigers was spare, precise, with pale, twitching eyes and a +high voice. Her manner was self-sufficient, her speech deliberate and +unnecessarily correct: her effect was the colourless obstinacy of an +elderly mule. She stared about her inquisitively. + +"Miss Hartill, I am looking for Milly Fiske. Her mother has +telephoned----Where is the class? I can't be mistaken. It's a quarter +to one. You take the Lower Third from twelve-fifteen, don't you?" + +"Yes," said Clare Hartill. + +"Well, but--where is it?" The secretary frowned suspiciously. She was +instinctively hostile to what she did not understand. + +"I don't know," said Clare sweetly. + +Henrietta gaped. Clare, justly annoyed as she was, could not but be +grateful to the occasion for providing her with amusement. She enjoyed +baiting Henrietta. + +"I should have thought you could tell me. Don't you control the +time-table? I only know"--her anger rose again--"that I have been +waiting here since a quarter past twelve. I have waited quite long +enough, I think. I am going home. Perhaps you will be good enough to +enquire into the matter." + +"But haven't you been to look for them?" began Henrietta perplexedly. + +"No," said Clare. "I don't, you know. I expect people to come to me. And +I don't like wasting my time." Then, with a change of tone, "Really, +Miss Vigers, I don't know whose fault it is, but it has no business to +happen. The class knows perfectly well that it is due here. You must see +that I can't run about looking for it." + +"Of course, of course!" Henrietta was taken aback. "But I assure you +that it's nothing to do with me. I have rearranged nothing. Let me +see--who takes them before you?" + +Clare shrugged her shoulders. + +"How should I know? I hardly have time for my own classes----" + +Henrietta broke in excitedly. + +"It's Miss Durand! I might have known. Miss Durand, naturally. Miss +Hartill, I will see to the matter at once. It shall not happen again. I +will speak to Miss Marsham. I might have known." + +"Miss Durand?" Clare's annoyance vanished. She looked interested and a +trifle amused. "That tall girl with the yellow hair? I've heard about +her. I haven't spoken to her yet, but the children approve, don't they?" +She laughed pointedly and Henrietta flushed. "I rather like the look of +her." + +"Do you?" Henrietta smiled sourly. "I can't agree. A most unsuitable +person. Miss Marsham engaged her without consulting me--or you either, I +suppose? The niece or daughter or something, of an old mistress. I +wonder you didn't hear--but of course you were away the first fortnight. +A terrible young woman--boisterous--undignified--a bad influence on the +children!" + +Clare's eyes narrowed again. + +"Are you sure? The junior classes are working quite as well as +usual--better indeed. I've been surprised. Of course, to-day----" + +"To-day is an example. She has detained them, I suppose. It has happened +before--five minutes here--ten there--every one is complaining. +Really--I shall speak to Miss Marsham." + +"Of course, if that's the case, you had better," said Clare, rather +impatiently, as she moved towards the door. She regretted the impulse +that had induced her to explain matters to Miss Vigers. If it did not +suit her dignity to go in search of her errant pupils, still less did it +accord with a complaint to the fidgety secretary. She should have +managed the affair for herself. However--it could not be helped.... +Henrietta Vigers was looking important.... Henrietta Vigers would enjoy +baiting the new-comer--what was her name--Durand? Miss Durand would +submit, she supposed. Henrietta was a petty tyrant to the younger +mistresses, and Clare Hartill was very much aware of the fact. But the +younger mistresses did not interest her; she was no more than idly +contemptuous of their flabbiness. Why on earth had none of them appealed +to the head mistress? But the new assistant was a spirited-looking +creature.... Clare had noticed her keen nostrils--nothing sheepish +there.... And Henrietta disliked her--distinctly a point in her +favour.... Clare suspected that trouble might yet arise.... She paused +uncertainly. Even now she might herself interfere.... But Miss Durand +had certainly had no right to detain Clare's class.... It was gross +carelessness, if not impertinence.... Let her fight it out with Miss +Vigers.... Nevertheless--she wished her luck.... + +With another glance at her watch, and a cool little nod to her +colleague, she left the class-room, and was shortly setting out for her +walk home. + +Henrietta looked after her with an angry shrug. + +For the hundredth time she assured herself that she was submitting +positively for the last time to the dictates of Clare Hartill; that such +usurpation was not to be borne.... Who, after all, had been Authority's +right hand for the last twenty years? Certainly not Clare Hartill.... +Why, she could recall Clare's first term, a bare eight years ago! She +had disliked her less in those days; had respected her as a woman who +knew her business.... The school had been going through a lean year, +with Miss Marsham, the head mistress, seriously ill; with a weak staff, +and girls growing riotous and indolent. So lean a year, indeed, that +Henrietta, left in charge, had one day taken a train and her troubles to +Bournemouth, and poured them out to Authority's bath-chair. And Edith +Marsham, the old warhorse, had frowned and nodded and chuckled, and sent +her home again, no wiser than she came. But a letter had come for her +later, and the bearer had been a quiet, any-aged woman with disquieting +eyes. They had summed Henrietta up, and Henrietta had resented it. The +new assistant, given, according to instructions, a free hand, had gone +about her business, asking no advice. But there had certainly followed a +peaceful six months. Then had come speech-day and Henrietta's world had +turned upside down. She had not known such a speech-day for years. +Complacent parents had listened to amazingly efficient performances--the +guest of honour had enjoyed herself with obvious, naïve surprise: there +had been the bomb-shell of the lists. Henrietta had nothing to do with +the examinations, but she knew such a standard had not been reached for +many a long term. And the head mistress, restored and rubicund, had +alluded to her, Henrietta's, vice-regency in a neat little speech. She +had received felicitations, and was beginning, albeit confusedly, to +persuade herself that the stirring of the pie had been indeed due to her +own forefinger, when the guests left, and she had that disturbing little +interview with her principal. + +Edith Marsham had greeted her vigorously. She was still in her prime +then, old as she was. She had another six years before senility, +striking late, struck heavily. + +"Well--what do you think of her, eh? I hope you were a good girl--did as +she told you?" + +Henrietta had flushed, resenting it that Miss Marsham, certainly a head +mistress of forty years' standing, should, as she aged, treat her staff +more and more as if it were but a degree removed from the Upper Sixth. +The younger women might like it, but it did not accord with Henrietta's +notions of her own dignity. She was devoutly thankful that Miss Marsham +reserved her freedom for private interviews; had, in public at least, +the grand manner. Yet she had a respect for her; knew her dimly for a +notable dame, who could have coerced a recalcitrant cabinet as easily as +she bullied the school staff. + +She had rubbed her hands together, shrewd eyes a-twinkle. + +"I knew what I was doing! How long have you been with me, Henrietta? +Twelve years ago, eh? Ah, well, it's longer ago than that. Let me +see--she's twenty-eight now, Clare Hartill--and she left me at sixteen. +A responsibility, a great responsibility. An orphan--too much money. A +difficult child--I spent a lot of time on her, and prayer, too, my dear. +Well, I don't regret it now. When I met her at Bournemouth that day--oh, +I wasn't pleased with you, Henrietta! It has taken me forty years to +build up my school, and I can't be ill two months, but----Well, I made +up my mind. I found her at a loose end. I talked to her. She'll take +plain speaking from me. I told her she'd had enough of operas and art +schools, and literary societies (she's been running round Europe for the +last ten years). I told her my difficulty--I told her to come back to me +and do a little honest work. Of course she wouldn't hear of it." + +"Then how did you persuade Miss Hartill?" + +But Henrietta, raising prim brows, had but drawn back a chuckle from the +old woman. + +"How many types of schoolgirl have you met, Henrietta? Here, under me?" + +Henrietta fidgeted. The question was an offence. It was not in her +department. She had no note of it in her memorandum books. + +"Really--I can hardly tell you--blondes and brunettes, do you mean? No +two girls are quite the same, are they?" + +But Miss Marsham had not attended. + +"Just two--that's my experience. The girl from whom you get work by +telling her you are sure she can do it--and the girl from whom you get +work by telling her you are sure she can't. You'll soon find out which I +told Clare Hartill. And now, understand this, Henrietta. There are to be +no dissensions. I want Clare Hartill to stay. If she gets engrossed in +the work, she will. She won't interfere with you, you'll find. She's too +lazy. Get on with her if you can." + +But Henrietta had not got on with her, had resented fiercely Miss +Marsham's preferential treatment of the new-comer. That Miss Marsham was +obviously wise in her generation did not appease her _amour propre_. She +knew that where she had failed, Clare had been uncannily successful. Yet +Clare was not aggressively efficient: indeed it was a grievance that she +was so apparently casual, so gracefully indifferent. But, as if it were +a matter of course, she did whatever she set out to do so much better, +so much more graphically than it had ever been done before, that +inevitably she attracted disciples. But Henrietta's grievance went +deeper. She denied her any vestige of personal charm, and at the same +time insisted fiercely that she was an unscrupulous woman, in that she +used her personal charm to accomplish her aims: her aims, in Henrietta's +eyes, being the ousting of the secretary from her position of trust and +possible succession to the headship. Henrietta did not realise that it +was herself, far more than Clare, who was jeopardising that position. +Though there was no system of prefecture among the staff, she had come +to consider herself responsible for the junior mistresses, encouraging +them to bring complaints to her, rather than to the head of the school. +Old Miss Marsham, little as she liked relaxing her hold on the reins, +dreaded, as old age must, the tussle that would inevitably follow any +insistence on her prerogatives, and had acquiesced; yet with +reservations. Had one of the younger mistresses rebelled and carried her +grievance to the higher court, Miss Vigers' eyes might have been opened; +but as yet no one had challenged her self-assumed supremacy. Clare, who +might have done so, cared little who supervised the boarders or was +supreme in the matter of time-table and commissariat. Her interest lay +in the actual work, in the characters and possibilities of the workers. +There she brooked no interference, and Henrietta attempted little, for +when she did she was neatly and completely routed. + +But the more chary Henrietta grew of interfering with Clare's +activities, the more she realised that it was her duty (she would not +have said pleasure) to supervise the younger women. She had a gift that +was almost genius of appearing among them at awkward moments. If a child +were proving refractory and victory hanging in the balance, Miss Vigers +would surely choose that moment to knock at the class-room door, and, +politely refusing to inconvenience the embarrassed novice, wait, +all-observant, until the scene ended, before explaining her errand. +Later in the day the young mistress would be button-holed, and the i's +and t's of her errors of judgment dotted and crossed. Those who would +not submit to tutelage she contrived to render so uncomfortable that, +sooner or later, they retired in favour of temperaments more sheeplike +or more thick-skinned. + +To Alwynne Durand, at present under grave suspicion of tampering with +Clare Hartill's literature class, she had been from the first inimical. +She had been engaged without Henrietta's sanction; she was young, and +pretty, and already ridiculously popular. And there was the affair of +the nickname. Alwynne had certainly looked out of place at the +mistresses' table, on the day of her arrival, with her yellow hair and +green gown--"like a daffodil stuck into a bunch of everlastings," as an +early adorer had described her. The phrase had appealed and spread, and +within a week she was "Daffy" to the school; but her popularity among +her colleagues had not been heightened by rumours of the collective +nickname the contrast with their junior had evoked. Her obvious shyness +and desire to please were, however, sufficiently disarming, and her +first days had not been made too difficult for her by any save +Henrietta. But Henrietta was sure she was incompetent--called to witness +her joyous, casual manner, her unorthodox methods, her way of submerging +the mistress in the fellow-creature. She had labelled her +undisciplined--which Alwynne certainly was--lax and undignified; had +prophesied that she would be unable to maintain order; had been annoyed +to find that, inspiring neither fear nor awe, she was yet quite capable +of making herself respected. Alwynne's jolliness never seemed to expose +her to familiarities, ready as she was to join in the laugh against +herself when, new to the ways of the school, she outraged Media, or +reduced Persia to hysterical giggles. She was soon reckoned up by the +shrewd children as "mad, but a perfect dear," and she managed to make +her governance so enjoyable that it would have been considered bad form, +as well as bad policy, to make her unconventionality an excuse for +ragging. She had, indeed, easily assimilated the school atmosphere. She +was humble and anxious to learn, had no notions of her own importance. +But she was quick-tempered, and though she could be meek and grateful to +experience backed by good manners, she reared at patronage. Inevitably +she made mistakes, the mistakes of her age and temperament, but common +sense and good humour saved her from any serious blunders. + +Miss Vigers had, nevertheless, noted each insignificant slip, and +carried the tale, less insignificant in bulk, in her mind, ready to +produce at a favourable opportunity. + +And now the opportunity had arisen. Miss Hartill had delivered Miss +Durand into her hand. Miss Hartill, she was glad to note, had not shown +any interest in the new-comer.... Miss Hartill had a way of taking any +one young and attractive under her protection.... That it was with Miss +Hartill that the girl had come into conflict, however, did away with any +need of caution.... Miss Durand needed putting in her place.... +Henrietta, in all speed, would reconduct her thither. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Miss Vigers hurried along to the Upper Third class-room. She +straightened her jersey, and patted her netted hair as she went, much in +the manner of a countryman squaring for a fight, opened the door, after +a tap so rudimentary as to be inaudible to those within, and entered +aggressively, the light of battle in her eye. + +To her amazement and annoyance her entry was entirely unnoticed. The +entire class had deserted its desks and was clustered round the rostrum, +where Alwynne Durand, looking flushed and excited and prettier than a +school-mistress had any business to be, was talking fast and eagerly. +She had a little stick in her hand which she was using as a conductor's +baton, emphasising with it the points of the story she was evidently +telling. A map and some portraits were pinned to the blackboard beside +her, and the children's heads were grouped, three and four together, +over pictures apparently taken from the open portfolio lying before her +on the desk. But their eyes were on Miss Durand, and the varying yet +intent attitudes gave the collective effect of an audience at a +melodrama. They were obviously and breathlessly interested, and the +occasional quick crackle of question and answer merely accentuated the +tension. Once, as Alwynne paused a moment, her stick hovering +uncertainly over the map, a child, with a little wriggle of impatience, +piped up-- + +"We'll find it afterwards. Oh, go on, Miss Durand! Please, go on!" + +And Alwynne, equally absorbed, went on and the class hung upon her +words. + +The listener was outraged. Children were to be allowed to give +orders--to leave their places--to be obviously and hugely enjoying +themselves--in school hours--and the whole pack of them due elsewhere! +She had never witnessed so disgraceful a scene. + +Her dry precision shivered at Alwynne's coruscating adjectives. (It is +not to be denied that Alwynne, at that period of her career, was lax and +lavish in speech, altogether too fond of conceits and superlatives.) She +cut aridly into the lecture. + +"Miss Durand! Are you aware of the time?" + +Alwynne jumped, and the class jumped with her. + +It was curious to watch that which but a moment before had been one +absorbed, collective personality suddenly disintegrating into Lotties +and Maries and Sylvias, shy, curious, impish or indifferent, after their +kind. Miss Vigers's presence intimidated: each peeping personality +retired, snail-like, into its schoolgirl shell. With a curious yet +distinct consciousness of guilt, they edged away from the two women, +huddling sheepishly together, watching and waiting, inimical to the +disturber of their enjoyment, but distinctly doubtful as to whether +"Daffy," in the encounter that they knew quite well was imminent, would +be able to hold her own. + +But Miss Durand was self-possessed. She looked down at Miss Vigers from +her high seat and gave a natural little laugh. + +"Oh, Miss Vigers! How you startled me!" + +"I'm sorry. I have been endeavouring to attract your attention for some +moments. Are you aware of the time?" + +Alwynne glanced at the clock. The hands stood at an impossible hour. + +"There!" she remarked penitently, "it's stopped again!" + +She smiled at the class, all ears and interest. + +"One of you children will just have to remind me. Helen? No, you do the +chalks already. Millicent!" She singled out a dreamy child, who was +taking surreptitious advantage of the interruption to pore over the +pictures that had slid from the desk to the floor of the rostrum. + +"Milly! Your head's a sieve too! Will you undertake to remind me? Each +time I have to be reminded--in goes a penny to the mission--and each +time you forget to remind me, you do the same. It'll do us both good! +And if we both forget--the rest of the class must pull us up." + +The little girl nodded, serious and important. + +Alwynne turned to Henrietta. + +"Excuse me, Miss Vigers, were you wanting to speak to me? I'm afraid +we're in rather a muddle. Children--pick up those pictures: at +least--Helen and Milly! Go back to your desks, the rest of you." And +then, to Henrietta again, "I suppose the gong will go in a minute?" + +She was being courteous, but she was implying quite clearly that she +considered the interruption of her lesson unnecessary. + +Henrietta's eyes snapped. + +"The twelve-fifteen gong went a long time ago, Miss Durand. It's nearly +one. Miss Hartill wishes to know what has happened to her class." + +"My hat!" murmured Alwynne, appalled. + +It was the most rudimentary murmur--a mere movement of the lips; but +Henrietta caught it. Justifiably, she detested slang. She stiffened yet +more, but Alwynne was continuing with deprecating gestures. + +"This is dreadful! I'm awfully sorry, Miss Vigers, but, you know, we +never heard the gong! Not a sound! Are you sure it rang?" (This to +Henrietta, who never slackened her supervision of the relays of prefects +responsible for the ever-punctual gong. But Alwynne had no eye for +detail.) She continued agitatedly, unconscious of offence-- + +"But of course I must go and explain to Miss Hartill at once. +Children--get your things together, and go straight to the Lower Second. +I'll come with you. Miss Vigers, I am so sorry--it was entirely my +fault, of course, but we none of us heard the gong." + +But as she spoke, and the girls, attentive and curious, obediently +gathered up their belongings and filed into the passage, the gong, +audible enough to any one less absorbed than Alwynne and her class had +been, boomed for its last time that morning, the prolonged boom that was +the signal for the day-girls to go home. The children dispersed +hurriedly, and Alwynne was left alone with Henrietta. + +Alwynne was grave--distinctly distressed. + +"I must go and explain to Miss Hartill at once," she repeated, making +for the door. + +"You needn't trouble yourself," Henrietta called after her. "Miss +Hartill went home half-an-hour-ago." + +The irrepressible note of gratification in her voice startled Alwynne. +She turned and faced her. + +"I don't understand! You said she was waiting." + +"When I left her, she had been waiting over half-an-hour. She told me +that she should do so no longer. Miss Hartill is not accustomed to be +kept waiting while the junior mistresses amuse themselves." + +Alwynne raised her eyebrows and regarded her carefully. + +"Did Miss Hartill ask you to tell me that? Are you her messenger?" she +asked blandly. + +The last sentence had enlightened her, at any rate, as to Miss Vigers's +personal attitude to herself. She was perfectly aware that she had been +guilty of gross carelessness; that, if Miss Hartill chose, she could +make it a serious matter for her; but for the moment her apprehensive +regrets, as well as her profound sense of the apology due to the +formidable Miss Hartill, were shrivelled in the white heat of her anger +at the tone Henrietta Vigers was permitting herself. She was as much +hurt as horrified by the revelation of an antipathy she had been +unconscious of exciting; it was her first experience of gratuitous +ill-will. She rebelled hotly, incapable of analysing her emotion, +indifferent to the probable consequences of a defiance of the older +woman, but passionately resolved that she would not allow any one alive +to be rude to her. + +And Henrietta, amazed at the veiled rebuke of her manner, also lost her +temper. + +"Miss Hartill and I were overwhelmed by such an occurrence. Do you +realise what you are doing, Miss Durand? You keep the children away from +their lesson--you alter the school time-table to suit your +convenience--without a remark, or warning, or apology." + +"I've told you already that I didn't hear the gong," interrupted +Alwynne, between courtesy and impatience. She was trying hard to control +herself. + +"That is nonsense. Everybody hears the gong. You didn't choose to hear +it, I suppose. Anyhow, I feel it my duty to tell you that such behaviour +will not be tolerated, Miss Durand, in this, or any school. It is not +your place to make innovations. I was horrified just now when I came in. +The class-room littered about with pictures and papers--the children not +in their places--allowed to interrupt and argue. I never heard of such a +thing." + +Alwynne's chin went up. + +"Excuse me, Miss Vigers, but I hardly see that it is your business to +criticise my way of teaching." + +"I am speaking to you for your own good," said Henrietta. + +"That is kind of you; but if you speak to me in such a tone, you cannot +expect me to listen." + +Henrietta hesitated. + +"Miss Durand, you are new to the school----" + +"That gives you no right to be rude to me!" + +Henrietta took a step towards her. + +"Rude? And you? I consider you insolent. Ever since you came to the +school you have been impossible. You go your own way, teach in your own +way----" + +"I do as I'm told," said Alwynne sharply. + +"In your own way. You neither ask nor take advice----" + +"At any rate, Miss Marsham is satisfied with me--she told me so last +week." She felt it undignified to be justifying herself, but she feared +that silent contempt would be lost on Miss Vigers. Also, such an +attitude was not easy to Alwynne; she had a tongue; when she was angry, +the brutal effectiveness of Billingsgate must always tempt her. + +Henrietta countered coldly-- + +"I am sorry that I shall be obliged to undeceive her; that is, unless +you apologise----" + +"To Miss Hartill? Certainly! I intend to. I hope I know when I'm in the +wrong." + +"To me----" + +"To you?" cried Alwynne, with a little high-pitched laugh. "If you tell +me what for?" + +"In Miss Marsham's absence I take her place," began Henrietta. + +"Miss Hartill, I was told, did that." + +"You are mistaken. The younger mistresses come to me for orders." + +"I shall be the exception, then. I am not a housemaid. Will you let me +get to my desk, please, Miss Vigers? I want my books." + +She brushed past Henrietta, cheeks flaming, chin in air, and opened her +desk. + +The secretary, for all her anger, hesitated uncertainly. She was unused +to opposition, and had been accustomed to allow herself a greater +licence of speech than she knew. Alwynne's instant resentment, for all +its crude young insolence, was, she realised, to some extent justified. +She had, she knew, exceeded her powers, but she had not stopped to +consider whether Alwynne would know that she had done so, or, knowing, +have the courage to act upon that knowledge. She had been staggered by +the girl's swift counter-attack and was soon wishing that she had left +her alone; but she had gone too far to retreat with dignity; also, she +had by no means regained control of her temper. + +"I can only report you to Miss Marsham," she remarked lamely, to +Alwynne's back. + +Alwynne turned. + +"You needn't trouble. If Miss Hartill doesn't, I shall go to her +myself." + +"You?" said Henrietta uneasily. + +"Why," cried Alwynne, flaming out at her, "d'you think I'm afraid of +you? D'you think I am going to stand this sort of thing? I know I was +careless, and I'm sorry. I'm going straight down to Miss Hartill to tell +her so. And if she slangs me--it's all right. And if Miss Marsham slangs +me--it's all right. She's the head of the school. But I won't be slanged +by you. You are rude and interfering and I shall tell Miss Marsham so." + +Shaking with indignation she slammed down the lid of her desk: and with +her head held high, and a dignity that a friendly word would have +dissolved into tears, walked out of the class-room. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Alwynne Durand was quite aware that she was an arrant coward. The +cronies of her not remote schooldays would have exclaimed at the label, +have cited this or that memorable audacity in confutation, but Alwynne +herself knew better. When her impulsiveness had jockeyed her into an +uncomfortable situation, pure pride could always be trusted to sustain +her, strengthen her shoulders and sharpen her wits; but she triumphed +with shaking knees. Alwynne, touchy with the touchiness of eighteen, was +bound to fling down her glove before Henrietta Vigers, and be +ostentatiously ready to face cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and +all kinds of music. But Alwynne, half-an-hour later, on her way to Miss +Hartill and her overdue apology, was bound also to be feeling more like +a naughty schoolgirl than a mistress of six weeks' standing has any +business to feel, to be uneasily wondering what she should say, how she +should say it, and why on earth she had been fool enough to get herself +into the mess. + +If it had been any one but Miss Hartill, with whom she had not exchanged +five words, but whom she had heard discussed, nevertheless, from every +conceivable and inconceivable point of view, with that accompanying +profusion of anecdote of which only schoolgirl memory, so traditional as +well as personal, is capable. + +Miss Marsham, she had been given to understand might be head mistress, +but Miss Hartill was Miss Hartill. Alwynne, accustomed as she was to the +cults of a boarding-school, had ended by growing exceedingly curious. +Yet when Miss Hartill had returned, a week or two late, to her post, +Alwynne could not, as she phrased it, for the life of her see what all +the fuss was about. Miss Hartill was ordinary enough. Alwynne had looked +up one morning, from an obscure corner of the Common-room, at the sound +of a clicking latch, had had an impression of a tall woman, harshly +outlined by the white panelled door, against which she leaned lazily as +she quizzed the roomful of women. Alwynne told herself that she was not +at all impressed.... This the Miss Hartill of a hundred legends? This +the Olympian to whom three-fourths of the school said its prayers? Who +had split the staff into an enthusiastic majority and a minority that +concealed its dislike? Queer! Alwynne, shrugging her shoulders over the +intricacies of a school's enthusiasms, had leaned back in her chair to +watch, between amusement and contempt, the commotion that had broken +out. There was a babble of welcome, a cross-fire of question and answer. +And then, over the heads of the little group that had gathered about the +door, a pair of keen, roving eyes had settled on herself, coolly +appraising. Alwynne had been annoyed with herself for flushing under the +stare. She had a swift impression of being summed up, all raw and +youthful and ambitious as she was, her attitude of unwilling curiosity +detected, expected even. There had been a flicker of a smile, amused, +faintly insolent.... + +But it had all been merest impression. Miss Hartill, who had been, +indeed, surrounded, inaccessible, from the instant of her entrance until +the prayer bell rang, did not look her way a second time. But the +impression had remained, and Alwynne, obscure in her newness and her +corner, found herself reconsidering this Miss Hartill, more roused than +she would confess. If she were not the Hypatia-Helen of the class-rooms, +she was none the less a personality! Whether Alwynne would like her was +another matter. + +Alwynne, in the next few days, had not come into direct contact with +Miss Hartill. She had noticed, however, a certain stirring of the school +atmosphere, a something of briskness and tension that affected her +pleasantly. The children, she supposed, were getting into their +stride.... But she began to see that the classes chiefly affected were +the classes with which Miss Hartill had most to do, that the mistresses, +too, were working with unusual energy, and that Miss Vigers was less in +evidence than heretofore; that, in short, Miss Hartill's return was +making a difference. Insensibly she slipped into the fashion of being +slightly in awe of her--was daily and undeniably relieved that her work +had as yet escaped the swift eyes and lazy criticism. But she was also +aware that she would be distinctly gratified if Miss Hartill should at +any time express satisfaction with her and her efforts. Miss Hartill was +certainly interesting. She had wondered if she should ever get to know +her; had hoped so. + +And now Napoleon Buonaparte and a stopped clock had between them managed +the business for her effectually. She was going to know Miss Hartill--a +justifiably, and, according to Miss Vigers, excessively indignant Miss +Hartill. She looked forward without enthusiasm to that acquaintance. She +did not know what she should say to Miss Hartill.... But Miss Hartill +would do the talking, she imagined.... She was extremely sorry for +herself as she knocked at Miss Hartill's door. + +The maid left her stranded in the hall, and she waited, uncomfortably +conscious of voices in the next room. + +"Brand? But I don't know any----Drand! Oh, Durand! What an +extraordinary time to----All right Bagot. No. Lunch as usual." + +The maid slipped across the hall again to her kitchen as Miss Hartill +came forward, polite, unsmiling. She did not offer her hand, but stood +waiting for Alwynne to deliver herself of her errand. + +But Alwynne was embarrassed. The exordium she had so carefully prepared +during her walk was eluding her. It had been easy to arrange the +conversation beforehand, but Miss Hartill in the flesh was +disconcerting. She jumbled her opening sentences, flushed, floundered, +and was silent. Ensued a pause. + +Clare surveyed her visitor quizzically, enjoying her discomfort. Alwynne +was at her prettiest at a disadvantage. She had an air of shedding eight +of her eighteen years, of recognising in her opponent a long-lost nurse. + +Clare repressed a chuckle. + +"Try again, Miss Durand," she said solemnly. + +"I came," said Alwynne blankly. "You see, I came----" She paused again. + +"Yes, I think I see that," said Clare, as one enlightened. + +Alwynne eyed her dubiously. There might or might not have been a twinkle +in her colleague's eye. She took heart of grace and began again. + +"Miss Hartill, I'm awfully sorry! It was me--I, I mean, I kept the +girls. I didn't hear the gong. Really and truly I didn't. Honestly, it +was an accident. I thought I ought to come and apologise. Truly, I'm +most awfully sorry, quite apart from avoiding getting into a row. +Because I've got into that already." + +Clare's lips twitched. Alwynne was built on generous lines. She had a +good carriage, could enter a room effectively. Clare had not been +unaware of her secure manner. Her present collapse was the more amusing. +Clare was beginning to guess that what Miss Durand did, she did +wholeheartedly. + +"I expect you're simply wild with me. Miss Vigers said you would be," +said Alwynne hopelessly. + +"Miss Vigers ought to know," said Clare. + +There was another pause. + +"I'm frightfully sorry," said Alwynne suggestively. + +"Are you, Miss Durand?" + +"I mean, apart from upsetting you, I'm so savage with myself. One +doesn't exactly enjoy making a fool of oneself, does one, Miss Hartill? +You know how it feels. And it's my first post, and I did mean to do it +well, and I've only been here six weeks, and I'm in a row with three +people already." + +"How--three?" said Clare with interest. + +"Well--there's you----" + +"I think we're settling that," said Clare, with her sudden smile. + +"Are we?" Alwynne looked up so warily that Clare laughed outright. + +"But the other two, Miss Durand--the other two? This grows interesting." + +"Well, you see," Alwynne expanded, "I had an awful row with Miss +Vigers--and she's sure to tell Miss Marsham. I suppose I was rude, but +she did make me so mad. I don't see that it was her business to come and +slang me before my class." + +"My class," corrected Clare. + +"I wouldn't have minded you," said Alwynne, lifting ingenuous eyes. + +"I'm flattered," murmured Clare. + +"Well--you would have understood," said Alwynne with conviction. "But +Miss Vigers----I ask you, Miss Hartill, what would be the use of +talking about Napoleon to Miss Vigers?" + +"I give it up," said Clare promptly. + +"There you are!" Alwynne waved her hand triumphantly. + +"But, excuse me"--Clare was elaborately respectful--"has Napoleon any +traceable connection with the kidnapping of my class?" + +"Oh, I thought I explained." Alwynne plunged into her story. "You see, I +was giving them Elocution--they're learning the _Incident in the French +Camp_--you know?" + +Clare nodded. + +"Well, I thought they were rather more wooden than usual, and +I found out that they knew practically nothing about Napoleon! +Marengo--Talleyrand--never heard of 'em! Waterloo, and that he behaved +badly to his wife--that's all they knew!" + +"The English in a nutshell!" murmured Clare. + +"So, of course, I told them all about him, and his life, and tit-bits +like the Sèvres tea-things, and Madame Sans-gêne. They loved it. And I +was showing them pictures and I suppose we got absorbed. You can't help +it with Napoleon, somehow. Oh, Miss Hartill, doesn't it seem crazy, +though, to keep those children at Latin exercises, and the exports of +Lower Tooting, and Bills of Attainder in the reign of Queen Anne, before +they know about things like Napoleon, and Homer, and the Panama Canal? +Wouldn't you rather know about the life of Buddha than the war of +Jenkins's ear? Not that I ever got to the Georges myself! Oh, it makes +me so wild! It's like stuffing them with pea-nuts, when one has got a +basket of peaches on one's arm. It isn't education! It's goose-cramming! +I can't explain properly what I mean. I expect you think I'm a fool!" + +"An enthusiast. It's much the same," said Clare absently. "You'll get +over it." Then, with a twinkle: "Reform's an excellent thing, of +course--but why annex my class to experiment with?" + +Alwynne defervesced. + +There was an unhappy pause. + +"You know, I'm most awfully sorry," said Alwynne at last, as one making +a brilliant and original contribution to the discussion. + +A piercing shriek from the kitchen interrupted them. Alwynne jumped, but +Clare was undisturbed. + +"It's only Bagot. She's always having accidents. But she's an excellent +cook. After all, what's a shilling's worth of crockery a week compared +with a good cook? But to return to Napoleon and the Lower Third----" + +"You don't think she's hurt herself?" Alwynne ventured to interrupt. +"She did squeal." + +Clare looked suddenly concerned. + +"I hope not. I haven't had lunch yet." + +She went to the kitchen door, reappearing with a slightly harried air. + +"Miss Durand, I wish you'd come here a minute. She's cut her hand. Oh, +lavishly! Most careless! What is one to do? I suppose one must bandage +it?" + +Her tone of helpless disgust was so genuine that Alwynne was inclined to +laugh. So there were circumstances that could be too much even for Miss +Hartill! How reassuring! And how it warmed the cockles of one's heart to +her! Her lips twitched mischievously as she looked from the disconcerted +mistress to the sniffing maid, but she lost no time in stripping off her +gloves and setting to work, issuing orders the while that Clare obeyed +with a meekness that surprised herself. + +"Linen, please, Miss Hartill, or old rags! It's rather a bad cut." Then, +to the maid, "How on earth did you do it? A tin-opener? No, no, Miss +Hartill! a duster's no good. An old handkerchief or something." She was +achieving complicated effects with a fork and a knotted scarf as she +spoke, and Clare, obediently tearing linen into strips, considered her +critically. The girl was capable then, as well as amusing.... That +tourniquet might not be professional, but it was at least effective.... +The bleeding was stopping.... Very good of her to toil over Bagot's +unappetising hand.... Clare marvelled at her unconcern, for she was +dainty enough in her own person to please even Clare's fastidious eye. +Clare supposed that it was a good thing that some people had the nursing +instinct.... She thanked her stars that she herself had not.... + +Alwynne, unconscious of scrutiny, put in her final safety-pin, settled +the sling and stepped back at last, surveying her handiwork with some +pride. + +"It'll want a stitch, though. She'd better go to the doctor, I think," +she said decisively. "Shall I come with you?" This to the maid, +complacently the centre of attention. + +But the maid preferred to fetch her mother. "Her mother lived quite +close, miss. If Miss 'Artill could get on----" + +"She can't do any cooking with that hand," said Alwynne to Clare, more +in decision than appeal, and Clare acquiescing, she fetched hat and +coat, manipulated hatpins, and bundled the girl forth. + +She returned to the kitchen to find Miss Hartill, skirts clutched high, +eyeing the crowded table with distaste, and prodding with a +toasting-fork at the half-prepared meal. + +"Isn't it disgusting? How these people bleed! I can't stand a mess! +Really, I'm very much obliged to you, Miss Durand for seeing to Bagot. +I'm no good at that sort of thing. I hate touching people. You don't +think it was a bad cut, though?" + +"It must have hurt! She won't be able to use her hand for a day or two." + +Clare rubbed her nose peevishly. She had a comical air of resenting the +necessity for concerning herself with her own domestic arrangements. + +"Well, what am I to do? And I loathe charwomen. She might at least have +got lunch first!" + +"The meat's cooked, anyhow," said Alwynne hopefully, drawing forth a +congealing dishful. + +Clare shivered. + +"Take it away! It's all over Bagot." + +"I don't think it is." Alwynne examined it cautiously. + +Clare gave her a short laugh. + +"Anyhow, it doesn't appeal any more. Never mind, Miss Durand, I shall +manage--I mustn't keep you." + +Alwynne disregarded the hint. She seemed preoccupied. + +"There aren't any eggs, I suppose," she ventured diffidently. + +Clare flung out vague hands. + +"Heaven knows! It's Bagot's business. Why?" + +"Because," Alwynne had crossed the room and was struggling with a stiff +cupboard door, "Elsbeth says I'm a fool at cooking (Elsbeth's my aunt, +you know), but I can make omelets----" The door gave suddenly and +Alwynne fell forward into the dark pantry. There was a clatter as of +scattered bread-pans. She soon emerged, however, floury but serene. + +"Yes! There are some! It wouldn't take ten minutes, Miss Hartill. That +is--if----" she sought delicately for a tactful phrase: "if you would +perhaps like to go away and read. If any one stands about and +watches--you know what I mean----" + +"Are you proposing to cook my lunch?" Clare demanded. + +"Of course, if you don't like omelets," said Alwynne demurely. + +Clare laughed outright. + +"I do--I do. All right, Miss Durand, I'm too hungry to refuse. But I see +through it, you know. It's to cry quits!" + +Alwynne broke in indignantly-- + +"It isn't! It's the _amende honorable_--at least, if it doesn't scorch." + +"All right, I accept it!" Clare pacified her; then, as she left the +kitchen, "Miss Durand?" + +"Yes, Miss Hartill?" + +"Are you going to make one for Miss Vigers?" + +Alwynne's face fell. + +"I'd forgotten Miss Vigers." + +Clare twinkled. + +"Perhaps--if it doesn't scorch--I'll see what I can do," she promised +her. + +The lunch was a success. Alwynne, dishing up, had her hat ordered off +her head, and was soon sharing the omelet and marvelling at herself for +being where she was, and Clare, for her part, found herself enjoying her +visitor as much as her meal. + +Clare Hartill led a sufficiently solitary life. She was a woman of +feverish friendships and sudden ruptures. Always the cleverest and most +restless of her circle, she usually found her affinities as unable to +satisfy her demands on their intellect as on their emotions. +Disillusionment would be swift and final: Clare never forgave a bore. +Gradually it came to pass that intercourse she so carefully fostered +with her elder pupils became her absorbing and satisfying interest. She +plumed herself on her independence of social amenities, did not guess, +would not have admitted, that her pleasure in a chance table companion +had its flavour of pathos. It was enough to acknowledge to herself that +Alwynne Durand, with her enthusiasms, her incoherencies, and her +capacities had certainly caught her difficult fancy. She liked the +girl's manner; its compound of shyness and audacity, deference and +independence pleased her sophisticated taste. She found her racy and +original, and, in the exertion of drawing her out, was herself at her +best. A brilliant talker, she chose to listen, and soon heard all there +was to hear of Alwynne's short history; of her mother's sister, Elsbeth +Loveday (Clare pricked up her ears at the name), who had reared her from +babyhood; of her schooldays; her crude young likes and dislikes; her +hero-worships and passionate, vague ambitions. Clare knew it all by +heart, had heard the tale from more pairs of lips than she could +remember, for more years than she cared to count. But Alwynne, +nevertheless, told it in a way of her own that appealed to Clare and +interested her anew. She told herself that the girl was worth +cultivating; and what with apt comments, apter silences, and the +half-finished phrases and abrupt noddings of perfect comprehension, +contrived to make Alwynne think her the most sympathetic person she had +ever had the fortune to meet. Indeed, they pleased each other so well +that when Alwynne, towards tea-time, made an unwilling move, Clare was +as unwilling, for her part, to let her go. + +"It was certainly a most excellent omelet," she said, as she sped her +from the door. "I suppose you won't come and cook me another to-night?" + +Alwynne took her at her word. + +"I will! Of course I will! Would you like me to, really? I will! I'd +love to!" + +Clare laughed. + +"Oh, I was only in fun. Whatever would your aunt say?" + +"She wouldn't mind," began Alwynne eagerly. + +Clare temporised. + +"But your work? Haven't you any work?" + +Alwynne overwhelmed her. + +"That's all right! It isn't much! I'll sit up. I wish you'd let me. I +would love to. You must have some one to cook your supper for you, +mustn't you?" + +"Well, of course, if you'd really like to----" Clare hesitated between +jest and earnest. + +But Alwynne was wholly in earnest. + +"I'll come. Thank you very much indeed," said Alwynne, eyes sparkling. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In the months that followed the eating of the omelet, Alwynne would have +agreed that the cynic who said that "an entirely successful love-affair +can only be achieved by foundlings" should have included friendship in +his dictum. For relations ... well, everybody knew what everybody meant +when relations were mentioned in that particular tone; and Elsbeth, +dearest of maiden aunts, was nevertheless at times aggressively a +relation: privileged to wet-blanket enthusiasms. + +Elsbeth made, indeed, no stand against the alliance that had sprung +mushroom-like into existence; was courteous, in her sweet silent +fashion, to Clare Hartill at their occasional meetings; but she remained +subtly uninterested. But when, again, had that suppressed and +self-effacing personality shown interest in any living thing save +Alwynne herself? + +Alwynne, shrugging her shoulders, and ignoring, as youth must, the +affectionate prevision that had lapped her all her life, supposed that +she must not expect too much of poor, dear Elsbeth.... (It was +characteristic of their relationship that she never called her guardian +"Aunt.") Elsbeth, darling Elsbeth--but a little limited, perhaps? Hardly +to be expected that she should appreciate a Miss Hartill.... + +Elsbeth, though Alwynne never guessed it, quite understood what went on +in her niece's mind: was resigned to it. She knew that she was not a +clever woman. She had been too much occupied, all her life, in smoothing +the way for other people, to have had leisure for her own cultivation, +physical or mental. Her two years of teaching, in the uncertificated +'eighties, had but served to reveal to herself her ingrained incapacity +for government. She had never forgotten the humiliation of those months +when Clare Hartill, a pitiless fourteen-year-old girl, had headed one +successful revolt after another against her. It had been an episode; +with the advent of Alwynne she had returned to domesticity; but the +experience had intensified her innate lack of self-esteem. There were +times when she seriously debated whether, in bringing up her orphaned +niece, she were indulging herself at the expense of her duty. She knew +quite well, and rejoiced shamefacedly in the knowledge, that Alwynne, +her beautiful, brilliant, headstrong girl, could twist the old aunt +round her little finger. And that, of course, could not be good for +Alwynne. + +Alwynne was, to do her justice, extremely fond of her aunt. Till the +advent of Clare Hartill, Elsbeth had been the pole-star of her world. +All the more disconcerting of Elsbeth, receiver of confidences, +therefore, to be so entirely uninterested in the comet that was +deflecting Alwynne from her accustomed orbit. + +She wondered occasionally what her aunt's history had been. Elsbeth was +reticent: never a woman of reminiscences. Her relations were distant +ones, whom she rarely mentioned and apparently more rarely missed. +Alwynne was the more surprised one breakfast, when, retailing the +school's latest scandal, she was interrupted by an exclamation of +pleasure. + +"Alwynne! The Lumsdens are coming back!" Elsbeth rustled foreign paper +delightedly. + +Alwynne wrinkled her brows. + +"The Lumsdens? Oh--those cousins of yours?" + +"Yes. The youngest, Rosemary, only died last year. Don't you remember? +They've lived abroad for years on account of her health, and her son +Roger always went out to her for his holidays." + +"Roger? Is that the velveteen boy in the big album?" + +Elsbeth laughed. + +"He must be thirty by now. The estate went to him. It was let, you know, +and the Great House at Dene--to a school, I believe. They had lost +money. And Rosemary was always extravagant. Roger went to America for a +time. But still he's well enough off. He came home when his mother died +last year, and now, it seems, he's taken a house close to their old +home, and settled down as a market-gardener. The Lumsdens are to come +and keep house for him. He's very fond of his aunts, I know. Well! To +think of seeing Jean and Alicia again after all these years. They want +us to come and stay when they've settled down." + +"You'll enjoy that?" Alwynne eyed her aunt curiously. Elsbeth's pale +cheeks were pink, her faded eyes dreamy. Her unconscious hand was +rapping out its tune upon the tablecloth--the only symptom of excitement +that Elsbeth ever showed. "Were you fond of them? Why haven't you ever +been to see them, Elsbeth?" + +"Time flies. And I certainly can't afford to gad about the Riviera. And +there was you, you know. Besides----" she hesitated. + +"Besides what?" + +Elsbeth did not seem to hear. + +"You'll like Dene, Alwynne. Oh, yes, I know it well. I used to stay with +them--before the Great House was let. Years ago. And Roger--I hope +you'll get on with Roger. I haven't seen him since he was five. A jolly +little fellow. And from what Alicia says----" + +But Alwynne would not take any interest in Roger. He had a snub nose in +the photograph; and besides, she hated men. So dull. As Clare +said----Indeed, she wasn't always quoting Clare! She didn't always set +up Clare's judgment against Elsbeth's! Elsbeth needn't get huffy! She +would like to go down to Dene very much, if Elsbeth wanted to, some time +or other. + +But when the holidays came and the formal invitation, Alwynne was less +amenable. + +Why couldn't Elsbeth go alone? Elsbeth couldn't expect her to go and +stay with utter strangers. She hated strangers. Besides, there was +Clare. (It was "Clare" and "Alwynne" by that time.) She and Clare had +planned out every day of the holidays. Everything fixed. She really +couldn't ask Clare to upset all her arrangements. It wouldn't be fair. +Awfully sorry, of course, but why couldn't Alwynne's dear Elsbeth go by +herself? She, Alwynne, could keep house. Oh, perfectly well! She wasn't +a fool! She wouldn't dream of spoiling Elsbeth's holiday, but Elsbeth +must see that there was no need for Alwynne to share it. + +But Elsbeth was unusually obstinate. Elsbeth, it appeared, wanted +Alwynne with her; wanted to show Alwynne to these old friends; wanted to +show these old friends to Alwynne; wouldn't enjoy the visit without +Alwynne at her elbow; refused utterly to be convinced of +unreasonableness. Alwynne would enjoy the change, the country--didn't +Alwynne love the country?--and if she herself, and Alicia, and Jean, +were not of Alwynne's generation, there was always Roger! By all +accounts Roger was very nice; witness the aunts who adored him. + +Alwynne snorted. + +She argued the matter mercilessly, length, breadth, depth and back +again, and ended, as Elsbeth knew she would, by getting her own way. But +Elsbeth did not go to Dene by herself. There she was mulish. Go visiting +and leave the housekeeping to Alwynne's tender mercies? Heaven forbid! +There was more in housekeeping than dusting a bedroom, making peppermint +creams, or wasting four eggs on an omelet. + +So Alwynne spent her pleasant holidays in and out of Clare Hartill's +pocket and Elsbeth stayed at home. But Elsbeth had learned her lesson. +It was many a long day before she again suggested a visit to Dene. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +One of Alwynne's duties was the conduct of a small "extra" class, +consisting of girls, who, for reasons of stupidity, ill-health or +defective grounding, fell too far below the average of knowledge in +their respective classes. She devoted certain afternoons in the week to +coaching them, and was considered to be unusually successful in her +methods. She could be extremely patient, and had quaint and unorthodox +ways of insinuating facts into her pupils' minds. As she told Elsbeth, +she invented their memories for them. She was sufficiently imaginative +to realise their difficulties, yet sufficiently young to dream of +developing, in due course, all her lame ducks into swans. She was +intensely interested in hearing how her coaching had succeeded; her +pleasure at an amended place in class was so genuine, her disappointment +at a collapse so comically real, yet so devoid of contempt, so tinged +with conviction that it was anybody's fault but the culprit's, that +either attitude was an incentive to real effort. Like Clare, she did not +suffer fools gladly, but unlike Clare, she had not the moral courage to +be ruthless. Stupidity seemed as terrible to her as physical deformity; +she treated it with the same touch of motherliness, the same instinctive +desire to spare it realisation of its own unsightliness. + +Her rather lovable cowardice brought a mixed reward; she stifled in +sick-rooms, yet invalids liked her well; she was frankly envious of +Clare's circle of brilliant girls and as inevitably surrounded by +inarticulate adorers, who bored her mightily, but whose clumsy affection +she was too kindhearted to suppress. + +It had been well for Alwynne, however, that her following was of the +duller portion of the school. This Clare could endure, could +countenance; such boy-bishopry could not affect her own sovereignty, and +her subject's consequence increased her own. But to see Alwynne swaying, +however unconsciously, minds of a finer type, would not have been easy +for Clare. She had grown very fond of Alwynne; but the sentiment was +proprietary; she could derive no pleasure from her that was not +personal, and, in its most literal sense, selfish. She was unmaternal to +the core. She could not see human property admired by others with any +sensation but that of a double jealousy; she was subtly angered that +Alwynne could attract, yet was caught herself in the net of those +attractions, and unable to endure to watch them spread for any but +herself. + +Alwynne, quite unconscious of the trait, had at first done herself harm +by her unfeigned interest in Clare's circle. It took the elder woman +some suspicious weeks to realise that Alwynne lacked completely her own +_dompteuse_ instinct, her craving for power; that she was as innocent of +knowledge of her own charm as unwedded Eve; that her impulse to Clare +was an impulse of the freshest, sweetest hero-worship; but the +realisation came at last, and Clare opened her hungry heart to her, and, +warmed by Alwynne's affection, wondered that she had hesitated so long. + +Alwynne never guessed that she had been doubted. Clare was proud of her +genuine skill as a character reader--had been a little pleased to give +Alwynne proof of her penetration when occasion arose; and Alwynne, less +trained, less critical, thought her omniscient, and never dreamed that +the motives of her obscurest actions, the sources of her most veiled +references were not plain to Clare. Secure of comprehension, she went +her way: any one in whom Clare was interested must needs attract her: so +she took pains to become intimate with Clare's adorers, from a very real +sympathy with their appreciation of Clare, whom she no more grudged to +them than a priestess would grudge the unveiling of her goddess to the +initiate. She received their confidences, learned their secrets, fanned +the flame of their enthusiasms. Too lately a schoolgirl herself, too +innocent and ignorant to dream of danger, she did her loyal utmost in +furtherance of the cult, measuring the artificial and unbalanced +emotions she encountered by the rule of her own saner affection, and, in +her desire to see her friend appreciated, in all good faith utilised her +degree of authority to encourage what an older woman would have +recognised and combated as incipient hysteria. + +Gradually she became, through her frank sympathy, combined with her +slightly indeterminate official position, the intermediary, the +interpreter of Clare to the feverish school. Clare herself, her initial +distrust over, found this useful. She could afford to be moody, erratic, +whimsical; to be extravagant in her praises and reproofs; to +deteriorate, at times, into a caricature of her own bizarre personality, +with the comfortable assurance that there was ever a magician in her +wake to steady her tottering shrines, mix oil with her vitriol, and +prove her pinchbeck gold. + +Fatal, this relaxation of effort, to a woman of Clare's type. Love of +some sort was vital to her. Of this her surface personality was dimly, +ashamedly aware, and would, if challenged, have frigidly denied; but the +whole of her larger self knew its need, and saw to it that that need was +satisfied. Clare, unconscious, had taught Clare, conscious, that there +must be effort--constant, straining effort at cultivation of all her +alluring qualities, at concealment of all in her that could +repulse--effort that all appearances of complete success must never +allow her to relax. She knew well the evanescent character of a +schoolgirl's affection; so well that when her pupils left the school she +seldom tried to retain her hold upon them. Their letters would come +thick as autumn leaves at first; she rarely answered, or after long +intervals; and the letters dwindled and ceased. She knew that, in the +nature of things, it must be so, and had no wish to prolong the +farewells. + +Also, her interest in her correspondents usually died first; to sustain +it required their physical nearness. But every new year filled the gaps +left by the old, stimulated Clare to fresh exertion. + +So the lean years went by. Then came vehement Alwynne--no +schoolgirl--yet more youthful and ingenuous than any mistress had right +to be, loving with all the discrimination of a fine mind, and all the +ardour of an affectionate child. Here was no question of a fleeting +devotion that must end as the schooldays ended. Here was love for Clare +at last, a widow's cruse to last her for all time. Clare thanked the +gods of her unbelief, and, relaxing all effort, settled herself to enjoy +to the full the cushioning sense of security; the mock despot of their +pleasant, earlier intercourse becoming, as she bound Alwynne ever more +closely to her, albeit unconsciously, a very real tyrant indeed. + +Yet she had no intention of weakening her hold on any lesser member of +her chosen coterie. Alwynne was too ingenuous, too obviously subject +through her own free impulse, to entirely satisfy: Clare's love of power +had its morbid moments, when a struggling victim, head averted, pleased +her. There was never, among the new-comers, a child, self-absorbed, +nonchalant or rebellious, who passed a term unmolested by Miss Hartill. +Egoism aroused her curiosity, her suspicion of hidden lands, virgin, +ripe for exploration; indifference piqued her; a flung gauntlet she +welcomed with frank amusement. She had been a rebel in her own time, and +had ever a thrill of sympathy for the mutinies she relentlessly crushed. +War, personal war, delighted her; she was a mistress of tactics, and the +certainty of eventual victory gave zest to her campaigns. She did not +realise that the strain upon her childish opponents was very great. The +finer, the more sensitive the character, the more complete the eventual +defeat, the more permanent its effects. Clare was pitiless after +victory: not till then did she examine into the nature thus enslaved, +seldom did she find it worth the trouble of the skirmish. In most cases +she gave semi-liberty; enough of smiles to keep the children feverishly +at work to please her (the average of achievement in her classes was +astounding), and enough of indifference to prevent them from becoming a +nuisance. To the few that pleased her fastidious taste, she gave of her +best, lavishly, as she had given to Alwynne. There are women to-day, old +girls of the school, who owe Clare Hartill the best things of their +lives, their wide knowledge, their original ideas, their hopeful futures +and happy memories: to whom she was an inspiration incarnate. The Clare +they remember is not the Clare that Elsbeth knew, that Alwynne learned +to know, that Clare herself, one bitter night, faced and blanched at. +But which of them had knowledge of the true Clare, who shall say? + + * * * * * + +In Clare's favourite class was a certain Louise Denny. She was +thirteen--nearly three years below the average of the class in age. How +far beyond it in all else, not even Clare realised. + +Clare had discovered her, as she phrased it, in the limbo of the Lower +Third. She had been paying one of her surprise visits to the afternoon +extra needlework classes--(the possibility of her occasional appearance, +book in hand, was responsible for the school's un-English proficiency in +hemming, darning and kindred mysteries), to read aloud to the children +carefully edited excerpts from Poe's _Tales_, had forgotten her copy and +had been shyly offered another, private property from Louise Denny's +desk. Thereon must Alwynne, for a week or two, resign perforce her Lower +Third literature classes to Clare, intent on her blue rose. Louise's +compositions had been read--Clare and Alwynne spent a long evening over +them, weighing, comparing, discussing. Clare could be exquisitely +tender, could keep all-patient vigil over an unfolding mind, provided +that the calyx concealed a rare enough blossom. Louise was encouraged, +her shyness swept aside, her ideas developed, her knowledge tested; she +was fed, too, cautiously, on richer and richer food--stray evening +lectures, picture galleries with Alwynne, headiest of cicerones; the +freedom of the library and long talks with Clare. Finally Clare, bearing +down all opposition, transplanted her to the Lower Fifth, containing at +that time some brilliantly clever girls. Louise justified her by +speedily capturing, and doggedly retaining, the highest place in the +class. + +Clare was delighted. Her critics--there were some mistresses who vaguely +disapproved of the experiment--were refuted, and the class, already +needing no spur, outdoing itself in its efforts to compete with the +intruder, swept the board at an important public examination. + +On the morning of the announcement of results, Clare entered her +form-room radiant. It was a low, many-windowed room, with desks ranged +single-file along the walls. The class being a small one, the girls were +accustomed to sit for their lessons at a large oval table at the upper +end of the room. Beside the passage doorway, there was a smaller one, +that led into the studio, and was never used by the children. Clare, +however, would sometimes enter by it, but so seldom that they invariably +forgot to keep watch. Clare enjoyed the occasional view she thus +obtained of her unconscious and relaxed subjects, and the piquancy of +their uncensored conversation; she enjoyed still more the sudden hush, +the crisp thrill, that ran through their groups, when they became aware +of her, observant in the doorway. + +On the morning in question she had watched them for some little while. +Before each girl lay her open exercise-book and school edition of +Browning. They were deep in discussion of their work, very eager upon +some question. By the empty chair at the head of the table sat Marion +Hughes, blonde and placid, a rounded elbow on her neatly written theme, +that her neighbour was trying to pull away, to compare with her own +well-inked manuscript. This neighbour, one Agatha Middleton, was dark, +gaunt, with restless eyes and restless tongue. She was old for her +fifteen years, and had been original until she discovered that her +originality appealed to Miss Hartill. Since then she had imitated her +own mannerisms, and was rapidly degenerating into an eccentric. The law +of opposites had decreed that the sedate Marion should be her bosom +friend. They went up the school together, an incongruous, yet +well-suited pair, for they were so unlike that there could be no +rivalry. Marion was alternately amused and dazzled by the pyrotechnic +Agatha. Agatha's respect for Marion's common sense was pleasantly +tempered by a conviction of superior mental agility. Finally, they were +united by their common devotion to their form-mistress. Whether it would +have occurred to Marion, unprompted, to admire Miss Hartill, is +uncertain. Her affections were domestic and calm. But adoration was in +the air, and she had not sufficient originality to be unfashionable. She +was caught, too, in Agatha's whirlwind emotions, and ended by +worshipping Clare conscientiously and sincerely. Clare, on her side, +respected her, as she told Alwynne, for her "painstaking and intelligent +stupidity," and, recognising a nature too worthy for neglect, yet too +lymphatic to be suitable for experiments, was uniformly kind to her. +Agatha, she had revelled in for six weeks, and had since more or less +ignored as a bore. Below the pair sat a spectacled student, predestined +to scholarships and a junior mistress-ship; opposite, between giggling +twins, a vivid little Jewess, whose showy work was due to the same +vanity that tied her curls with giant bows, and over-corsetted her +matured figure. At the foot of the oval, directly opposite Clare's +vacant chair, stood Louise, flushed and excited, chanting low-voicedly a +snatch of verse. + +During a lull in the hubbub Marion called to her down the table-- + +"How many pages?" + +Louise flushed. She was still a little in awe of these elders whom she +had outstripped. She rapidly counted the leaves of her essay, and held +up both hands, smiling shyly. + +Marion exclaimed. + +"Ten? You marvel! I only got to seven. I simply didn't understand it. +Whatever did you find to say?" + +Agatha fell upon the query. + +"That's nothing! I've done twenty-two!" she cried triumphantly, and +turned to face the shower of comments. + +"Miss Hartill will bless you. She said last time that you thought ink +and ideas were synonyms." + +"Agatha only writes three words to a line anyway." + +They liked her, but she was of the type whose imperiousness provokes +snubs. + +"Well, I thought I shouldn't get it done under forty--an essay on _The +Dark Tower_. It's the beastliest yet. _The Ancient Mariner_ was nothing +to it. I've made an awful hash--didn't you?" + +"I understood all right when she read it, and explained. It's so absurd +not to let one take notes. I've been years at it. Fortunately she said +we needn't learn it--Louise and I--with all our extra work." An +unimaginative hockey captain fluttered her pages distractedly. + +"Oh, but I have!" Louise looked up quickly. + +"Why?" The hockey captain opened her eyes and mouth. + +"Oh, I rather wanted to." + +The little Jewess giggled. + +"'_Déjà?_'" she murmured. She did not love Clare. + +Marion returned to the subject with her usual perseverance. + +"Did you understand it, kid?" + +Louise stammered a little. + +"When she reads it, and when I say it aloud, I think I do. It was +impossible to write it down." + +"Let's see what you have put." Agatha, by a quick movement, possessed +herself of Louise's exercise-book. Louise, shy and desperate, strove +silently with her neighbours, who, curious, held her back, while Agatha, +holding the book at arm's length, recited from it in a high mocking +voice. + +"_Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came._ Description! Description! +Description! for three--five--seven pages! You've let yourself go, +Louise! Ah, here we are--_The meaning of the poem_. Now we're getting to +it. _Shakespeare and Browning may have known all the real history of +Childe Roland; the reason of his quest, the secret of the horror of the +Tower; but we are left in ignorance. That does not matter, for, as we +read, the inner meaning of the terrible poem kills all curiosity. +Shuddering we close the book, and pray to God that Childe Roland's +journey may never be ours; that for our adventurous souls, +knight-erranting through this queer life, there may never come a choice +of ways, a turning from the pleasant high-road, to go upon a hideous +journey; till, crossing the Plains of Loneliness, Fear and Sorrow, we +face the Hills of Madness, and enter the Dark Tower of that Despair +which is our soul's death._ With capital letters galore! What a +sentence! Here, shut up, you spit-fire!" Louise had wrenched herself +free and flung herself upon Agatha, in a white heat of anger. + +"Give it me! You've no right! You've no right!" she gasped. Her shyness +had gone, she was blazing with indignation. + +Agatha, the book held teasingly out of reach, affected to search for her +place. Louise raised her clenched fist desperately. + +A cool hand caught her wrist in a firm yet kindly grip. A hush fell on +the voluble group and Agatha collapsed into an apologetic nonentity. + +Clare, who had entered in her usual noiseless fashion, stood a moment +between the combatants, watching the effect of her appearance. Her hand +shifted to Louise's bony little shoulder; through the thin blouse she +could feel the driven blood pulsing. She did not move till she felt the +child regaining comparative calm, when, giving her a gentle push towards +her place, she walked slowly to the head of the table and seated +herself. The class watched her furtively. It was quite aware that all +rules of decorum had been transgressed--that pains and penalties would +be in order with any other mistress. But with Miss Hartill there was +always glorious uncertainty--and Miss Hartill did not look annoyed. +Little gestures began to break the tension and Agatha, relieved, smiled +a shade too broadly. Instantly Clare closed with her. + +She began blandly-- + +"Agatha, I thought you could read aloud better than that. You are not +doing your work justice. Pass me your essay." + +"It's Louise's," said Agatha helplessly. + +"Ah, I see. And you kindly read it to us for her? It's a pity you didn't +understand what you read--but an excuse, of course. Louise must not +expect too much." + +Agatha flung up her head angrily. + +"Oh, I understood it all right. I thought it was silly." + +"You did? Read me your own." + +"Now?" + +"Certainly." + +Now Clare, as she corrected and commented upon the weekly essays, did +occasionally, if the mood took her, read extracts, humorous chiefly, +therefrom; but it had never been customary for a pupil to read her own +work aloud. Agatha had the pioneer spirit--but she was no fool. She +comprehended that, with Clare inimical, she could climb no higher than +the pillory. She fell back upon the tradition of the school. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill--I can't!" + +"Why not?" + +"No one ever does----" + +Clare waited. + +Agatha protested redly, her fear of ridicule outweighing her fear of +Clare. + +"Miss Hartill, I simply couldn't. Before everybody--all this tosh--I +mean all this stuff I wrote. It's a written essay. I couldn't make it +sound right aloud." + +Clare waited. + +"It's not good enough, Miss Hartill. Honestly! And we never have. You've +never made us. I couldn't." + +Clare waited. + +Agatha twisted her hands uneasily. The schoolgirl shyness that is +physical misery was upon her. + +"I--don't want to, Miss Hartill. I can't. It's not fair to have one's +stuff--to be laughed at--to be----" she subsided just in time. + +The class sat, breathless, all eyes on Clare. + +And Clare waited; waited till defiance faded to unease--unease to +helplessness, till the girl, overborne by the utter silence, gave way, +and dropping her eyes to her exercise, fluttering its pages in angry +embarrassment, finally, with a giggle of pure nervousness, embarked on +the opening sentence. + +Clare cut through the clustering adjectives. + +"Stand up, please." + +Resistance was over. She rose sullenly. + +She had been proud of her essay, had worked at it sincerely, knew its +periods by heart. But her pleasure in it was destroyed, as completely, +she realised, as she had destroyed that of little Louise. More--for +Louise had found a champion. That, she recognised jealously. Unjust! Her +essay was no worse, read soberly--yet she was forced to render it +ridiculous. She read a couple of pages in hurried jerks, stumbling over +the illegibilities of her own handwriting, baulked by Clare's +interpolations. She heard her own voice, high-pitched and out of +control, perverting her meaning, felt the laden sentences breaking up +into chaos on her lips. In her flurry she pronounced familiar words +amiss, Clare's calm voice carefully correcting. Once she heard a +chuckle. Two pages ... three ... only that ... she remembered that she +had boasted of twenty ... seventeen to be read yet and they were all +laughing. To have to stand there ... three pages.... "_But as Childe +Roland turned round_----" + +"Louder, please," said Clare. + +"_But as Childe Roland turned round_----" and even Marion was +laughing.... "_Turned round to look once more back to the high +road_----" + +"And slower." + +"_To the high road_----" She stopped suddenly, a lump in her throat. + +"Go on, Agatha." + +"_To the high road_----" The letters danced up and down mistily. "_To +the high road where the cripple--where the cripple_----Oh, Miss +Hartill," she cried imploringly, "isn't it enough?" + +It was surrender. Clare nodded. + +"Yes, you may sit down now. Your essay, please: thank you. And now I'll +read you, once more, what Louise has to say on the same subject. I dare +say you'll find, Agatha, that you were almost as unfair to her essay, as +you were to--your own." And she smiled her sudden dazzling smile. +Agatha, against her will, smiled tremulously back. + +Clare, with a glance at the little figure, huddling at the foot of the +table, began to read. The essay, for all its schoolgirl slips and +extravagances, was unusual. The thought embodied in it, though tinged +with morbidity, striking and matured. Clare did it more than justice. +Her beautiful voice made music of the crude sentences, revealed, +embellished, glorified. Her own interest growing as she read, infected +the class; she swept them along with her, mutually enthusiastic. She +ended abruptly, her voice like the echoes of a deep bell. + +Marion broke the little pause. + +"I liked that," she said, as if surprised at herself. + +"So did I," Clare was pleased. + +She dipped her pen in red ink and initialled the foot of the essay. + +"That was good work, Louise. Now, the others." + +But Louise, shy and glowing, broke in-- + +"But it wasn't all mine, Miss Hartill, not a bit." + +Clare looked at her, half frowning. + +"Not yours? Your handwriting----?" + +"Oh, I wrote it. But you've made it different. I hadn't meant it like +that." + +Clare raised a quizzical eyebrow. + +"I have misinterpreted----?" + +Louise was too much in earnest to be fluttered. + +"I only mean--you made it sound so beautiful that it was like listening +to--to an organ. I didn't bother about the words while you read. It was +all colours and gold--like the things in the Venetian room. You know. +The meaning didn't matter. But I did mean something, not half so good, +of course, only quite different. Horrid and grizzly like the plain he +travelled through, Childe Roland. It ought to have sounded harsh and +starved, like rats pattering--what I meant--not beautiful." + +"I see." Clare was interested. She was quite aware that she had used her +magnificent voice to impress arbitrarily her opinion of Louise's work +upon the class. That Louise, impressionable as she knew her to be, +should have yet detected the trick, amused her greatly. + +"So you think I didn't understand your essay?" + +Louise's shy laugh was very pleasant. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill. I'm not so stupid. It's only that I can't have got +the--the----" + +"Atmosphere!" The girl in spectacles helped her. + +"The atmosphere that I meant to; so you put in a different one to help +it. And it did. But it wasn't what I meant." + +Clare glanced at her inscrutably, and began to score the other essays. +She would get at Louise's meaning in her own way. She skimmed a couple, +Agatha, be it recorded, receiving the coveted initials, before she spoke +again. + +"Didn't I tell you to learn _Childe Roland_, too? Ah, I thought so. +Begin, Marion, while I finish these. Two verses." + +Her pen scratched on, as Marion's expressionless voice rose, fell and +finished. Agatha continued, jarringly dramatic. Two more followed her. +Then Clare put down her pen. + + "'For mark!'..." + +There was a warning undertone in Louise's colourless voice, that crept +across the room like a shadow. Clare lifted her head and stared at her. + + "For mark! no sooner was I fairly found + Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, + Than, pausing to throw backward a last view + O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round: + Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. + I might go on; nought else remained to do." + +There was horror in the whispering voice: the accents of one bowed +beneath intolerable burdens, sick with the knowledge of nearing doom, +gay with the flippancy of despair. Louise was looking straight before +her, vacant as a medium, her hands lying laxly in her lap. Clare made a +quick sign to her neighbour to be silent, and the strained voice rose +anew. + +Clare listened perplexedly. She told herself that this was sheer +technique--some trick had been played, she was harbouring some child +actress of parts--only to be convinced of folly. She knew all about +Louise. Besides, she had heard the child read aloud before. Good, clean, +intelligent delivery. But nothing like this--this was uncanny. Uncanny, +yet magnificent. The artist in her settled down to enjoyment; yet she +was uneasy, too. + + "And just as far as ever from the end!" + +The creeping voice toiled on across the haunted plain, growing louder, +clearer, nearer. + +Vision was forced upon Clare, serene in her form-room, swift and sudden +vision. She not only heard, every sense responded. At her feet lay the +waste land of the poem, she smelt the dank air, shrank from the clammy +undergrowth, watched the bowed figure of the wandering knight, +stumbling forwards doggedly. It was coming towards her, the outline +blurred in the evening mist, the face hidden. The voice was surely his? + + "Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled + Increasing like a bell." + +She heard it alive with warning. + +Nearer, ever nearer; the bowed form was at her very feet, as the voice +rose anew in despairing defiance. + + "To view the last of me----" + +The helmeted head was flung back; the voice echoed from hill to hill-- + + "I saw them and I knew them all. And yet + Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, + And blew. Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." + +The figure fell, face upwards, at her feet. Clare tore at the visor with +desperate hands, for at the last line, the strong voice had broken, +quavering into the pitiful treble of a frightened child. The bars melted +under her touch, as dream things will, and she was staring down at no +bearded face, but at Louise. Louise herself, with blank, dead eyes in a +broken, blood-flecked face. The dead mouth smiled. + +"You see, that was what I meant, Miss Hartill. That atmosphere." + +Clare roused herself with a start. Louise, rosily alive, and quivering +with eagerness, was waiting for her comments. She got none. + +"Begin again," said Clare mechanically, to the next girl. + +The brightness died out of Louise's face, as she subsided in her seat. +Clare, dazed as she was, saw it, and was touched. The child deserved +praise--should not be punished for the vagaries of Clare's own phantasy. +And the monkey could recite! She shook off the impression of that +recital as best she could. Curious, the freaks of the imagination! She +must tell Alwynne of the adventure--Alwynne, dreamer of dreams.... And +Alwynne was interested in Louise; was coaching her.... Perhaps she was +responsible ... had coached her in that very poem? She hoped not ... it +would be interference.... She did not like interference. But no--that +performance was entirely original, she felt sure. There was genius in +the child--sheer genius ... and but for Clare herself, she would yet be +rotting undeveloped in the Lower Third. She was pleased with herself, +pleased with Louise too; ready to tell her so, to see the child's face +light up again delightedly; she was less attractive in repose.... + +Clare's chance came. + +It was the turn of the hockey captain to recite. She appealed to Clare. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill! You said I needn't, Louise and I--because of all our +extra work. Not the poem." + +Clare considered. + +"I remember. Very well. But Louise?" She looked at her questioningly, +half smiling. "When did you find the time?" + +Louise laughed. + +"I don't know, Miss Hartill. It found itself." + +"Ah! And how much extra work have you, Louise?" + +Louise reflected. + +"All the afternoons, I think. And three evenings when I go to lectures. +And, of course, gallery days, when I make up in the evenings." + +"And homework?" + +"Oh, there's heaps of time at night always." + +Clare smiled upon her class. + +"Well, Lower Fifth--what do you think of it?" + +The class opened its mouth. + +"Louise is moved up four forms. She's thirteen. She's top of the class +and first in to-day's results. You hear what her extra work is. And she +finds time to learn _Childe Roland_--optional. What do you think of it?" + +Agatha bit down her envy. + +"It's pretty good," she said. + +Clare's glance approved her. + +"Yes. So I think. It's so good that I'm more than pleased. +I'm--impressed. Rather proud of my youngest pupil. For next time you +will learn----" And with one of her quick transitions, she began to +dictate her homework. + +The gong clanged as she finished. Alwynne's voice was heard in the +passage, inquiring for Miss Hartill, and Clare hurried out. Followed a +confused banging of books and desk-lids, a tangle of fragmentary +remarks, and much trampling of boots on uncarpeted boards, as one after +another followed her. Within five minutes the room was bare, save for +Clare's forgotten satchel at the upper end of the big table, and Louise, +motionless in her chair at the foot. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Louise was tasting happiness. + +Happiness was a new and absorbing experience to Louise. The only child +of a former marriage, she had grown up among boisterous half-brothers +with whom she had little fellowship. Her father, a driving, thriving +merchant, was prouder of his second brood of apple-cheeked youngsters +than of his first-born, who fitted into the scheme of life as ill as her +mother had done. He had imagined himself in love with his first wife, +had married her, piqued by her elusive ways, charmed by her pale, +wood-sorrel beauty; and she, shy and unawakened, had taken his six feet +of bone and muscle for outward and visible sign of the matured spiritual +strength her nature needed. The disappointment was mutual as swift; it +had taken no longer than the honeymoon to convince the one that he had +burdened himself with a phantast, the other that she was tied to a +philistine. For a year they shared bed and board, severed and +inseparable as earth and moon; then the wife having passed on to a +daughter the heritage of a nature rare and impracticable as a sensitive +plant, died and was forgotten. + +The widower's speedy re-marriage proved an unqualified success. Indeed, +the worthy man's after life was so uniformly and deservedly prosperous +(he was as shrewd and industrious in his business as he was genial and +domesticated in his home), that he might be forgiven if his affection +for his eldest child were tepid; for, apart from her likeness to his +first wife, she was, in existing, a constant reminder of the one mistake +of a prosperous career. He was kind to her, however, in his fashion; +gave her plenty of pocket-money (he was fond of giving); saw to it that +she had a sufficiency of toys and sweets, though it piqued him that she +had never been known to ask for any. Otherwise was content to leave her +to his wife. + +The second Mrs. Denny, kindly, capable and unimaginative as her husband, +had her sense of duty to her step-daughter; but she was too much +occupied in bearing and rearing her own family, whose numbers were +augmented with Victorian regularity, to consider more than the physical +well-being of the child. Louise was well fed and warmly clad, her share +was accorded her in the pleasures of the nursery. What more could a busy +woman do! + +Louise, docile and reserved, was not unhappy. Until she went to school, +however, her mental outlook resembled that of a person suffering from +myopia. Her elders, her half-brothers, all the persons of her small +world, were indefinite figures among whom she moved, confused and +blundering. She knew of their existence, but to focus them seemed as +impossible as to establish communication. She did not try over hard; she +was sensitive to ridicule; it was easier to retire within her childish +self, be her own confidante and questioner. + +She had an intricate imagination and before she learned to read had +created for herself a fantastically complete inner world, in which she +moved, absorbed and satisfied. Indeed, her outward surroundings became +at last so dangerously shadowy that her manner began to show how entire +was her abstraction, and Mrs. Denny, sworn foe to "sulks" and "moping," +saw fit to engage a governess as an antidote. + +The governess, a colourless lady, achieved little, though she was useful +in taking the little boys for walks. But she taught Louise to read, and +thereafter the child assumed entire charge of her own education. + +The mother's books, velvety with dust that had sifted down upon them +since the day, six years back, when they had been tumbled in piles on an +attic floor by busy maids preparing for the advent of the second Mrs. +Denny, were discovered, one rainy day, by a pinafored Siegfried, alert +for treasure. Contented years were passed in consuming the trove. + +Her mother's choice of books was so completely to her taste that they +gave the lonely child her first experience of mental companionship; +suggesting to her that there might be other intelligences in the world +about her than the kindly, stolid folk who cherished her growing body +and ignored her growing mind. She was almost startled at times to +realise how completely this vague mother of hers would have understood +her. Each new volume, fanciful or quizzical or gracious, seemed a direct +gift from an invisible yet human personality, that concerned itself with +her as no other had ever done; that was never occupied with the +dustiness of the attic, or a forgotten tea-hour, but was astonishingly +sensitive to the needs of a little soul, struggling unaided to birth. +The pile of books, to her hungry affections, became the temple, the +veritable dwelling-place of her mother's spirit. + +Seated on the sun-baked floor, book on knee, the noises of the high road +floating up to her, distance-dulled and soothing, she would shake her +thick hair across her face, and see through its veil a melting, shifting +shadow of a hand that helped to turn her pages. The warm floor was a +soft lap; the battered trunk a shoulder that supported; the faint breeze +a kiss upon her lips. The fantastic qualities the mother had bequeathed, +recreated her in the mind of her child, bringing vague comfort (who +knows?) alike to the dead and the living Louise. + +Yet the impalpable intercourse, compact of make-believe and yearnings, +was, at its sweetest, no safe substitute for the human companionships +that were lacking in the life of Louise. Half consciously she desired an +elder sister, a friend, on whom to lavish the stores of her ardent, +reticent nature. + +At twelve she was sent to school. At first it did little for her. She +was unaccustomed to companions of her own age and sex and, quite simply, +did not know how to make friends with many who would have been willing +enough, if she could have contributed her share, the small change of +joke and quarrel and confidence, towards intimacy. But Louise was too +inured to the solitude of crowds to be troubled by her continued +loneliness. She met the complaints of Mrs. Denny, that she made no +friends like other children, with a shrug of resignation. What could she +do? She supposed that she was not nice enough; people didn't like her. + +Secretly her step-mother agreed. She was kind to Louise, but she, too, +did not like her. She found her irritating. Her dreamy, absent manner, +her very docility and absence of self-assertion were annoying to a +hearty woman who was braced rather than distressed by an occasional +battle of wills. She thought her shyness foolish, doubted the +insincerity of her humility, and looked upon her shrinking from +publicity, noise and rough caresses, her love of books and solitude, as +a morbid pose. Yet she was just a woman and did not let the child guess +at her dislike, though she made no pretence of actual affection. She +knew perfectly well that Louise's mother (they had been schoolgirls +together), had irritated her in exactly the same way. + +Educationally, too, the first year at school affected Louise but +slightly. Her brothers' governesses had done their best for the shy, +intelligent girl, and her wide reading had trained, her awkwardness and +childish appearance obscured, a personality in some respects dangerously +matured. But her dreaminess and total ignorance of the routine of +lesson-learning hampered her curiously; she learnt mechanically, using +her brain but little for her easy tasks, and she was not considered +particularly promising. + +With Clare's intervention the world was changed for Louise; she had her +first taste of active pleasure. + +It is difficult to realise what an effect a woman of Clare's temperament +must have had on the impressionable child. In her knowledge, her +enthusiasms, her delicate intuition and her keen intellectual sympathy, +she must have seemed the embodiment of all dreams, the fulfilment of +every longing, the ideal made flesh. A wanderer in an alien land, +homesick, hungry, for whom, after weary days, a queen descends from her +throne, speaking his language, supplying his unvoiced wants, might feel +something of the adoring gratitude that possessed Louise. She rejoiced +in Clare as a vault-bred flower in sunlight. + +On all human beings, child or adult, emotional adventure entails, sooner +or later, physical exhaustion; the deeper, the more novel the +experience, the greater the drain on the bodily strength. To Louise, +involved in the first passionate experience of her short life, in an +affection as violent and undisciplined as a child's must be, an +affection in itself completely occupying her mind and exhausting her +energies, the amount of work made necessary by the position to which +Clare and her own ambition had assigned her, was more of a burden than +either realised. Only Alwynne, sympathetic coach (for Louise had two +years' back work to condense and assimilate), guessed how great were the +efforts the child was making. Clare, who always affected unconsciousness +of her own effect on the ambitions of the children, had persuaded +herself that Louise was entirely in her right place; and Louise herself +was too young, and too feverishly happy, to consider the occasional +headaches, fits of lassitude and nights cinematographed with dreams, as +anything but irritating pebbles in her path to success--and Clare. + +The weeks in her new class had been spread with happiness--a happiness +that had grown like Elijah's cloud, till, on the day of the Browning +lesson, as she listened to the beloved voice making music of her halting +sentences, to the words of praise, of affection even, that followed, it +stretched from horizon to horizon. + +As she sat in the deserted class-room, her neat packet of sandwiches +untasted in the satchel at her elbow, she re-lived that golden hour, +dwelling on its incidents as a miser counts money. There was the stormy +beginning; Agatha's mockery; her own raging helplessness; Clare's +entrance; the exquisite thrill she had felt at her touch, that was not +only gratitude for championship.... Never before had Clare been so near +to her, so gentle, so protecting.... And afterwards, facing Louise at +the foot of the table, how beautiful she had been.... Yet some of the +girls could not see it.... They were fools.... Her head had been framed +in the small, square window, so darkened and cobwebbed by crimson vines +that only the merest blur of white clouds and blue hills was visible.... +She had worn a gown of duller blue that lay in stiff folds: the bowl of +Christmas roses, that mirrored themselves on the dark, polished table, +had hidden the papers and the smeared ink-pot. Suddenly Louise +remembered some austere Dutch Madonnas over whom delightful, but erratic +Miss Durand had lingered, on their last visit to a picture gallery. She +called them beautiful. Louise, with fascinated eyes sidling past a +wallful of riotous Rubens, to fix on the soap and gentian of a +Sasseferato, had wondered if Miss Durand were trying to be funny. She +remembered, too, how some of the younger girls, comparing favourites, +had called Miss Hartill ugly. She had raged loyally--yet, secretly, all +but agreed. With her child's love of pink and white prettiness she had +had no eyes for Clare's irregular features. But to-day something in +Clare's pose had recalled the Dutch pictures, and in a flash she had +understood, and wondered at her blindness. Miss Durand was right: the +drawn, grey faces and rigid outlines had beauty, had charm--the charm of +her stern smile.... The saints were hedged with lilies, and she, too, +had had white flowers before her, that filled the air with the smell of +the marvellous Roman church at Westminster.... The painted ladies were +Madonnas--mothers--and Miss Hartill, too, had worn for a moment their +protective look, half fierce, half tender.... + +Why was it? What has made her so kind? Not only to-day, but always? The +girls feared her, some of them; those that she did not like talked of +her temper and her tongue; Rose Levy hated her; even Agatha and Marion, +and all of them, were a little frightened, though they adored.... +Louise was never frightened.... How could one be frightened of one so +kind and wonderful? She could say what she liked to Miss Hartill, and be +sure that she would understand.... It was like being in the attic, +talking aloud.... Mother would have been like that.... If it could +be.... + +Louise, her chin in her doubled fists, launched out upon her sea of +make-believe. + +If it could be.... If it were possible, that Mother--not Mamma, cheery, +obtuse Mamma of nursery and parlour--but Mother, the shadow of the +attic--had come back? All things are possible to him that believeth: and +Mr. Chesterton had said there was no real reason why tulips should not +grow on oaks.... Heaps of people--all India--believed in reincarnation, +and there was _The Gateless Barrier_ and _The Dead Leman_ for proof.... +Might it not be? + +The idea was intoxicating. She did not actually believe in it, but she +played with it, wistfully, letting her imagination run riot. She wove +fantastic variations on the themes "why not," "perhaps," "who knows." + +She was but thirteen and very lonely. + +She was in far too exalted a mood to have an appetite for her +sandwiches, or time for the books beside her. She was due for extra work +with Alwynne at three, and the intervening hour should have been used +for preparation. Wasting her time meant sitting up at night, as Louise +was well aware, and a tussle with Mrs. Denny, concerned for the waste of +gas. But for all that, she would not and could not rouse herself from +the trance of pleasure that was upon her. Her mind was contemplating +Clare as a mystic contemplates his divinity; rapt in an ecstasy of +adoration, oblivious alike of place and time. She did not hear the +luncheon gong, or the gong for afternoon school, or a door, opening and +shutting behind her. Yet it did not startle her, when, turning dreamily +to tap on her shoulder, she found herself facing Miss Hartill herself. +Miss Hartill should have left the school before lunch, she knew, but it +was all in order. What could surprise one on this miraculous day? She +did not even rise, as etiquette demanded; but she smiled up at Clare +with an expression of welcoming delight that disarmed comment. + +Clare, too, could ignore conventions. She was merely touched and amused +by the child's expression. + +"Well, Louise? Very busy?" + +Louise glanced vaguely at her books. + +"Yes. I ought to be, I mean. I don't believe I've touched anything. I +was thinking----" + +"Two hours on end? Do you know the time? I heard Miss Durand clamouring +for you just now." Clare looked mischievous. She could forgive +forgetfulness of other people's classes. + +Louise was serene. + +"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. I'd forgotten. I must go." + +But she made no movement. She sat looking at Miss Hartill as if nothing +else existed for her. The intent, fearless adoration in her eyes was +very pleasant to Clare; novel, too, after the more sophisticated glances +of the older girls. + +With an odd little impulse of motherliness she picked up Louise's books, +stacked them neatly and fitted them into the satchel. Louise watched +her. Miss Hartill buckled the strap and handed her the bundle. + +"There you are, Louise! Run along, my child, I'm afraid you'll get a +scolding." She stooped to her, bright-eyed, laughing. "And what were you +thinking of, Louise, for two long hours?" + +"You," said Louise simply. + +A touch of colour stole into Clare's thin cheeks. She took the small +face between her hands and kissed it lightly. + +"Silly child!" said Miss Hartill. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Alwynne, drumming with her fingers on the window-sill, as she stood by +Louise's desk, was distinctly annoyed. Louise, for the first time since +she had known her, was late. It was, indeed, not one of her assigned +classes; but she and Louise had found their hours together so +insufficient for all the work that they were trying to make good, that +Alwynne had good-naturedly arranged to give her a daily extra lesson. It +bit into Alwynne's meagre free time; but she was fond of Louise; proud +of her, too; and there was Clare! Clare was so anxious for Louise's +success. Clare had been so pleased with the plan.... + +Perhaps it was natural that Alwynne, as she made the arrangement, forgot +to consult Elsbeth. She told her about it afterwards, and Elsbeth +praised her for her unselfishness, and was anxious lest she should be +overtired. She did not remind Alwynne that she was alone all day; that +she had been accustomed to look forward to the gay tea-hour, when +Alwynne returned, full of news and nonsense. She resigned herself +cheerfully to a solitary meal, and to keeping the muffins hot against +Alwynne's uncertain home-coming. + +The extra lessons had been a real boon to Louise, and she had grown +attached to Alwynne and intimate with her. Alwynne's elder-sisterly +attitude to the children she taught, although it horrified the older +women, was seldom abused; it merely made her the recipient of quaint +confidences, and gave her an insight into the characters of her pupils +that was invaluable to girls and governess alike. To developing girls a +confidante is a necessity. The present boarding-school system of +education ousts the mother from that, her natural position; renders her, +to the daughter steeped in an alien atmosphere, an outsider, lacking +all understanding. Invaluable years pass before the artificial gulf that +boarding-school creates between them, is spanned. And the substitute for +the only form of sympathy and interest that is entirely untainted by +selfish impulses is usually the chance acquaintance, the neighbour of +desk and bedroom; occasionally, very occasionally, for the girl's +feverish admiration usually precludes sane acquaintanceship, a mistress +of more than average insight. Such a mistress, Alwynne, in spite of, or +perhaps because of, her youthful indiscretions of manner, was in a fair +way to become. + +And of all the children who had opened their affairs to her, none had +experienced more completely the tonic effect of a kind heart and a sense +of humour, than Louise. + +She would come to her lesson, overtired from the strain of the morning +classes, over-stimulated from the contact with Clare, over-hopeful or +utterly depressed, as the mood took her. Alwynne's cheerful interest was +balm to the child's overwrought nerves. Alwynne let her spend a quarter +of an hour or more in confiding the worries and excitements of the day, +after which, Louise, curiously revived, contrived to get through an +amazing amount of work. There was no doubt as to Louise's capacity for +advanced work, but her state of mind affected her output; she was, as +Alwynne once phrased it to Clare, "like a violin--you had to tune her up +before she was fit for use." And Alwynne's "tuning" had done more than +she or Clare or even Louise herself had guessed, towards her success in +her new class. + +Bit by bit, Alwynne had heard all about Louise; the details of her +meagre home-life; her attitude to the busy world of school, that +frightened while it attracted her; her difficulties with her fellows; +her delight in her work. Finally, there was Clare. Louise was very shy +about Clare; inclined to scent mockery, to be on the defensive; but +Alwynne's own matter-of-fact enthusiasm had its effect. Also Alwynne's +interest, though it invited, never demanded confidences. It took Louise +some time to realise that it arose from simple friendliness of soul; +that there was neither curiosity nor pedagogic zeal behind it; that, +though she was teased and laughed at, she was respected, and, out of +school hours, treated as an equal; that she and her schoolgirl secrets +were safe with Miss Durand. It was, indeed, in the light of after +events, pathetic that Louise, dazzled by Clare's will-o'-the-wisp +brilliance, never realised how close to her for a season the friend, the +elder sister she had longed for, really stood. With the egoism of a +child, and a child in love, she was humbly and passionately grateful for +Clare's least sign of interest, yet accepted all the many little +kindnesses that Alwynne showed her, as a matter of course. She scarcely +realised, absorbed as she was in Clare, that she was even fond of Miss +Durand, yet she relied on her implicitly: and Alwynne, innocent of the +jealous, acquisitive impulse that tainted Clare's intercourse with any +girl who caught her fancy, was not at all disturbed or hurt by Louise's +attitude. She looked after the child as she would have looked after a +starving cat or a fugitive emperor, if they had come her way, as a +matter of course, and as instinctively as she ate her dinner. + +She was thinking of Louise, as she sat waiting, and a little curious as +to what the child would say to her. She had heard all about the Browning +lesson, at lunch, from Rose Levy, whose veiled, epigrammatic malice was +usually amusing. Agatha had been on her other side, and she had +anticipated equally amusing protests and contradictions and a highly +coloured and totally different version. But Agatha had been unusually +subdued that morning. Both had made it apparent, however, that Clare had +been more than a little pleased with Louise. + +But, however triumphant Louise's morning might have been, she had no +business to be late now. What did she mean by keeping her waiting? Twice +had Alwynne been down to the preparation room, searching for her: she +did not mean to be impertinent of course, but it was, at least, casual. +Alwynne, with easy, evanescent indignation, resolved to give Louise a +taste of her tongue. + +Here the child herself burst in upon her meditations, flushed to her +glowing eyes, that were bright as if with drugs, excited as Alwynne had +never yet guessed that she could be, charged with some indefinable +quality as a live wire is charged with electricity. She stammered her +apologies mechanically, sure of pardon, and, the formality complied +with, was eager, touchingly eager for questions and the relief of +communication. + +But Alwynne, at nineteen, could not be expected to forego a legitimate +grievance. + +She read Louise a little lecture on punctuality and politeness, and +settled at once to the work in hand. She said, with intention, that they +must not waste any more time. + +Louise submitted with her usual meekness, and did, Alwynne could see, do +her utmost to apply herself to her work. But her answers were +ludicrously vague and _mal à propos_, and she met Alwynne's comments, +momentarily sharper, with an abstracted smile. + +Suddenly Alwynne lost patience with her. + +"I don't know what's the matter with you to-day, Louise," she said +sharply. "I don't believe you've taken in a word of what I've said. If +you can't take a little more trouble, I'd better go home." + +Louise, obviously and pathetically jerked back to consciousness from +some dreamer's Paradise, looked up at her with scared, apologetic eyes. +The radiance dimmed slowly from her face. She made no answer, only to +put up her hand to her head, with a queer little gesture of +helplessness. + +"What's the matter with you?" demanded Alwynne, but already more gently. +Her anger was always fleeting as a puff of smoke. + +But Louise merely shrugged her shoulders and looked vaguely at her +again. Then she returned to her work. + +Alwynne, walking up and down the room watched her intently as she bent +over the Latin grammar. She was wrinkling her brows over a piece of +prose that she had already construed at the previous lesson, and with an +ease that had astonished Alwynne. She looked bewildered and put her hand +to her head again. Her efforts to recall her wandering thoughts were +patent and almost physical in their intensity; her small hand hovered, +contracting and relaxing, like a baby catching at butterflies. + +Alwynne was puzzled by her. The child was sincere: but obviously +something momentous had happened, and was still occupying her, to the +exclusion of all else. Alwynne wished that she had been less hasty: she +felt that she should not have checked her. + +She stood a moment beside her, reading what she had written. It was +scarcely legible, and made no sense. She put a hand on her shoulder-- + +"Louise, you are writing nonsense. What is it? Tell me what the matter +is?" + +Louise laid down her pen, gave her a quick, shy smile, hesitated +uncertainly, then, to Alwynne's dismay, collapsed on the low desk in a +fit of wild, hysterical crying. + +Alwynne always shed the mistress in emergency. + +She whipped her arms about the child, and, sitting down, gathered her +into her lap. She felt how the little, thin body was wrenched and shaken +by the sobs it did not attempt to control, but she said nothing, only +held it comfortingly tight. + +Slowly the paroxysm subsided, and the words came, jerky, fragmentary, +faint. Alwynne bent close to catch them. + +Louise was so sorry ... she was all right now ... Miss Durand must think +her crazy. No--no--nothing wrong ... it was the other way round ... she +was so happy that it frightened her ... she was madly happy ... she had +been in heaven all day ... it was too wonderful to tell any one +about ... even Miss Durand.... Miss Hartill--no one could ever know what +Miss Hartill was.... She had been so good to her--so wonderful.... She +had made Louise so happy that she was frightened ... she couldn't +believe it was possible to be so madly happy.... That was all.... Yes, +it had made her cry--the pure happiness.... Wasn't it silly? Only she +was so dreadfully tired.... It had hurt her head trying to do the +Latin--because she was so tired.... Yes, she had had headaches +lately.... But she didn't care--it was worth it, to please Miss +Hartill.... It was queer that being so happy should make her want to +cry; it was comical, wasn't it? + +She began to laugh as she spoke, with tears brimming over her lashes, +and for a few moments was inclined to be hysterical again. + +But Alwynne's firm grasp and calm voice was too much for Louise's will, +weakened by emotion and fatigue; she was soon coaxed and hushed into +quiet again, and after lying passively for a while in Alwynne's arms, +fell into the sudden light sleep of utter exhaustion. + +Alwynne, rocking her gently, sat on in the darkening room, without a +thought of the passage of time; puzzling over the problem in her arms. + +She was too ignorant and inexperienced to understand Louise's outburst, +or to realise the dangerous strain that the child's sensibilities were +undergoing but the touch of the little figure, clinging, nestling to +her, stirred her. She was vaguely aware that something--somehow--was +amiss. Innocently she rejoiced that Clare was being kind to Louise, that +the child was so happy and content; but the complaint of fatigue, the +frequent headaches, troubled her. She would speak to Elsbeth.... Perhaps +the child needed a tonic? Elsbeth would know.... + +She glanced down. How different people looked asleep.... She had never +before realised how young Louise was. What was she? Thirteen? But what a +baby she looked, with her thin, child's shape and small, clutching +hands.... It was the long-lashed lids that did it, hiding the beautiful +eyes that were so much older, as she saw now, than the rest of Louise. +With her soul asleep, Louise looked ten, and a frail little ghost of +ten, at that. + +Alwynne frowned. She supposed Clare Hartill realised how young Louise +was, was right in allowing her to work so hard? But Clare knew all about +girls, and what did she, Alwynne, know? After all Louise had never +flagged before.... It was probably the usual end of term fatigue--and of +course it was necessarily an unusually stiff three months for her.... +She needed a holiday.... Next term would come more easily to her, poor +little impetuous Louise.... Alwynne realised that she was growing fond +of the child. + +Suddenly she heard footsteps in the corridor, and her own name in +Clare's impatient accents. Louise, too, roused at the sound, and, +jerking herself upright, slid from Alwynne's lap to her feet, as the +door opened and the light was switched on with a snap. Clare stood in +the doorway. + +Serenely Alwynne rose, smoothing the creases in her dress, while with +the other hand she steadied Louise, swaying and blinking in the strong +light. Clare's sharp eyes appreciated her calm no less than the +tear-stains on Louise's cheek; she guessed distortedly at the situation. +She bit her lip. She found nothing to be annoyed at, yet she was not +pleased. + +"Alwynne! I've been hunting for you high and low. I thought you were +coming home to tea with me." + +Alwynne beamed at her. + +"Of course! And do you know, I forgot to tell Elsbeth. Isn't it +disgraceful? But I'm coming." + +She turned to Louise. + +"My dear, run along home, and get to bed early; you look dreadfully +tired. Doesn't she, Miss Hartill?" + +But Clare was already in the passage. + +Alwynne hurried after her, with a last cheerful nod, and Louise heard +the echo of their footsteps die away in the distance. + +Still dazed and heavy with sleep, her thoughts obscured and chaotic, +she sat down again stupidly at her desk in the alcove of the window. She +leaned her forehead against the cold pane and looked out. + +It was a wild night. The wind soughed and shrieked in the bare trees: +the rain tore past in gusts; the lamp-post at the corner was mirrored in +the wet pavement, like a moon on an oily sea. + +Louise pushed open the casement. The wind lulled as she did so, and she +lent out. The air, at least, was mild, and a faint back-wash of rain +sprayed soothingly upon her hot cheeks and swollen eyes. + +Slowly her thoughts shaped themselves. So the day was over--the happiest +day she had ever had.... She thought God was very wonderful to have made +such a woman as Miss Hartill. She sent Him a hasty little prayer of +thanks. But she had been very foolish that afternoon.... She could not +understand it now.... She hoped Miss Durand would not tell Miss +Hartill.... Miss Hartill had been in a great hurry! Was that why she had +not said good-night to her? But such a little word. She wondered why +Miss Hartill had not said good-night to her.... + +The front door below the window creaked and opened. Louise peered +downwards. Miss Durand and Miss Hartill came down the steps sheltering +under one umbrella, talking. Their voices floated up. + +"I hope you don't spoil her, Alwynne? Yes, I know----" Alwynne was +murmuring friendly adjectives. "But a mistress is in a peculiar +position. You should not let yourself be too familiar----" A gust of +wind and rain whirling down the road bore away the rest of the sentence. + +Louise shut the window. She shivered a little as she gathered up her +books. + +Her happiest day was over. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +A week before Christmas Alwynne began to wonder how the day itself +should be spent, or rather, if her plans for the spending would ever +pass Elsbeth's censorship. She was doubtful. For the last two or three +years Christmas had been to them a rock of collision. + +"The pity of it!" thought Alwynne. Once it had been the event, the +crowning glory, the very reason of the ending year. A year, indeed, had +always presented itself to her in advance as a wide country through +which she must make her way, to reach the hostel, Christmas, hidden in +the mists of time, on its further border. She had the whole map of the +land in her mind, curiously vivid and distinct. She had never +consciously devised the picture; it had, from the first, presented +itself complete and unalterable. She stood, on New Year's Day, at the +entrance of a country lane which ran between uneven hedges through a +varying countryside of fields and woods and heatherland. Each change in +the surroundings represented a month, the smaller differences the weeks +and days. She went down this winding lane as the days went by, in slow +content. January was a silent expanse of high tableland, snow-bound to +the horizon. Winding down hill through the sodden grassland of the bare +February country, where she lighted on nothing but early parsnip fronds +and sleepy celandine buds in the dripping wickery hedges, she passed at +last into the wood of March, a wood of pollard hazels and greening oaks +and bramble-guarded dingles, where the anemones grew, and the first +primroses. She slipped and slithered in and out of mossy leaf-pits, and +the briars clawed her hair and pinafore, as she robbed the primrose +clumps with wet, reddened fingers. The wind shrieked overhead and +wrestled wildly with the bare branches, but beyond there was blue sky +and a drift of cloud. But, unawares, she would always head through the +wood to where the trees grew thinner and dash out at last, through a +mist of pale cuckoo-pint, into the cowslip field that was April. + +The path ran on through May and June between fields of ox-eye daisies +and garden roses, always down hill, till she tumbled into August, the +deep hot valley. There she found the sea. + +With September the road lifted steadily, growing stony and ever steeper. +It wound on ahead of her like a silver thread through a brocade of red +and gold and purple, that was heather and bracken and beech. But the +beech blossoms could never be gathered; they fell apart into a shower of +dull leaves, and left her with a branch of bare twigs in her hand. The +briony berries that she twisted into wreaths stained her straw hat with +their black, evil juice; even the manna-like old-man's-beard smelled +sour and rotten. The decaying, witchlike beauty of the season tricked +and frightened her; autumn was a hard hill to climb. + +But far away, on the summit of that difficult hill, stood a house. An +old house, gaily bricked, dressed in ivy, with a belfry from which +carols rang out unceasingly. It was always night-time where it stood and +cheerful lights were set in every window. Alwynne never saw the house +till she had turned the bend of the road into November; then it faced +her suddenly and she would wave to the distant windows with a thrill of +excitement, and quicken her steps, with the goal of the journey in sight +at last. There was yet a weary climb before it was reached; every day of +December was a boulder, painfully beclambered. But she would come to the +gates at last, and tear up the frosty drive, from the shadow of whose +shrubberies Jacob Marley peered and clanked at her and ghosts of +Christmas turkeys gobbled horribly, to the open holly-hung doorway where +Santa Claus, authentic in beard and dressing-gown, welcomed her with +Elsbeth's voice. Followed stay-at-home days of delirious merry-making, +from which she awoke a week later, to find herself, her back to a closed +door, a spent cracker in her hand, looking out again, eager and a little +wistful, across the white untrodden plain of yet another January. + +But ever the next Christmas beckoned her anew. + +To Elsbeth, too, Christmas was the day of delights, and Alwynne the +queen of it. To Elsbeth, too, the pleasure of it began many weeks +earlier in the secret fashioning of quaint gifts and surprises, and the +anticipation of the small niece's delight in them. Elsbeth would have +cheerfully cut off one of her slim fingers if Alwynne had happened to +covet it. The childless woman loved Alwynne--the child in Alwynne she +worshipped. + +But though the delight of actual motherhood was denied Elsbeth, she was +spared none of its chagrins. + +Stooping for years to a child's level, she was cruelly shaken when +Alwynne, suddenly and inexplicably, as it always seems, grew up. It took +Elsbeth almost as many years to straighten herself again. Years when +Alwynne, in the arrogance of her enterprising youth, thought that +Elsbeth was sometimes awfully childish. She supposed that she was +growing old; she used not to be like that.... + +Thereafter, each Christmas, challenging comparison as it did with the +memory-mellowed charm of its forerunners, emphasised the change that had +taken place. Yearly the ideal Christmas lured them to the old +observances; yearly the reality satisfied them less. + +Elsbeth still sat up half the night on Christmas Eve, at work upon the +little tree. Alwynne still planned gorgeous and laborious presents for +her aunt. Elsbeth still filled a stocking (out-size) with tip-toe +secrecy, and Alwynne, at sixteen, still ran across in her dressing-gown, +and curled up on Elsbeth's bed to unpack it. + +But at sixteen one is too old and too young to be a child any more. The +tree was a fir-tree, pure and simple; the fairy lights stank of tallow; +and not even for the sake of a new bright sixpence, would Alwynne, in +the thick of a vegetarian fad, devour a slice of the evil-coloured +Christmas pudding. + +Elsbeth, as she saw her old-time jokes and small surprises that could no +longer surprise, fall utterly flat, thought that school had altered +Alwynne altogether; that she was assuming airs of maturity ridiculous in +a child of her age, ("Sixteen? She's a mere baby still," affirmed poor +Elsbeth,) that she was growing indifferent, superior, heartless. And +Alwynne, trying to appear amused, wondered why Christmas was so +different from what it used to be and wished heartily that Elsbeth would +not try to be skittish. It didn't suit her--made her seem undignified. +Each, longing for the old days, when the other had conjured up so easily +the true spirit of the festival, tried her affectionate best to do so +still; each, failing inevitably, inevitably blamed the other. Neither +realised, that Dan Christmas is the god of very little children, and +that where they are not, he, too, does not linger. + +But the last restless, unsatisfactory day had settled the matter for +them finally. Alwynne had fidgeted through morning service, and pained +her aunt, on the walk home, with her sceptical young comments; had +omitted to kiss her under the mistletoe; had sat through the ceremonious +meal, answering Elsbeth's cheerful pleasantries in monosyllables; and +finally, after an unguarded remark, and the inevitable reproving +comment, had flung out of the room in a fever of irritation. She came +near thinking Elsbeth a foolish and intolerable old maid. And Elsbeth, +sitting sadly over the fire all the lonely afternoon, puzzled meekly +over Alwynne's hardness of heart, and cried a little, in pure longing, +for the baby of a few years back, to whom she had been as God. + +They were reconciled, of course, by tea-time. Alwynne, quieted by +solitude, was soon bewildered at her own ill-humour, shocked at the +sentiments she had been able to entertain, remorseful at hurting +Elsbeth's feelings and spoiling her Christmas Day. They were able to +send each other to bed happy again. + +But they had no more snap-dragons and early stockings. The next +Christmas, shorn of its splendours, was a strange day to them both, but, +at least, a peaceful one, with Alwynne at her gentlest, and Elsbeth, +forgiving her as best she could, for her long skirts and her seventeen +years. + +With the passing of yet another year, however, Alwynne's last scruple as +to the sacrosanct privacy of Christmas celebrations vanished utterly. +The ideal day, she saw at last, and clearly, should be neither a +children's carnival, nor a symposium of relatives. (Alwynne knew of none +but Elsbeth, but she dearly loved a phrase.) Christmas should be a time +of social intercourse, of peace and goodwill towards men--the human +race--neighbours and friends--not merely relations.... One should not +shut oneself up.... It would be a sound idea, for instance, to ask some +one to dinner.... A friend of Elsbeth's--or there was Clare! It would be +very jolly if Clare could come to dinner.... Clare was delightful when +she was in holiday mood; she could keep the table in a roar.... A little +fun would do Elsbeth good.... Surely Elsbeth would enjoy having Clare to +dinner? + +She found herself, however, experiencing considerable difficulty in +opening up the project to her aunt. Elsbeth, to whom the possibility of +such a request had long ago presented itself, who could have told you by +sheer intuition at what exact moment the idea occurred to her niece, +gave her no help. Alwynne had contrived to put her in the position of +appearing to approve Clare Hartill. Clare, she felt, had had something +to do with that. She knew that it would be unwise to lose the advantage +of her apparent tolerance; knew that Clare expected her to lose it by +some impulsive expression of mistrust or dislike, and intended to +utilise the lapse for her own ends. It would be easy for Clare to pose +as the generous victim of unreasoning hostility. But Clare should not, +she resolved, have the opportunity. She, Elsbeth, would never be so far +lacking in cordiality as to give her any sort of handle. But Clare +Hartill should not eat her Christmas dinner with them, vowed Elsbeth, +for all that. + +So for a couple of days, Alwynne, approaching Elsbeth from all possible +angles, found no crack in her armour, and somewhat puzzled, but entirely +unsuspicious, thought it hard that Elsbeth should be, at times, so +curiously unresponsive. She would not have scrupled to ask her aunt +outright to invite Clare, but she quite genuinely wished to find out +first if Elsbeth would mind, and never guessed that the difficulty she +found in opening the matter was the answer to that question. + +The arrival of the turkey was her opportunity. + +Sailing into the kitchen in search of raisins (the more maturely +dignified Alwynne's deportment, the more likely her detection in some +absurd child's habit or predilection), she found Elsbeth raging +low-voiced, and the small maid gaping admiration over the brobdingnagian +proportions of their Christmas dinner. + +"Look at it, Alwynne! What am I to do? Twenty pounds! And we shan't get +through ten! Really, it's too bad--I wrote so distinctly. It's +impossible to return it--to Devonshire! No time. It's the twenty-second +already. How shall we ever get through it?" + +"We might get some one in to help us," began Alwynne delightedly. But +Elsbeth, very busy all of a sudden, with basin and egg-beater, whisked +and bustled her out of the kitchen. + +Alwynne returned to the matter, however, later in the day. + +"Elsbeth, we shall never manage that turkey alone." + +"Of course, I must send some over to Mrs. Marpler," began Elsbeth +hastily. + +Mrs. Marpler was a charwoman. Alwynne contrived to make their succession +of little maids adore her, but she and Mrs. Marpler detested one another +cordially. Mrs. Marpler's offences, according to Alwynne, were that she +was torpid, inefficient, breathed heavily, smelled of cats, and, by the +complicated and judicious recital of the authentic calamities which +regularly befell her, lured from Elsbeth more than her share of the +broken meats and old clothes of the establishment, perquisites which +Alwynne, entirely incredulous, coveted for pet dependents of her own. +Alwynne's offences, according to Mrs. Marpler, were, the aforementioned +incredulity, her hostile influence on Miss Loveday, a certain crispness +of manner and a tendency to open all windows in Mrs. Marpler's +neighbourhood. The feud distressed Elsbeth, and Alwynne's diagnosis of +Mrs. Marpler's character; for she liked to believe the best of every +one. Alwynne forced her to agree, but secretly she sympathised with her +feckless char-lady. + +"Marpler has been out of work three weeks, and as poor Mrs. Marpler +says, where their Christmas dinner is to come from----" + +"How much extra did you pay her this week?" demanded Alwynne +remorselessly. "And last week--and the week before--and the week before +that? Of course he's out of work. Who wouldn't be?" + +"My dear Alwynne, if you think they can buy a Christmas dinner on what I +gave them--" retorted Elsbeth heatedly. "But it's absurd to argue with +you. What do you know of what food costs?" + +"Anyhow, Mrs. Baker, with six children----" began Alwynne, who also had +been primed by a protégée. But she recollected that she did not wish to +annoy Elsbeth at this juncture. Clare must take precedence of Mrs. +Baker. "Well, you can send them the legs and the carcase," she conceded; +"even then there will be more than we can possibly manage. Couldn't we +ask some one to spend the day with us?" + +"I hardly think," said Elsbeth, with a touch of severity, "that you +would find any one. Most people like to keep Christmas with their +Relations." + +"Well, I haven't got any. But by all accounts I think I should hate 'em +in the plural as much as I love 'em in the singular." She blew Elsbeth a +kiss. "But if we could find some one--to help us eat up the turkey--and +spend the evening--it would be rather jolly, don't you think? It was +dullish last year, wasn't it?" + +"Was it?" said Elsbeth, with careful brightness. "I'm sorry. I had +thought you enjoyed it." + +"Oh, why is she so touchy? I didn't mean anything," cried Alwynne within +herself. And aloud-- + +"Oh, I only meant without a tree or anything specially Christmassy----" + +"Alwynne," said Elsbeth, with scrupulous patience, "it was you who +suggested not having one." + +"I know, I know, I know, I know!" cried Alwynne, in a fever. + +Elsbeth sighed. + +Alwynne repented. + +"Elsbeth darling, I didn't mean to be rude; I'm a beast. And I didn't +mean it wasn't nice last year. I only meant--it would be--be a change to +have some one--because of the turkey--and I thought, perhaps Clare----" + +"Can't you exist for a day without seeing Clare Hartill?" asked Elsbeth, +with a wry smile. + +Alwynne dimpled. + +"Not very well," she said. + +Elsbeth stared at her plate. Alwynne edged her chair along the table, +till she sat at Elsbeth's elbow. She slid an arm round her neck. + +"Elsbeth! Elsbeth, dear! You're not cross, Elsbeth? It's a very big +turkey. Do, Elsbeth!" + +"Do what?" + +"Ask Clare. You like her, don't you?" + +No answer. + +"Don't you, Elsbeth?" Alwynne's tone was a little anxious. + +"Would you care if I didn't?" The pattern of her plate still interested +Elsbeth. She was tracing its windings with her fork. + +"You silly--it would just spoil everything. That's just it--I would like +to get you two fond of each other, only with Clare so busy there's never +a chance of your really getting acquainted." + +"I knew Clare Hartill long before you did, Alwynne. I knew her as a +schoolgirl." + +"But not well--not as I know her." + +"No, not as you know her." + +"There you are," said Alwynne, with satisfaction. "That's why--you don't +know her properly. Oh, Elsbeth, you must share all my good things, and +Clare's the very best of them. Do let her come." + +"She may be engaged; she probably is." + +"Oh, no--Clare will be alone--I know, because----" she stopped herself. + +Elsbeth questioned her with her eyes. + +"Oh, nothing--only I happen to know," said Alwynne. + +"Because?" + +Alwynne shook her head mischievously. + +"Oh, well, if you won't tell me----" began Elsbeth. + +"Oh, I will, I will," cried Alwynne hastily. + +"My dear, I don't want to know Miss Hartill's secrets, or yours either," +said Elsbeth huffily. But to herself, "Why am I losing my temper over +these silly trifles?" + +"Elsbeth dear, it was nothing. Only Clare did ask me to spend Christmas +Day with her." + +"Well?" said Elsbeth jealously. + +"What?" asked Alwynne's ingenuous eyes. + +"Are you going?" + +Alwynne nestled up to her, humming with careful flatness the final bars +of _Home, sweet home_. + +"Elsbeth, you old darling--I do believe you're jealous! Are you, +Elsbeth? Are you?" + +"Are you going?" repeated Elsbeth. + +Alwynne was sobered by her tone. + +"I'm going to spend my Christmas Day in my own home, with my own +Elsbeth," she said, "and I think you needn't have asked me." + +Elsbeth melted. + +"My dear, I'm a silly old woman----" + +"Yes, you tell me that once a week." + +"One day you'll believe it.--All right--you can ask your Miss +Hartill--or shall I write?" + +Alwynne hugged her. + +"Elsbeth, you're an angel! I'll go round at once. Oh, it will be jolly." + +"If she comes." + +Alwynne turned, on the way to her bedroom. Elsbeth's intonation was +peculiar. + +"What do you mean?" + +"I don't think she'll come, Alwynne." + +"But I know she'll be alone----" + +"Well, you go and ask her." + +"But why do you say that--in that tone?" + +"I may be wrong. But I've known her longer than you have. But run along +and ask her." + +"But why? Why?" + +"Oh, don't bother me, child," cried Elsbeth impatiently. "Run along and +ask her." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"I had a letter from Louise yesterday," announced Clare. + +She was curled up in a saddle-bag before the roaring golden fire, and +was busy with paper and pencil. Alwynne, big with her as yet unissued +invitation, sat cross-legged on the white bearskin at her feet. The +floor was littered with papers and book-catalogues. At Christmas-time +Clare ordered books as a housewife orders groceries, and she and Alwynne +had spent a luxurious evening over her lists. The vivid flames lit up +Clare's thin, lazy length, and turned the hand she held up against their +heat into transparent carnelian. Her face was in shadow, but there were +dancing specks of light in her sombre eyes that kept time with the +leaping blaze. Clare was a sybarite over her fires. She would not endure +coal or gas or stove--wood, and wood only, must be used; and she would +pay any price for apple-wood, ostensibly for the quality of its flame, +secretly for the mere pleasure of burning fuel with so pleasant a name; +for she liked beautiful words as a child likes chocolate--a sober, +acquisitive liking. She had, too, though she would not own it, a delight +in destruction, costly destruction; she enjoyed the sensation of +reckless power that it gave her. The trait might be morbid, but there +was not a trace of pose in it; she could have enjoyed a Whittington +bonfire, without needing a king to gasp applause. Yet she shivered +nightly as she undressed in her cold bedroom, rather than commit the +extravagance of an extra fire. She never realised the comicality of her +contradictoriness, or even its existence in her character, though it +qualified every act and impulse of her daily life. Her soul was, indeed, +a hybrid, combining the temper of a Calvinist with the tastes of a +Renascence bishop. + +At the moment she was in gala mood. The autumn term was but four days +dead, she had not had time to tire of holidays, though, within a week, +she would be bored again, and restless for the heavy work under which +she affected to groan. Her chafing mind seldom allowed her indolent body +much of the peace it delighted in--was ever the American in lotus-land. +It was fidgeted at the moment by Alwynne's absorption in a lavishly +illustrated catalogue. + +"Did you hear, Alwynne? A letter from Louise." + +Alwynne's "Oh?" was absent. It was in the years of the Rackham craze, +and she had just discovered a reproduction of the _Midsummer_ Helen. + +"Any message?" Clare knew how to prod Alwynne. + +The girl glanced up amused but a little indignant. + +"You've answered it already? Well! And the weeks I've had to wait +sometimes." + +"This was such a charming letter," said Clare smoothly. "It deserved an +answer. She really has the quaintest style. And Alwynne--never a blot or +a flourish! It's a pleasure to read." + +Alwynne laughed ruefully. She would always squirm good-humouredly under +Clare's pin-pricks, with such amusement at her own discomfiture that +Clare never knew whether to fling away her needle for good, or, for the +mere experiment's sake, to stab hard and savagely. At that stage of +their intimacy, Alwynne's guilelessness invariably charmed and disarmed +her--she knew that it would take a very crude display of cruelty to make +Alwynne believe that she was being hurt intentionally. Clare was amused +by the novel pedestal upon which she had been placed; she was accustomed +to the panoply of Minerva, or the bow of Diana Huntress, but she had +never before been hailed as Bona Dea. It tickled her to be endowed with +every domestic virtue, to be loved, as Alwynne loved her, with the +secure and fearless affection of a daughter for a newly-discovered and +adorable young mother. She appreciated Alwynne's determination of their +relationship, her nice sense of the difference in age, her modesty in +reserving any claim to an equality in their friendship, her frank and +affectionate admiration--yet, while it pleased her, it could pique. Calm +comradeship or surrendering adoration she could cope with, but the +subtle admixture of such alien states of mind was puzzling. She had +acquired a lover with a sense of humour and she felt that she had her +hands full. Her imperious will would, in time, she knew, eliminate +either the lover or the humour--it annoyed her that she was not as yet +quite convinced that it would be the humour. She intended to master +Alwynne, but she realised that it would be a question of time, that she +would give her more trouble than the children to whom she was +accustomed. Alwynne's utter unrealisation of the fact that a trial of +strength was in progress, was disconcerting: yet Clare, jaded and +super-subtle, found her innocence endearing. Without relaxing in her +purpose, she yet caught herself wondering if an ally were not better +than a slave. But the desire for domination was never entirely shaken +off, and Alwynne's free bearing was in itself an ever-present challenge. +Clare loved her for it, but her pride was in arms. It was her misfortune +not to realise that, for all her Olympian poses, she had come to love +Alwynne deeply and enduringly. + +Alwynne, meanwhile, laughing and pouting on the hearth, the firelight +revealing every change of expression in her piquant face, was declining +to be classed with Agatha Middleton; her handwriting may be bad, but it +wasn't a beetle-track; anyhow, Queen Elizabeth had a vile fist--Clare +admired Queen Elizabeth, didn't she? She had always so much to say to +Clare, that if she stopped to bother about handwriting----! Had Clare +never got into a row for untidiness in her own young days? Elsbeth had +hinted.... But of course she reserved judgment till she had heard +Clare's version! She settled to attention and Clare, inveigled into +reminiscences, found herself recounting quaint and forgotten incidents +to her own credit and discredit, till, before the evening was over, +Alwynne knew almost as much of Clare's schooldays as Clare did herself. +She could never resist telling Alwynne stories, Alwynne was always so +genuinely breathless with interest. + +They returned to Louise at last, and Alwynne read the letter, chuckling +over the odd phrases, and dainty marginal drawings. She would have +dearly liked to see Clare's answer. She was glad, for all her protests, +that Clare had been moved to answer; she knew so well the delight it +would give Louise. The child would need cheering up. For, quite +resignedly and by the way, Louise had mentioned that the Denny family +had developed whooping-cough, and emigrated to Torquay, and she, in +quarantine, though it was hoped she had escaped infection, was preparing +for a solitary Christmas. + +Alwynne looked up at Clare with wrinkled brows. + +"Poor child! But what can I do? I haven't had whooping-cough, and +Elsbeth is always so afraid of infection; or else she could have come to +us. I know Elsbeth wouldn't have minded." + +"You are going to leave me to myself then? You've quite made up your +mind?" + +Alwynne's eyes lighted up. + +"Oh, Clare, it's all right. You are coming! At least--I mean--Elsbeth +sends her kindest regards, and she would be so pleased if you will come +to dinner with us on Christmas Day," she finished politely. + +Clare laughed. + +"It's very kind of your aunt." + +"Yes, isn't it?" said Alwynne, with ingenuous enthusiasm. + +"I'm afraid I can't come, Alwynne." + +Alwynne's face lengthened. + +"Oh, Clare! Why ever not?" + +Clare hesitated. She had no valid reason, save that she preferred the +comfort of her own fireside and that she had intended Alwynne to come to +her. Alwynne's regretful refusal when she first mooted the arrangement, +she had not considered final, but this invitation upset her plans. +Elsbeth's influence was opposing her. She hated opposition. Also she did +not care for Elsbeth. It would not be amiss to make Elsbeth (not her +dislike of Elsbeth) the reason for her refusal. It would have its effect +on Alwynne sooner or later. + +She considered Alwynne narrowly, as she answered-- + +"My dear, I had arranged to be at home, for one thing." + +Alwynne looked hurt. + +"Of course, if you don't care about it--" she began. + +Clare rallied her. + +"Be sensible, my child. It is most kind of Miss Loveday; but--wasn't it +chiefly your doing, Alwynne? Imagine her dismay if I accepted. A +stranger in the gate! On Christmas Day! One must make allowances for +little prejudices, you know." + +"She'll be awfully disappointed," cried Alwynne, so eager for Clare that +she believed it. + +"Will she?" Clare laughed pleasantly. "Every one doesn't wear your +spectacles. What would she do with me, for a whole day?" + +"We shouldn't see her much," began Alwynne. "She spends most of her time +in church. I go in the morning--(yes, I'm very good!) but I've drawn the +line at turning out after lunch." + +"Then why shouldn't you come to me instead? It would be so much better. +I shall be alone, you know." Clare's wistful intonation was not entirely +artificial. + +Alwynne was distressed. + +"Oh, Clare, I'd love to--you know I'd love to--but how could I? Elsbeth +would be dreadfully hurt. I couldn't leave her alone on Christmas Day." + +"But you can me?" + +"Clare, don't put it like that. You know I shall want to be with you all +the time. But Elsbeth's like my mother. It would be beastly of me. You +must put relations first at Christmas-time, even if they're not first +really." + +She smiled at Clare, but she felt disloyal as she said it, and hated +herself. Yet wasn't it true? Clare came first, though Elsbeth must never +guess it. Dear old Elsbeth was pretty dense, thank goodness! Where +ignorance is bliss, etcetera! Yet she, Alwynne, felt extraordinarily +mean.... + +Clare watched her jealously. She had set her heart on securing Alwynne +for Christmas Day, and had thought, ten minutes since, with a secret, +confident smile, that there would not be much difficulty. And here was +Alwynne holding out--refusing categorically! It was incredible! Yet she +could not be angry: Alwynne so obviously was longing to be with her.... +Equally obviously prepared to risk her displeasure (a heavy penalty +already, Clare guessed, to Alwynne), rather than ignore the older claim. +Clare thought that an affection that could be so loyal to a tedious old +maid was better worth deflecting than many a more ardent, unscrupulous +enthusiasm. Alwynne was showing strength of character. + +She persisted nevertheless-- + +"Well, it's a pity. I must eat my Christmas dinner alone, I suppose." + +"Oh, Clare, you might come to us," cried Alwynne. "I can't see why you +won't." + +Clare shrugged her shoulders. + +"If you can't see why, my dear Alwynne, there's no more to be said." + +Alwynne most certainly did not see; but Clare's delicately reproachful +tone convicted her, and incidentally Elsbeth, of some failure in tact. +She supposed she had blundered ... she often did.... But Elsbeth, at +least, must be exonerated ... she did so want Clare to think well of +Elsbeth.... + +She perjured herself in hasty propitiation. + +"Yes. Yes--I do see. I ought to have known, of course. Elsbeth was quite +right. She said you wouldn't, all along." + +"Oh?" Clare sat up. "Oh? Your aunt said that, did she?" She spoke with +detachment, but inwardly she was alert, on guard. Elsbeth had suddenly +become worth attention. + +"Oh, yes." Alwynne's voice was rueful. "She was quite sure of it. She +said I might ask you, with pleasure, if I didn't believe her--you see, +she'd love you to come--but she didn't think you would." + +"I wonder," said Clare, laughing naturally, "what made her say that?" + +"She said she knew you better than I did," confided Alwynne, with one of +her spurts of indignation. "As if----" + +"Yes, it's rather unlikely, isn't it?" said Clare, with an intimate +smile. "But you're not going?" + +"I must. Look at the time! Elsbeth will be having fits!" Alwynne called +from the hall where she was hastily slipping on her coat and hat. + +Clare stood a moment--thinking. + +So the duel had been with Elsbeth! So that negligible and mouse-like +woman had been aware--all along ... had prepared, with a thoroughness +worthy of Clare herself, for the inevitable encounter ... had worsted +Clare completely.... It was amazing.... Clare was compelled to +admiration. It was clear to her now that Elsbeth must have distrusted +her from the beginning. It had been Elsbeth's doing, not hers, that +their intercourse had been so slight.... Yet she had never restrained +Alwynne; she had risked giving her her head.... She was subtle! This +affair of the Christmas dinner for instance--Clare appreciated its +cleverness. Elsbeth had not wanted her, Clare now saw clearly; had been +anxious to avoid the intimacy that such an invitation would imply; +equally anxious, surely, that Alwynne should not guess her uneasy +jealousy: so she had risked the invitation, counting on her knowledge of +Clare's character (Clare stamped with vexation--that the woman should +have such a memory!) secure that Clare, unsuspicious of her motives, +would, by refusing, do exactly as Elsbeth wished. It had been the +neatest of gossamer traps--and Clare had walked straight into it.... +She was furious. If Alwynne, maddeningly unsuspicious Alwynne, had but +enlightened her earlier in the evening! Now she was caught, committed by +her own decision of manner to the course of action she most would have +wished to avoid.... She could not change her mind now without appearing +foolishly vacillating.... It would not do.... She had been bluffed, +successfully, gorgeously bluffed.... And Elsbeth was sitting at home +enjoying the situation ... too sure of herself and Clare even to be +curious as to the outcome of it all. She knew. Clare stamped again. Oh, +but she would pay Elsbeth for this.... The _casus belli_ was infinitely +trivial, but the campaign should be Homeric.... And this preliminary +engagement could not affect the final issues.... She always won in the +end.... But, after all, Elsbeth could not be blamed, though she must be +crushed; Alwynne was worth fighting for! Elsbeth was a fool.... If she +had treated Clare decently, Clare might--possibly--have shared Alwynne +with her.... She believed she would have had scruples.... Now they were +dispelled.... Alwynne, by fair means or foul, should be detached ... +should become Clare's property ... should be given up to no living woman +or man. + +She followed Alwynne into the hall and lit the staircase candle. She +would see Alwynne out. She would have liked to keep Alwynne with her for +a month. She was a delightful companion; it was extraordinary how +indispensable she made herself. Clare knew that her flat would strike +her as a dreary place to return to, when she had shut the door on +Alwynne. She would sit and read and feel restless and lonely. Yet she +did not allow herself to feel lonely as a rule; she scouted the +weakness. But Alwynne wound herself about you, thought Clare, and you +never knew, till she had gone, what a difference she made to you. + +She wished she could keep Alwynne another couple of hours.... But it was +eleven already ... her hold was not yet strong enough to warrant +innovations to which Elsbeth could object.... Her time would come +later.... How much later would depend on whether it were affection that +swayed Alwynne, or only a sense of duty.... She believed, because she +hoped, that it was duty--a sense of duty was more easily suborned than +an affection.... For the present, however, Alwynne must be allowed to do +as she thought right. Clare knew when she was beaten, and, with her +capacity for wry admiration of virtues that she had not the faintest +intention of incorporating in her own character, she was able to applaud +Alwynne heartily. Yet she did not intend to make victory easy to her. + +They went down the flights of stairs silently, side by side. Alwynne +opened the entrance doors and stood a moment, fascinated. + +"Look, Clare! What a night!" + +The moon was full and flooded earth and sky with bright, cold light. The +garden, roadway, roofs, trees and fences glittered like powdered +diamonds, white with frost and moonshine. The silence was exquisite. + +They stood awhile, enjoying it. + +Suddenly Clare shivered. Alwynne became instantly and anxiously +practical. + +"Clare, what am I thinking of? Go in at once--you'll catch a dreadful +cold." + +With unusual passivity Clare allowed herself to be hurried in. At the +staircase Alwynne said good-bye, handing her her candle, and waiting +till she should have passed out of sight. On the fourth step Clare +hesitated, and turned-- + +"Alwynne--come to me for Christmas?" + +Alwynne flung out her hands. + +"Clare! I mustn't." + +"Alwynne--come to me for Christmas?" + +"You know I mustn't! You know you'd think me a pig if I did, now +wouldn't you?" + +"I expect so." + +"But I'll come in for a peep at you," cried Alwynne, brightening, +"while Elsbeth's at afternoon service. I could do that. And to say Merry +Christmas!" + +"Come to dinner?" + +"I can't." + +"Then you needn't come at all." Clare turned away. + +Alwynne caught her hand, as it leaned on the balustrade. In the other +the candle shook a little. + +"Lady Macbeth! Dear Lady Macbeth! Miss Hartill of the Upper Sixth, whom +I'm scared to death of, really--you're behaving like a very naughty +small child. Now, aren't you? Honestly? Oh, do turn round and crush me +with a look for being impudent, and then tell me that I'm only doing +what you really approve. I don't want to, Clare, but you know you hate +selfishness." + +Clare looked down at her. + +"All right, Alwynne. You must do as you like." + +"Say good-night to me," demanded Alwynne. "Nicely, Clare, very nicely! +It's Christmas-time." + +Carefully Clare deposited her candlestick on the stair above. Leaning +over the banisters, she put her arms round Alwynne and kissed her +passionately and repeatedly. + +"Good-night, my darling," said Clare. + +Then, recoiling, she caught up her candlestick, and without another word +or look, hurried up the stairs. + +Alwynne walked home on air. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Elsbeth bore the news of Clare's defection with stoicism; but her +motherly soul was disturbed by Alwynne's disappointment, though she +could not stifle her pleasure in its cause. She felt, indeed, somewhat +guilty, and was eager to atone by acquiescing in Alwynne's plan of +visiting Clare while she went to church; and met her more than half way +over the question of an altered tea-hour. + +Alwynne, who from the first had been fretted, though but half +consciously, by the faintly repellent manner assumed by each of the two +women at mention of the other, was soothed by Elsbeth's advances. +Elsbeth was a dear, after all: there was no one quite like Elsbeth.... +For all her obstinacies and unreasonableness, she never really failed +you.... She could be depended on to love you at your worst; you could +quarrel with her with never a fear of real alienation.... Elsbeth might +not be exciting, but she was as indispensable as food.... She was, after +all, the starting-point and ultimate goal of all one's adventures.... +Clare would lose some of her delightfulness, if there were no Elsbeth to +whom to en-sky on her.... Alwynne did not see what she wanted with a +mother, so long as she had Elsbeth.... She had said so once to her aunt +and had never guessed, as she was chidden for sacrilege against the +picture over her bed, at the exquisite pleasure she had given. + +After the little coolness of the past few days (her aunt's fault +entirely, Alwynne knew, and so could be unruffled) Elsbeth's renewal of +sympathetic interest was very soothing. Alwynne was glad to foster it by +talking of Clare, and Clare, and nothing but Clare, for the rest of the +week. In church on Christmas morning, poor Elsbeth, settling her +spiritual accounts, begging forgiveness for uncharitable thoughts, and +assuring her Maker that she wished Clare no evil, could yet sigh for the +useful age of miracles, and patron saints, and devils, when a prayer in +the right quarter could transport your enemy to inaccessible islands of +the Antipodes. She would have been magnanimous, have bargained for every +comfort--Eden's climate and hot and cold water laid on--but the island +must be definitely inaccessible and Antipodean. + +Clare, too, had spent her morning, if not in prayer, at least in +profound meditation. She felt stranded, and was wishing for Alwynne, and +anathematising the superfluous and intriguing aunt. + +Clare made the mistake of all tortuous intelligences in being unable to +credit appearances. She was being, as usual, unjust to Elsbeth, Alwynne, +and the world at large. She could not believe in simplicity combined +with brains: a simple soul was necessarily a simpleton in her eyes. +Because her own words were ever two edged, her meaning flavoured by +reservations and implications, she literally could not accept a speech +as expressing no more and no less than its plain dictionary meaning. +With any one of her own type of mind she was at her ease; her mistake +lay in not recognising how rare that type was; in detecting subtleties +where none existed, and wasting hint, suggestion and innuendo on minds +that drove as heartily through them as an ox walks through a spider +thread stretched from post to gatepost of the meadow he means to enter. + +Elsbeth, whom she had considered a negligible fool, had yesterday +startled her into respect--not for the kindly and selfless pleasure in +Alwynne's pleasure, that had, for all her little jealous anxieties, +prompted the invitation to Clare, but for the totally imaginary cunning +with which, in Clare's eyes, it had invested her. Alwynne's repetition +of Elsbeth's remark had enlightened Clare: enlightened her to qualities +in Elsbeth which Elsbeth herself would have been horrified to possess. + +Clare saw, in the manner of the invitation, a gauntlet flung down, the +preliminaries to a conflict, with Alwynne herself for the prize; and the +first warning of an antagonist sufficiently like herself to be +considered dangerous, the more dangerous, indeed, for the apparently +uninteresting harmlessness that could mask a mind in reality so scheming +and so complex. She did not realise that if she did finally close with +Elsbeth, with the intention of robbing her of Alwynne, she would have +far more to fear from her simple, affectionate goodness of heart than +from any subtlety of intellect with which Clare was choosing to invest +her. + +She wondered, as she frittered away the morning, how she should best +counter Elsbeth's attack. She would call, of course--in state; it would +be due; she would not be judged deficient in courtesies. Alwynne should +be there (she would ensure that), and she, Clare, would be exceedingly +charming, and very delicately emphasise the contrast between Elsbeth and +herself. It would be quite easy, with Alwynne already biassed. Her eyes +sparkled with anticipation. It would be amusing. She should enjoy +routing Elsbeth. + +And there was the case of Alwynne to be considered. She had been +excessively nice to Alwynne lately, had, in fact, allowed her, for a +moment, to see how necessary she was becoming to Clare.... That was a +mistake.... One must never let people feel secure of their hold upon +one.... That little speech of Alwynne's last night, mocking and +tender--she had thrilled to it at the time--did it not, ever so faintly, +shadow forth a readjustment of attitudes, sound a note of equality? +That, though it had pleased her at the moment, must not be.... Alwynne +must be checked.... It would not hurt her.... She was subdued as easily +as a child, and as easily revived.... She never bore malice. Clare, who +never forgot or forgave a pinprick, had often marvelled at her, could +even now scarcely believe in the spontaneity of her good temper. But +Alwynne, certainly, had been going too far lately; was absurdly popular +in the school; could, Clare guessed, have annexed more than one of her +own special worshippers, if she had chosen. Louise, she knew, confided +in her: she thought with a double stab of jealousy of the scene she had +witnessed but a few days since; of Louise, fresh from her commendations, +from her kiss even (that rare impulse, regretted as soon as gratified), +at rest in Alwynne's arms. She recalled Louise's startled look and +Alwynne's contrasting serenity. She had not enquired what it all +meant--that was not her way. But she had not forgotten it. Alwynne was +hers. Louise was hers. But they had nothing to seek from one another! +Alwynne, undoubtedly, as the elder, the dearer, required the check; not +little Louise. Louise's letter had genuinely touched her--she thought +she would go and see the child, spend her Christmas Day charitably, in +amusing her. And if (in after-thought) Alwynne came round in the +afternoon, and found her gone--it couldn't be helped! It wouldn't hurt +Alwynne to be disappointed.... It wouldn't hurt Alwynne to spend a day +of undiluted Elsbeth.... And Louise would be amusingly charmed to see +Clare.... It was pleasant to please a child--a clever, appreciative +child.... She would go round directly after lunch.... The maid should go +home for the afternoon.... She laughed mischievously as she imagined the +blankness of Alwynne's face, when she should be confronted by silence +and a closed door. Poor, dear Alwynne! Well, it wouldn't hurt her. + +But Alwynne set out gaily on Christmas afternoon, and, first escorting +Elsbeth to the lych-gate of her favourite church, walked on as quickly +as her narrow fur-edged skirt would let her. + +The clocks were striking three as she turned into Friar's Lane. + +It was a cold, still day, and Alwynne shivered a little, and drew her +furs closely about her, as she stood outside the door of Clare's flat. +She had rung, but the maid was usually slow in answering. + +The passage was damply cold. It would be all the jollier to toast +oneself before one of Clare's imperial fires.... She wished the maid +would hurry up. She waited a moment and then rang again. + +There was no answer. + +It struck her that the maid might have been given the afternoon off; but +it was funny that Clare did not hear. + +She rang again. She could hear the bell tinging shrilly within, but +there was no other sound save the tick of the solemn little grandmother +on the inner side of the wall. + +Suddenly it occurred to her that Clare might be dozing. Clare never +slept in the afternoons, but she did occasionally doze in her chair for +a few minutes. She denied that she did so as strenuously as people +always and unaccountably do; but Alwynne knew better. It always +delighted her when Clare succumbed to drowsiness; a good sleeper +herself, she had been appalled by Clare's acquiescence in four wakeful +nights out of seven, and after a casual description that Clare had once +given her of the arid miseries of insomnia, ten minutes' unexpected +slumber did not give Clare herself more ease than it gave Alwynne. + +The possibility of such an explanation of the silence, therefore, had to +be considered respectfully: if Clare slept, far be it from Alwynne to +wake her! Yet she could not go away.... Clare, after that unlucky clash +of wills, would be doubly hurt if Alwynne left without seeing her +first.... But if Clare were asleep.... + +Resignedly Alwynne sat herself down on Clare's doorstep to wait until a +movement within should be the signal to ring again. + +She was not annoyed; she always had plenty to think about; and it would +be very pleasant, when Clare did at last open the door, to be received +with open arms, and pitied, and scolded, and warmed.... It was certainly +very cold.... All the draughts of the town seemed to have their home on +the staircase, and to come sliding and slithering and undulating past, +like a brood of invisible snakes. + +She shifted her position. The doorstep was icy. She got up, and placed +her muff, her chinchilla muff (shades of Elsbeth! her beautiful, new +chinchilla muff) on the whitened doorstep. Then she sat on it. + +"Ah! That's better," murmured Alwynne appreciatively. She was grateful +to Elsbeth for reminding her to wear her muff. + +But it did not get any warmer, and the daylight was beginning to fade. +She glanced at her watch--twenty minutes past three. Surely Clare was +awake again now. But she would wait another five minutes. She watched +the hands--marvelled at the interminable length of a minute, and was +drifting off on her favourite speculation as to the essential unreality +of time, when simultaneously the grandmother struck the half-hour and +she sneezed. She jumped up horrified. A cold would mean a week's absence +from Clare, and a restatement of Elsbeth's thesis "of the advisability +of wearing flannel petticoats and long-sleeved bodices." + +Also, half of her hoarded hour was gone. She rang again impatiently. No +answer. Clare must be out.... Gone to the post? No, Alwynne had been +waiting half-an-hour, she would have returned by now.... Impossible that +Clare should be out on Christmas afternoon, when she had refused an +invitation and was expecting Alwynne herself.... She rang; and waited; +and rang again and again and yet again. + +"If Clare has gone out----" cried Alwynne indignantly; and subjected the +handle to a final series of vicious tugs. The bell within pealed and +rocked and jarred, gave a last hysterical gurgle and was dumb. She had +broken the bell. She had broken Clare Hartill's bell! + +Alwynne looked round about her guiltily; she felt more like nine than +nineteen. The flight of stairs was still empty and silent. No one had +seen her come; no one would see her go.... If she went quietly away, and +said nothing about it? For Clare would be annoyed.... She always got so +annoyed over little things.... What a pity to have a fuss with Clare +over such a little thing as a broken bell! + +She crept on tip-toe down the stairs and out into the road. Then she +paused. + +Was she being mean? After all--there was no earthly use in telling +Clare.... Clare would never let her pay for the mending.... Yet +naturally she would be annoyed to come back and find her bell broken.... +She would think it was the milkman or the paper-boy.... Alwynne hoped +they would not get into trouble.... Perhaps, after all, she had better +tell Clare. Such an absurd thing to confess to, though--that she had +been in such a temper that she had broken the bell! Clare would be +sarcastic.... Yet it was Clare's fault for being out.... That was +unkind.... She would tell Clare so ... she would write and tell her.... +She would write a note now, and tell her about the bell at the same +time.... She retraced her steps, pulled out her note-book and pencil, +and began to scribble-- + + _Dear Clare--I'm awfully sorry but I'm afraid I've broken the bell. + I couldn't make you hear. I thought you were asleep, but I suppose + you are out. I must have rung too hard, but I didn't think you + would be out._ Heavily underlined. _I'm dreadfully sorry about the + bell._ + +She hesitated. If Clare would let her pay for a new one, she wouldn't +feel so bad.... Yet how could she suggest it? It would sound so +crude.... If only Clare would not be angry.... Absurd to be feeling +afraid of Clare--but then she had never done anything so stupid +before.... Angry or not, Clare would never let her pay.... Yet should +she suggest it? She bit her pencil in distracted indecision, till the +lead broke off between her teeth. + +That settled it. The damp stump was barely capable of scoring an +_Alwynne_. + +She pinned the paper to the door with her only hatpin (a present of the +forenoon) and reluctantly departed. + +It was a pity that her best hat blew off twice into the mud. + +Elsbeth was glad to get Alwynne back so early. Had Alwynne enjoyed +herself? + +Alwynne sneezed as she answered. + +Before the evening was over Alwynne reeked of eucalyptus. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Louise was at the nursery window, staring out into the brown, bare +garden. The sky was smooth and a dark yellow, the naked trees barred it +like a tiger's hide. The gathering dusk had swallowed up the wind. Not a +twig stirred, not a sparrow's chirp broke the thick stillness. +Spellbound, the world awaited the imminent snow. + +Louise, sitting motionless in the window-seat, with her little pink nose +flattening itself against the panes in dreary expectation of a stray +unlikely postman, looked, with her peaked, ivory face and dark, +unwinking eyes, her colourless clothes, and the sprig of holly with +never a scarlet berry pinned to her flat little chest, like the mood of +the December day made flesh. + +Clare, at least, thought so. Dispensing with the indifferent maid, she +had found her own way to the nursery, and pushing open the unlatched +door, stood an instant, appraising the child and her surroundings. She +noted with distaste the remains of the barely tasted lunch, still +encumbering the table, and impingeing on the little pile of austere +Christmas presents, so carefully arranged: the gloves and stockings and +the prim Prayer Book a mere background for a dainty calendar that she +recognised. She smiled, with a touch of irritation--did Alwynne ever +forget any one, she wondered? But it was not suitable for a mistress to +send her pupils presents.... She wished she had thought of sending +Louise something herself ... something more original than that obviously +over-prized calendar.... It was not much of a Christmas table, she +thought ... not much of a Christmas Day for a child.... + +She marvelled that a well-furnished room could look so dreary. Louise's +huddled pose, the neglected fire, the book crushed face downwards on +the floor, combined to touch her. With her incurable feeling for the +effective attitude, she remained straight and stiff in the shadows of +the doorway, but her gesture was beautiful in its awkward tenderness as +she stretched out her hand to the window. + +"Merry Christmas, Louise!" + +For an instant the child was silent, rigid, incredulous: then came a +whirl of petticoats and a flash of black legs. Louise, wild with +excitement, dropped to the floor and dashed across the room. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill! Oh, Miss Hartill! You?" + +"Well, are you pleased to see me?" + +"Please, won't you sit down?" Louise, between delight and embarrassment, +did curious things with the big arm-chair. "I can't believe it's you. +And on Christmas Day! Won't you please sit down? Is the room too warm +for you? Will you take off your furs? Would you like some tea? I'll make +up the fire--it's cold in here. Will you take this chair? Oh, Miss +Hartill! It's like the Queen calling on one. I don't know what to do." +She looked up at Clare, blushing. Her pleasure and excitement were +pretty enough. + +Clare laughed. + +"I'll tell you what to do. Run and put on your coat and hat. Would you +like to come and spend the rest of the day with me?" + +"With you?" Louise's eyes opened. "But it's Christmas Day?" + +"Well?" + +"I shan't be in the way?" + +"I don't think so," said Clare coolly. "I'll send you home if you are." + +She twinkled, but Louise was serious. + +"You could do that, couldn't you?" she remarked with relief. "Oh, Miss +Hartill, you are good! And I was hating my Christmas Day so. Won't you +sit down while I get my things on?" + +"Hurry up!" said Clare. And Louise fled to her bedroom. + +Their walk back to Friar's Lane was a silent one. The snow was at last +beginning to fall. Clare, half hypnotised by the steady silent motion, +tramped forward, keeping time to some fragment of tune within her head. +She was warmed by the pleasant consciousness of a kindly action +performed, but its object, trotting beside her, was half forgotten. + +Louise, very shy at encountering Miss Hartill unofficially, was far too +timid to speak unless she were addressed. But she was perfectly happy; +marvelling and rejoicing at her situation (Miss Hartill's guest, bound +for her home!), overflowing with dog-like devotion to the Olympian who +had actually remembered her existence. She was glad of the silent walk. +It gave her time to realise her own happiness; to learn by heart that +picture of Clare, against the background of the empty nursery, to get +her every sentence by rote, and store all safely in her memory before +turning to the contemplation of the incredible adventure upon which she +was now embarking. + +Clare, preceding Louise up the staircase, found Alwynne's note awaiting +her. She frowned as she read it and felt for her latch-key. It was just +like Alwynne to leave a note like that for any one to read.... And the +hatpin for any one to steal.... She wished it had been stolen before it +had scratched her paint.... And the bell! It was really annoying of +Alwynne! It would cost her five shillings to put right.... She, Clare, +was not mean, but she did begrudge money for that sort of thing.... +Really, Alwynne might offer to pay for it.... But that, of course, would +never occur to Alwynne.... She was altogether too reckless about other +people's belongings.... Her own were her own affair.... But to break +Clare's bell.... She must have been quite comprehensively annoyed to +have actually broken it.... Clare laughed. She had had a sudden vision +of Alwynne's blank face and indignant pealings. Poor old Alwynne! +Well--it wouldn't hurt her.... If she were careful to let Alwynne know +to whom she had been sacrificed, Alwynne might not be quite so partisan +over Louise next term.... That wouldn't be a bad thing.... She did not +approve of intimacies between the girls and the mistresses.... But she, +Clare, would make it up to both of them.... She would begin now, with +Louise.... She would devote herself to amusing Louise.... She would give +Louise the time of her life.... Louise would be sure to tell Alwynne +about it afterwards.... + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"What are you going to do with yourself all the holidays?" asked Clare, +with a touch of curiosity. Louise had slipped off her chair on to the +soft hearthrug, and sat, hugging her knees and staring up at Clare. + +"Read," she said briefly, and gave a little gurgle of anticipation. + +"All day long?" + +"Oh, yes, Miss Hartill. I never get a chance in term time. There's such +heaps to read. I'd like to live in a library." + +"Yet a peep at the world outside beats all the books that were ever +written." + +"I wonder." Louise rubbed her chin meditatively against her knees before +she delivered herself. "You know--I think the way things strike people +is much more interesting than the things themselves. I like exploring +people's minds. Do you know?" + +"I know," said Clare. She laughed mischievously. "You mean--that what +you think I am, for instance, is much more interesting than what I +really am." + +Louise protested mutely. Her black eyes glowed. + +"I daresay you're right, Louise. You wear pink spectacles, you see. I'm +quite sure you would be appalled if any one took them off. I'm a horrid +person really." + +Louise looked puzzled; then the twinkle in Miss Hartill's eyes +enlightened her. Miss Hartill was teasing. She laughed merrily. + +Clare shook her head. + +"It's quite true. I'm an egoist, Louise!" + +"It's not true," said Louise passionately. She was on guard in an +instant, ready to justify Miss Hartill to herself and the world. + +It amused Clare to excite her. + +"My good child--what do you know about it?" + +"Lots," said Louise, with a catch in her voice. "You're not! You're +not!" + +"I am." Clare leaned forward, much tickled. She could afford to attempt +to disillusion Louise.... Louise would not believe her, but she could +not say later that she had not been warned. But at the same time, Clare +warmed her cold and cynical self in the pure flame of affection her +self-criticism was fanning. "I am," she repeated. "Why do you think I +came round to see you to-day?" + +Louise looked up at her shyly, dwelling on her answer as if it gave her +exquisite pleasure. + +"Because--because you knew I was alone, and you hated me to be miserable +on Christmas Day." + +"You?" Clare's eyebrows lifted for a second, but a glance into the +child's candid eyes dispelled the vague suspicion.... Louise and conceit +were incompatible. She listened with a touch of compunction to the +innocent answer. + +"Not me specially, of course. Any one who was down. Only it happened to +be me. I think you can't help being good to people: you're made that +way." Her eyes were full of wondering admiration. + +Clare was touched. She sighed as she answered-- + +"I wish I were. You shouldn't believe in people, Louise. I came round +because--yes, you were a lonely scrap of a schoolgirl, certainly--but +there were lots of other reasons. I wanted a walk and I wanted to be +amused, and I wanted--and I wanted----" she moved restlessly in her +chair, "All pure egoism, anyhow." + +"But you came," said Louise. + +"To please you, or to punish some one else? I don't know!" + +Louise enjoyed her incomprehensibility. She stored up her remarks to +puzzle over later. Yet she would ask questions if Miss Hartill were in a +talking mood. + +"Do I know them?" (She had an odd habit of using the plural when she +wished to be discreet.) She wondered who had been punished, and why, and +thrilled deliciously, as she did to a ghost story. She thought that it +would be terrible to have offended Miss Hartill: yet immensely +exciting.... She wondered if all her courage would go if Miss Hartill +were angry? She had always despised poor Jeanne du Barrie: but Miss +Hartill raging would be harder to face than a mob.... + +"What have they done?" asked Louise eagerly. + +"They? It's your dear Miss Durand," said Clare, with a grim smile. "I'm +very angry with her, Louise. She's been behaving badly." + +Louise's eyes widened: she looked alarmed and distressed. + +"Oh, but Miss Hartill--she hasn't! She couldn't! What has she done?" + +"Shall I tell you?" Clare leaned forward mysteriously. + +Louise nodded breathlessly. + +"She wouldn't copy me and be an egoist. And I wanted her to, rather +badly, Louise. There, that's all! You're none the wiser, are you? Never +mind, you will be, some day. Don't look so worried, you funny child." + +"Why do you call yourself such names? You're not an egoist? You can't +be," cried Louise desperately. + +Clare laughed. + +"Can't I? Most people are. It's not a synonym for murderess! Stop +frowning, child. Why, I don't believe you know what it means even. Do +you know what an egoist is, Louise?" + +"Sir Willoughby Patterne!" said Louise promptly. + +Clare threw up her hands. + +"What next? I wish I'd had charge of you earlier. You shouldn't try so +hard to say 'Humph,' little pig." + +"I don't." Louise was indignant. + +"Then what possesses you to steer your cockle-boat on to Meredith? +Well--what do you think of him? What have you read?" + +"About all. He's queer. He's not Dickens or Scott, of course----" Her +tone deprecated. + +"Of course not," said Clare, with grave sympathy. + +"But I like him. I like Chloe. I like the sisters--you know--'Fine +Shades and Nice Feeling'----" + +"Why?" Clare shot it at her. + +"I don't know. They made me laugh. They're awfully real people. And I +liked that book where the two gentlemen drink wine. 'Veuve' something." + +"What on earth did you see in that?" Clare was amused. + +"I don't know. I just liked them. Of course, I adore Shagpat." + +"That I understand. It's a fairy tale to you, isn't it?" + +"Not a proper one--only Arabian Nightsy." + +"What's a proper one, Louise?" + +Louise hesitated. + +"Well, heaps that one loves aren't. Grimm's and Hans Andersen's aren't, +or even _The Wondrous Isles_. And, of course, none of the Lang books. I +hate those. You know, proper fairy stories aren't easy to get. You have +to dig. You get bits out of the notes in the Waverley Novels, and +there's _Kilmeny_, and _The Celtic Twilight_, and _The Lore of +Proserpine_, and Lemprière. Do you believe in fairies, Miss Hartill?" + +"It depends on the mood I'm in," said Clare seriously, "and the place. +Elves and electric railways are incompatible." + +Louise flung herself upon the axiom. + +"Do you think so? Now I don't, Miss Hartill--I don't. If they are--they +can stand railways. But you just believe in them literaturily----" + +"Literally," Clare corrected. + +"No, no--literaturily--just as a pretty piece of writing. You'll never +see them if you think of them like that, Miss Hartill. The Greeks +didn't--they just believed in Pan, and the Oreads, and the Dryads, and +all those delicious people; and the consequence was that the country +was simply crammed with them. You just read Lemprière! I wish I'd lived +then. Miss Hartill, did you ever see a Good Person?" + +"I'm afraid not, Louise. But I had a nurse who used to tell me about her +grand-aunt: she was supposed to be a changeling." + +Louise wriggled with delight. + +"Oh, tell about her, Miss Hartill. What was she like?" + +"Tiny and black, with a very white skin. They were a fair family. Nurse +said they all disliked her, though she never did them any harm. She used +to be out in the woods all day--and she ate strange food." + +"What?" + +"Fungi, and nettle-tops, and young bracken, and blackberries, my nurse +said." + +"Blackberries?" + +"She was Irish; the Irish peasants won't touch blackberries, you know. +We're just as bad, Louise. Heaps of fungi are delicious--wait till +you've been in Germany. They know what's good: but, then, they won't +touch rabbits, so there you are! I expect my nurse's aunt thought us an +odd lot, us humans." + +"Was she really a fairy?" Louise was breathless. + +"How do I know? A witch perhaps. I should think a young witch, by all +accounts." + +"What happened to her?" + +"She was 'swept' on her wedding-day." + +"Crossing water?" + +"No. She was to marry an old farmer. She went into the woods at dawn to +wash in dew, and gather bindweed for her wreath----" She paused +dramatically, her eyes dancing with fun; but Louise was wholly in +earnest. + +"Go on! Oh, go on!" + +"She was never seen again." + +"Oh, how lovely!" Louise shivered ecstatically. "I wish I'd been her. +What did her foster people do?" + +"What could they? I think they were glad to be rid of her." (Clare +suppressed a certain tall young gipsy, who had figured suspiciously in +the original narrative.) "Fairy blood is ill to live with, Louise. I +don't envy Mrs. Blake, or Mrs. Thomas Rhymer." + +"No. But it's so difficult to live in two worlds at once." + +"Shouldering the wise man's burden already?" + +"You get absent-minded, and forget--ink-stains, you know, and messages." + +"I know," said Clare. + +"You see, I have such a gorgeous world inside my head, Miss Hartill: I +go there when I'm rather down, here. It's a sort of Garden of the +Hesperides, and you are there, and Mother, and all my special friends." + +"Who, for instance?" Clare was curious; it was the first she had heard +of Louise with friends of her own. + +"Well--Elizabeth Bennett, and the Little Women, and Garm, and Amadis of +Gaul----" + +"Oh--not real people?" Clare was amused at herself for being relieved. + +"Oh, but Miss Hartill--they are real." Louise was indignant. "Ever so +much more than--oh, most people! Look at Mrs. Bennett and Mamma! Nobody +will think of Mamma in a hundred years--but who'd ever forget Mrs. +Bennett?" + +"Mrs Bennett in the Garden of the Hesperides, Louise?" Clare began to +chuckle. "I can't swallow that." + +Louise pealed with laughter. + +"You should have seen her the other day, with the dragon after her. +She'd been trying to sneak some apples, because Bingley was coming to +tea." + +"Who came to the rescue?" + +"Oh, I did." Louise was revelling in her sympathetic listener. "I have +to keep order, you know. She was awfully blown, though. Siegfried helped +me." + +"I wish I could get to fairyland as easily as you do." + +Louise considered. + +"I don't. My country is only in my head. Fairyland must be somewhere, +mustn't it? Do you know what I think, Miss Hartill?" + +"In patches, Louise." + +Louise blushed. + +"No, but seriously--don't laugh. You know you explained the fourth +dimension to us the other day?" + +"That I'm sure I never did." Clare was lying back in her chair, her arms +behind her head, smiling inscrutably. + +"Oh, but Miss Hartill----" + +"Never, Louise!" + +"Oh, but honestly--I'm not contradicting you, of course--but you did. +Last Thursday fortnight, in second lesson." + +"I wish you were as accurate over all your dates, Louise! Your History +paper was not all that it should be." + +"It's holidays, Miss Hartill! But don't you remember?" + +"I explained to you that the fourth dimension was inexplicable--a very +different thing." + +"_The Plattner Story_ explains it--clearly." Louise's tone was +distinctly reproachful. + +"Oh no, it doesn't, Louise. Mr. Wells only deludes you into thinking it +does." + +"Well, anyhow, I think--don't you think that it's rather likely that +fairyland is the fourth dimension? It would all fit in so beautifully +with all the old stories of enchantment and disappearances. Then there +was another book I read about it. _The Inheritors_----" + +"Have done, Louise! You make me dizzy. Don't try to live exclusively on +truffles. If you could continue to confine your attention to books you +have some slight chance of understanding, for the next few years, it +would be an excellent thing. Neither Meredith nor the fourth dimension +is meat for babes, you know." + +"I like what I don't understand. It's the finding out is the fun." +Louise looked mutinous. + +"And having found out?" + +"Then I start on something else." + +Clare considered her. + +"Louise, I don't know if it's a compliment to either of us--but I +believe we're very much alike." + +Louise gave a child's delighted chuckle, but she showed no surprise. + +"That's nice, Miss Hartill." She hesitated. "Miss Hartill, did you know +my Mother?" + +"Mrs. Denny?" Clare hesitated. + +Louise gave an impatient gesture. + +"Not Mamma. My very own Mother." + +"No, my dear." Clare's voice was soft. + +Louise sighed. + +"No one does. There are no pictures. Father was angry when I asked about +her once: and Miss Murgatroyd--she was our governess--she said I had no +tact. I miss her, you know, though I don't remember her. I had a nurse: +she told me a little. Mother had grey eyes too, you know," said Louise, +gazing into Clare's. "I expect she was rather like you." + +She watched Clare a little breathlessly. There was more of tenderness in +her face than many who thought they knew Clare Hartill would have +credited, but no hint of awakening memory, of the recognition the child +sought. She went on-- + +"People never come back when they're dead, do they?" She had no idea of +the longing in her voice. + +"No, you poor baby!" Clare rose hastily and began to walk up and down +the room, as her fashion was when she was stirred. + +"Never?" + +"'_Stieg je ein Freund Dir aus dem Grabe wieder?_'" murmured Clare. + +"What, Miss Hartill?" + +"Never, Louise." + +Louise's thistledown fancies were scattered by her tone. Impossible to +discredit any statement of Miss Hartill's. Yet she protested timidly. + +"There was the Witch of Endor, Miss Hartill. Samuel, you know." + +"Is that Meredith?" said Clare absently. Then she caught Louise's +expression. "What's the matter?" + +"But it's the Bible!" cried Louise horrified. + +Clare sat down again and began to laugh pleasantly. + +"What am I to do with you, Louise? Are you five or fifty? You want to +discuss Meredith with me--(not that I shall let you, my child--don't +think I approve of all this reading--I did it myself at your age, you +see) and five minutes later you look at me round-eyed because I've +forgotten my Joshua or my Judges! Kings? I beg your pardon; Kings be it! +Never mind, Louise. Tell me about the Witch of Endor." + +"Only that she called up Samuel, I meant, from the dead." + +Louise was evidently abstracted; she was picking her words. + +"Don't you believe it, Miss Hartill, quite?" + +"It's the Old Testament, after all," temporised Clare. She began to see +Louise's difficulty. She had no beliefs herself but she thought she +would find out how fourteen handled the problem. + +"Then the New is different? There was Dorcas, you know, and the widow's +son. That is all true, Miss Hartill?" + +Clare fenced. + +"Many people think so." + +"I want to know the truth," said Louise tensely. "I want to know what +you think." She spoke as if the two things were synonymous. + +Clare shook her head. + +"I won't help you, Louise. You must find out for yourself. Leave it +alone, if you're wise." + +"How can I? I've been reading----" + +"Ah?" + +"The _Origin of Species_--and _We Two_." + +Clare's gravity fled. She lay back shaking with laughter. + +"Louise, you're delightful! Anything else?" + +Louise pulled up her footstool to Clare's knee. + +"Miss Hartill, I've been reading a play. It's horrible. I can't bear it, +though it was thrilling to read----" + +Clare interrupted. + +"Where do you get all these books, Louise?" + +"They are all Mother's, you know. Nobody else wants them. And then +there's the Free Library." + +Clare shuddered. She would sooner have drunk from the tin cup of a +public fountain than have handled the greasy volumes of a public +library. + +"How can you?" she said disgustedly. "Dirt and dog-ears!" + +Louise opened her eyes. She was too young to be squeamish. + +"'A book's a book for a' that,'" she laughed. "How else am I to get hold +of any--that I like?" + +Clare jerked her head to the lined walls. + +"Help yourself," she said. + +Louise was radiant. + +"May I? Oh, you are good! I will take such care. I'll cover them in +brown paper." + +She jumped up and, running across the room, flung herself on her knees +before the wide shelves. Timidly, at first, but with growing +forgetfulness of Clare, she pulled out here a volume and there a volume, +handling them tenderly, yet barely opening each, so eager was she for +fresh discoveries. She reminded Clare of _Alice_ with the scented +rushes. Clare was amused by her absorption, and a little touched. The +child's attitude to books hinted at the solitariness of her life: she +relaxed to them, greeting them as intimates and companions; there was a +new appearance on her; she was obviously at home, welcomed by her +friends; a very different person to the shy-eyed, prim little prodigy +her school-fellows knew. + +Clare, glancing at her now and then, sympathised benevolently, and left +her to herself; she understood that side of the child; her remark to +Louise about the resemblance between them had not been made at random; +she was constantly detecting traits and tastes in her similar to her +own. She was interested; she had thought herself unique. Their histories +were not dissimilar; she, too, different as her environment had been, +could look back on a lonely, self-absorbed childhood; she, too, had had +forced and premature successes. They had not been empty ones, she +reflected complacently; she had used those schoolgirl triumphs as +stepping-stones. She doubted if Louise could do the same: there was +something unpractical about Louise--a hint of the visionary in her air. +She had at present none of Clare's passion for power and the incense of +success. Clare, quite aware of her failing, aware that it was a failing +and perversely proud of it, yet hoped that she should not see it +sprouting in the character of Louise. She hated to see her own defects +reproduced (ineffably vulgarised) in others; it jarred her pride. The +discovery of the resemblance between herself and Louise amused and +charmed her, as long as it was confined to the qualities that Clare +admired; but if the girl began to reflect her faults, Clare knew that +she should be irritated. + +She considered these things as she sat and sewed. She was an exquisite +needlewoman. The frieze of tapestry that ran round the low-ceilinged +room was her own work. Alwynne had designed it--a history of the loves +of Deirdre and Naismi some months before, when she and Clare had +discovered Yeats together; and Clare had adapted the rough, clever +sketches, working with her usual amazing speed. The foot-deep strips of +needlework and painted silk, with their golden skies and dark +foregrounds, along which the dim, rainbow figures moved, were just what +Clare had wanted to complete her panelled room; for she was +beauty-loving and house-proud, though her love of originality, or more +correctly her tendency to be superior and aloof, often enticed her into +bizarrerie. But the Deirdre frieze was as harmonious as it was unusual; +and Clare, as she daily feasted her eyes on the rich, mellow colours, +was only annoyed that the idea of it had been Alwynne's. That fact, +though she would not own it, was able, though imperceptibly, to taint +Clare's pleasure. She was quite unnecessarily scrupulous in mentioning +Alwynne's share in the work to any one who admired it; but it piqued her +to do so, none the less. If any one had told her that it piqued her she +would have been extremely amused at the absurdity of the idea. + +She was at the time working out a medallion of her own design, and +growing interested, she soon forgot all about Louise, sitting Turkish +fashion at the big book-case. The light had long since faded and the +enormous fire, gilding walls and furniture, rendered the candles' steady +light almost superfluous. Candlelight was another predilection of +Clare's--there was neither electricity nor gas in her tiny, perfect +flat. The tick of the clock in the hall and the flutter of turning pages +alone broke the silence. Outside, the snow fell steadily. + +Half-a-mile away Alwynne Durand, drumming on the window-pane, while her +aunt dozed in her chair, thought incessantly of Clare, and was filled +with restless longing to be with her. She tried to count the snowflakes +till her brain reeled. She felt cold and dreary, but she would not rouse +Elsbeth by making up the fire. She wished she had something new to read. +She thought it the longest Christmas Day she had ever spent. + +The neat maid, bringing in the tea-tray, roused Clare. She pushed aside +her work and began to pour out; but Louise in her corner, made no sign. + +Clare laughed. + +"Louise, wake up! Don't you want any tea?" + +Louise, as if the conversation had not ceased for an instant, scrambled +to her feet and came to the table, a load of books in her arms, saying +as she did so-- + +"I'll be awfully careful. May I take these, perhaps?" + +Clare nodded. + +"Presently. I'll look them over first. Muffins?" + +She gave Louise a delightful meal and taught her to take tea with a +slice of lemon. She was particular, Louise noticed; some of the muffins +were not toasted to her liking, and were instantly banished; she +criticised the cakes and the flavouring of the dainty sandwiches; then +she laughed wickedly at Louise for her round eyes. + +"What's the matter, child?" + +"Nothing," said Louise, embarrassed. + +"I believe you're shocked because I talked so much about food?" + +Louise blushed scarlet. + +"I like eating, Louise." + +"Yes--yes, of course," she concurred hastily. + +Clare was entertained. She knew quite well that Louise, like all +children, considered a display of interest in food, if not indelicate, +at least extremely human. She knew, too, that in Louise's eyes she was +too entirely compounded of ideals and noble qualities to be more than +officially human. She enjoyed upsetting her ideas. + +"If you come to actual values, I'd rather do without Shakespeare than +Mrs. Beeton," she remarked blandly. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill!" Louise was protesting--suspecting a trap--ready to +ripple into laughter. "You do say queer things." + +"I?" + +"Yes. As if you meant that!" + +"But I do! Eating's an art, Louise, like painting or writing. I had a +pheasant last Sunday----" She gave the entire menu, and enlarged on the +etceteras with enthusiasm. + +Louise looked bewildered. + +"I never thought you thought about that sort of thing," she remarked. "I +thought you just didn't notice--I thought you would always be thinking +of poetry and pictures----" She subsided, blushing. + +Clare laughed at her pleasantly. + +"I thought, I thought, I think, I thought! What a lot of thoughts. I'm +sorry, Louise! Is all my star-dust gone?" + +Louise shook her head vigorously, but she was still embarrassed. She +changed the subject with agility. + +"I've read that!" + +"What?" + +"The star-dust book--but I've picked out two others of his. May I? All +these?" + +Clare ran her finger along the titles. + +"Yes--yes--Fiona Mcleod--yes--_Peer Gynt_--yes, if you like, you won't +understand it, or Yeats--but all right. No, not Nietzsche! Not on any +account, Louise." + +Louise protested. + +"Oh, why not, Miss Hartill? I'm nearly fourteen." + +"Are you really?" said Clare, with respect. + +"He looks so jolly--Old Testamenty----" + +"He does, Louise! That's his little way. But he's not for the Upper +Fifth." + +"He's in the Free Library," said Louise, with a twinkle. Clare turned. + +"You can have all the books you want, if you come to me. But no more +Free Library, Louise. You understand? I don't wish it." + +Louise tingled like a bather under a cold spray. She liked and disliked +the autocratic tone. + +Clare went on. + +"I detest trash--and there's a good deal, even in a Carnegie collection. +There's no need for you to dull your imagination on melodrama like--what +was it?" + +"What, Miss Hartill?" + +"The play you began to tell me about--you thought it horrible, you +said." + +Louise opened her eyes. + +"Miss Hartill, it wasn't melodrama--it was good stuff. That's why it +worried me. It's by a Norwegian or a Dane or some one. _Pastor Sang_ +it's called." + +"That? I don't follow. I should have thought the theology would have +bored you, but there's nothing horrible in it." + +"It worried me. Oh, Miss Hartill, what does it all mean? Darwin says, we +just grew--doesn't he? and that the Bible's all wrong. But you say that +doesn't matter--it's just Old Testament? And this play says--do you +remember? the wife is ill--and the husband, who cures people by +praying--he can't cure her----" + +"Well?" said Clare impatiently. + +"And he says, if the apostles did miracles, we ought to be able to--he +kills his wife, trying. He can't, you see. But the point is, if he +couldn't, with all his faith--could the apostles? And if the apostles +couldn't, could Christ Himself? The miracles are just only a tale, +perhaps?" + +"Perhaps," said Clare. "You're not clear, Louise, but I know what you +mean." + +"It frightened me, that play," said the child in a low voice. "If there +were no miracles--and everything one reads makes one sure there +weren't--why, then, the Bible's not true! Jesus was just a man! He +didn't rise? Perhaps there isn't an afterwards? Perhaps there isn't +God?" + +"Perhaps," said Clare. + +The child's eyes were wide and frightened. She put her hand timidly on +Clare's knee. + +"Miss Hartill--you believe in God?" + +Clare looked at her, weighing her. + +Louise spoke again; her voice had grown curiously apprehensive. + +"Miss Hartill--you do believe in God?" + +Clare shrugged her shoulders. + +Louise stared at her appalled. + +"If _you_ don't believe in God----" she began slowly, and then stopped. + +They sat a long while in silence. + +Clare felt uncomfortable. She had not intended to express any opinion, +to let her own attitude to religion appear. But Louise, with her sudden +question, had forced one from her. After all, if Louise had begun to +doubt and to inquire, no silence on Clare's part would stop her.... +Every girl went through the phase--with Louise it had begun early, that +was all.... Yet in her heart she knew that Louise, with her already +overworked mind, should have been kept from the mental distress of +religious doubt.... She knew that for some years she could have been so +kept; that, as the mouth can eat what the body will not absorb, so, +though her intelligence might have assimilated all the books she chose +to read, her soul need not necessarily have been disturbed by them. Her +acquired knowledge that the world is round need not have jostled her +rule of thumb conviction that it is flat. Her interest in 'ologies and +'osophies could have lived comfortably enough, with her child's belief +in four angels round her head, for another two or three +years--strengthening, maturing years. + +Clare knew her power. At a soothing word from her, Louise would have +shelved her speculations, or at least have continued them impersonally. +Clare could have guaranteed God to her. But Clare had shrugged her +shoulders, and Louise had grown white--and she had felt like a +murderess. Do children really take their religion so seriously?... After +all, what real difference could it make to Louise?... She, Clare, had +been glad to be rid of her clogging and irrational beliefs.... Louise, +too, when she recovered from the shock, would enjoy the sense of freedom +and self-respect.... If Louise talked like a girl of eighteen she could +not be expected to receive the careful handling you gave a child of +twelve.... Anyhow, it was done now.... + +Suddenly and persuasively she began to talk to Louise. She touched +gently on the history, the growth and inevitable decay of all +religions--the contrasting immutability of the underlying code of +ethics, upon which they, one and all, were founded. She told her vivid +little stories of the religious struggles of the centuries, had her +breathless over the death of Socrates, nailed up for her anew the +ninety-five theses to the Wittenberg church door. Exerting all her +powers, all her knowledge, all her descriptive and dramatic skill, to +charm away one child's distress, Clare was, for an hour, a woman +transformed, sound and honey-sweet. Against all that happened later, she +could at least put the one hour, when, remorsefully, she had given +Louise of the best that was in her. + +Incidentally, she delivered to her audience of one the most brilliant +lecture of her career. Later she wrote down what she remembered of it, +and it became the foundation for her monograph on religions that was to +become a minor classic. Its success was immediate--that was typical of +Clare--but she never wrote another line. That also was typical of Clare. +It bored her to repeat a triumph. + +She soon had Louise happy again: it was not in Louise to stick to the +high-road of her own thoughts, with Miss Hartill opening gates to +fairyland at every sentence. Clare kept her for the rest of the evening, +and took her home at last, weighed down by her parcel of books, sleepy +from the effects of excitement and happiness. She poured out her +incoherent thanks as they waited on the doorstep of her home. There had +never been such a Christmas--she had never had such a glorious time--she +couldn't thank Miss Hartill properly if she talked till next Christmas +came. + +Clare, nodding and laughing, handed her over to the maid, and went home, +not ill-pleased with her Christmas either. She thought of the child as +she walked down the snowy, star-lighted streets, and wondered +whimsically what she was doing at the moment. Would she say her prayers +on her way to bed still, or had Clare's little, calculated shrug stopped +that sort of thing for many a long day? She rather thought so. She shook +off her uneasy sense of compunction and laughed aloud. The cold night +air was like wine to her. After all, for an insignificant spinster, she +had a fair share of power--real power--not the mere authority of kings +and policemen. Her mind, not her office, ruled a hundred other minds, +and in one heart, at least, a shrug of her shoulders had toppled God off +His throne; and the vacant seat was hers, to fill or flout as she +chose. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +With the opening of the spring term began the final and most arduous +preparations for the Easter examinations. + +The school had been endowed, some years before, under the will of a +former pupil, with a scholarship, a valuable one, ensuring not only the +freedom of the school, but substantial help in the subsequent college +career, that the winning of it entailed. + +The rules were strict. The papers were set and corrected by persons +chosen by the trustees of the bequest. The scholarship was open to the +school, but no girl over seventeen might enter: and though an +unsuccessful candidate might compete a second time, she must gain a +percentage of marks in the first attempt. Total failure debarred her +from making a second. This last rule limited in effect, the entries to +members of the Sixths and Fifths, for the scholarship was too valuable +for a chance of it to be risked through insufficient training. The +standard, too, was high, and the rules so strictly enforced that +withheld the grant if it were not attained, that Miss Marsham was +accustomed to make special arrangements for those competing. They were +called the "Scholarship Class," and had certain privileges and a great +amount of extra work. To most of them the particular privilege that +compensated for six months' drudgery was the fact that they were almost +entirely under Miss Hartill's supervision. She considered their training +her special task and spared neither time nor pains. She loved the +business. She understood the art of rousing their excitement, pitting +ambition against ambition. She worked them like slaves, weeding out +remorselessly the useless members. Theoretically all had the right to +enter; but none remained against Miss Hartill's wishes. + +In spite of the work, the members of the Scholarship Class had an envied +position in the school. Clare saw to that. Without attackable bias, she +differentiated subtly between them and the majority. Each of the group +was given to understand, without words, impalpably, yet very definitely, +that if Miss Hartill, the inexorable, could have a preference, one had +but to look in the glass to find it; and that to outstrip the rest of +the class, to be listed an easy first, would be the most exquisite +justification that preference could have. And as the type of girl who +succumbed the most surely to Clare's witchcraft was also usually of the +type to whom intellectual work was in itself attractive, it was not +surprising if her favourite class were a hot-bed of emulation and +enthusiasm--enthusiasm that was justified of its origin, for not even +Henrietta Vigers denied that Clare contributed her full share to the +earning of the scholarship, Miss Marsham, towards the end of the spring, +was wont to declare, with her usual kindly concern, that she was +thankful that the examination was not an annual affair.... Their good +Miss Hartill was too anxious, too conscientious.... Miss Marsham must +really forbid her to make herself ill. And, indeed, when the class was a +large one, Clare was as reckless of her own strength as of that of her +pupils, and suffered more from its expenditure. Where they were +responsible, each for herself, Clare toiled early and late for them all. +She fed them, moreover, from her own resources of energy, was entirely +willing to devitalise herself on their behalf. The strain once over, she +appeared slack, gaunt, debilitated. She had, however, her own methods of +recuperation. Her ends gained, she could take back what she had +given--take back more than ever she had given. Moreover, the supply of +child-life never slackened. Old scholars might go--but ever the new ones +came. Was it not Clare who gave the school its latter-day reputation? By +the end of the summer term Clare would be once more in excellent +condition. + +When the promotion of Louise to the Upper School had first been mooted, +Miss Hartill had not forgotten that the scholarship examination was once +more drawing near. She saw no reason why Louise should not compete. That +Louise, the whilom dullard of the Third, the youngest girl in the Upper +School, should snatch the prize from the expectants of the Sixths and +Fifths, would be an effective retort on Clare's critics, would redound +very pleasantly to Clare's credit. + +If she let the opportunity pass, Louise must wait two years: at thirteen +it would be a triumph for Louise and Clare; at fifteen there would be +nothing notable in her success. And the baby herself would be delighted. +Clare was already sufficiently taken with Louise to enjoy the +anticipation of her delight. + +She was quite aware that it would entail special efforts on her own +part, as well as on the child's, and that she had a large class already +on her hands, and in need of coaching. But there was always Alwynne. +Alwynne was so reliable; she could safely leave Louise's routine work in +Alwynne's hands. It remained to consult Louise and incidentally the +parent Dennys. + +Louise was awestruck, overwhelmed by the honour of being allowed to +compete, absurdly and touchingly delighted. No doubt as to Louise's +sentiments. No doubt as to the sincerity of her efforts. No doubt, until +the spring term began, of the certainty of her success. + +The spring term opened with Clare in Miss Marsham's carved seat at +morning prayers. The school had grown accustomed to its head-mistress's +occasional absence. Miss Marsham, who had for some time felt the strain +of school routine too much for her advanced years, was only able to +sustain the fiction of her unimpaired powers by taking holidays, as a +morphineuse takes her drug, in ever-increasing doses. She was confident +in the discretion alike of Clare Hartill and Henrietta Vigers, and, +indeed, but for their efficiency, the school would have suffered more +quickly than it actually did. Nevertheless, the absence of supreme +authority had, though but slightly, the usual disintegrating effect. +There was always, naturally, an increase of friction between the two +women, especially when the absence of the directress occurred at the +beginning of a term. There would be the usual agitations--problems of +housing and classification. There would arrive parents to be interviewed +and impressed, new girls to be gracefully and graciously welcomed. Clare +(to whom Henrietta, for all her hostility, invariably turned in +emergencies), showing delicately yet unmistakably that she considered +herself unwarrantably hampered in her own work, would submit to being on +show with an air of bored acquiescence, tempered with modest surprise at +the necessity for her presence. It was sufficiently irritating to +Henrietta, under strict, if indirect, orders to leave the decorative +side of the vice-regency to her rival. She was quite aware of Clare's +greater effectiveness. She did not believe that it weighed with Miss +Marsham against her own solid qualities. She affected to despise it. Yet +despising, she envied. + +She was unjust to Clare, however, in believing the latter's reluctance +entirely assumed. Clare enjoyed ruffling the susceptibilities of +Henrietta, but she was none the less genuinely annoyed at being even +partially withdrawn from her classes and was relieved when, at the end +of a fortnight, Miss Marsham returned to her post. Clare had been forced +to neglect her special work. Classes had been curtailed and interrupted, +the many extra lessons postponed or turned over to Alwynne, whom more +than any other mistress she had trained and could trust. + +It was Alwynne who, reporting to her at the end of the first fortnight, +had made her more than ever eager to be rid of her deputyship. + +There were new girls in the Fifth in whom Alwynne was interested. One, +at least, she prophesied, would be found to have stuff in her. It was a +pity she was not in the Scholarship Class.... She was too good for the +Lower Fifth.... Alwynne supposed it would be quite impossible to let +her enter? + +"At this time of day? Impossible! Do you realise that we've only another +three months?" + +"I don't suppose she'd want to, anyhow," said Alwynne. "She's a quaint +person! Talk about independence! She informed me to-day that she +shouldn't stay longer than half-term, unless she liked us." + +"Oho! Young America!" Clare was alert. "I didn't know you referred to +Cynthia Griffiths. I interviewed the parents last week. Immensely rich! +She was demure enough, but I gathered even then that she ruled the +roost. Her mother was quite tearful--implored me to keep her happy for +three months anyhow, while they both indulged in a rest cure abroad. She +seemed doubtful of our capacities. But she was not explicit." + +"Cynthia is. I've heard the whole story while I tried to find out how +much she knew. She's a new type. Her French and her German are +perfect--and her clothes. Her bedroom is a pig-sty and she gets up when +she chooses. I gather that she has reduced Miss Vigers to a nervous +wreck already. Thank goodness I'm a visiting mistress! I wonder what the +girls will make of her!" + +"Or she of them." + +"That won't be the question," surmised Alwynne shrewdly. "Clare, she has +five schools behind her, American and foreign--and she's fifteen! We are +an incident. I know. There were two Americans at my school." + +"It remains to be seen." Clare's eyes narrowed. "Well, what else?" + +Alwynne fidgeted. + +"I'm glad you're taking over everything again. I prefer my small kids." + +"Why?" + +"Easier to understand--and manage." + +Clare looked amused. + +"Been getting into difficulties? Who's the problem? Agatha?" + +"That wind-bag! She only needs pricking to collapse," said Alwynne +contemptuously. Then, with a frown: "I wish poor little Mademoiselle +Charette would realise it. Have you ever seen a Lower Fifth French +lesson? But, of course, you haven't. It's a farce." + +Clare frowned. + +"If she can't keep order----" + +"She can teach anyhow," said Alwynne quickly. "I was at the other end of +the room once, working. I listened a little. It's only Agatha. +Mademoiselle can tackle the others. She's effective in a delicate way; +but senseless, noisy rotting--it breaks her up. She loses her temper. Of +course, it's funny to watch. But I hate that sort of thing. I did when I +was a schoolgirl even, didn't you?" + +"I don't remember." But in the back of Clare's mind was a class-room and +herself, contemptuously impertinent to a certain ineffective Miss +Loveday. + +Alwynne continued, frowning-- + +"Anyhow, I wish you'd do something." + +Clare yawned. + +"One mustn't interfere with other departments--unasked." + +"Well, I ask you." Alwynne was in earnest. + +"Why?" + +"I want you to." + +"Why?" + +Alwynne blushed. + +"Why this championship? I didn't know you and Mademoiselle Charette were +such intimates?" + +"It's just because we aren't. I like her, but----" + +"But what?" + +"Well--we had a row. You see--You won't tell, Clare?" + +Clare smiled. + +"She doesn't like you," blurted out Alwynne indignantly. "And I just +want to show her how altogether wrong----" + +"What a crime! How did you find it out?" Clare was amused. + +"She was telling me about Agatha. And I said--why on earth didn't she +complain to you? And she said--nothing on earth would induce her to. I +said--I was sure you would be only too glad for her to ask you. And she +said----" Alwynne paused dramatically: "She said--she hadn't the +faintest doubt you would, and that I was a charming child, but that she +happened to understand you. Then we had a row of course." + +Clare pealed with laughter. + +"She's quite right, Alwynne. You are a charming child. So that is +Mademoiselle Charette, is it? And I never guessed." She mused, a curious +little smile on her lips. + +"She's a dear, really," said Alwynne apologetically. "Only she's what +Mrs. Marpler calls ''aughty.' I can't think why her knife's into you." + +"Suppose----" Clare's eyes lit up, she showed the tip of her +tongue--sure sign of mischief afloat. "Suppose I pull it out? What do +you bet me, Alwynne?" + +Alwynne laughed. + +"I wish you would. I don't like it when people don't appreciate you. +Anyhow, I wish you'd settle Agatha. You know, it's not doing the +scholarship French any good. The class slacks. Mademoiselle is worried, +I know." + +Clare was serious at once. + +"That must stop. The standard's too high for trifling. And one or two of +them are weak as it is. Especially Louise. Isn't she? Don't you coach +her for the grammar? How is her extra work getting on, by the way? Like +a house on fire, I suppose?" + +"Not altogether." Alwynne looked uneasy. + +"What?" Clare looked incredulous. + +"She's the problem," said Alwynne. + +She had a piece of paper on the table before her and was drawing +fantastic profiles as she spoke, sure sign of perturbation with Alwynne, +as Clare knew. + +"Well?" demanded Clare, after an interval. + +Alwynne paused, pencil hovering over an empty eyesocket. She seemed +nervous, opened her lips once or twice and closed them again. + +"What's wrong?" Clare prompted her. + +"Nothing's wrong exactly." Alwynne flushed uncomfortably. "After all, +you've seen her in class. Her work is as good as usual?" + +"I think so. Her last essay was a little exotic, by the bye, not quite +as natural--but you corrected them. I was so busy." + +"You don't think she's getting too keen, working too hard?" Alwynne's +tone was tentative. + +"Do you think so?" Clare was thoroughly interested. She was tickled at +Alwynne's anxious tones. She always enjoyed her occasional bursts of +responsibility. But she was nevertheless intrigued by Alwynne's hints. +She had certainly not given her class its usual attention lately. To +Louise she had scarcely spoken unofficially since term began; no +opportunity had occurred, and she had been too busy to make one. Louise +had returned a bundle of books to her on the opening day of the term, +and had been bidden to fetch herself as many more as she chose. But +Clare had been out when Louise had called. Clare, to tell the truth, had +not once given a thought to Louise since Christmas Day. She had taken a +trip to London with Alwynne soon after. The two had enjoyed themselves. +The holidays had flown. But she had been glad to find her class +radiantly awaiting her. She had found it much as usual. Alwynne's +perturbation was the more intriguing. + +"Do you think so?" she repeated, with a lift of her eyebrows that +reduced Alwynne's status to that of a Kindergarten pupil teacher. She +enjoyed seeing her grow pink. + +"Of course, it's no affair of mine," said Alwynne aggrievedly. She went +on with her drawing. + +Clare swung herself on to the low table and sat, skirts a-sway, gazing +down at Alwynne's head, bent over its grotesques. There was a curl at +the nape of the neck that fascinated her. It lay fine and shining like a +baby's. She picked up a pencil and ran it through the tendril. Alwynne +jumped. + +"Clare, leave me alone. You only think I'm impertinent." + +"Does she want a finger in the pie, then?" said Clare softly. "Poor old +Alwynne!" The pencil continued its investigations. + +Alwynne tried not to laugh. She could never resist Clare's soft voice, +as Clare very well knew. + +"I don't! I only thought----" + +"That Louise--your precious Louise----" + +"She's trying so awfully hard----" + +"Yes?" + +"She's overdoing it. The work's not so good. She's too keen, I +think----" + +"Yes?" + +"I think----" + +"Yes, Alwynne?" + +"You won't be annoyed?" + +"That depends." + +"Then I can't tell you." + +"I think you can," said Clare levelly. + +Alwynne was silent. Clare took the paper from her and examined it. + +"You've a fantastic imagination, Alwynne. When did you dream those +faces? Well--and what do you think? Be quick." + +"I think she's growing too fond of you," said Alwynne desperately. + +She faced Clare, red and apprehensive. She expected an outburst. But +Clare never did what Alwynne expected her to do. + +"Is that all? Pooh!" said Clare lightly and began to laugh. She swung +backwards, her finger-tips crooked round the edge of the table, her neat +shoes peeping and disappearing beneath her skirts as she rocked herself. +She regarded Alwynne with sly amusement. + +"So I've a bad influence, Alwynne? Is that the idea?" + +Alwynne protested redly. Clare continued unheeding. + +"Well, it's a novel one, anyhow. Could you indicate exactly how my +blighting effect is produced? Don't mind me, you know." Then, with a +chuckle: "Oh, you delicious child!" + +Alwynne was silent. + +"Tell me all about it, Alwynne dear!" cooed Clare. + +Alwynne shrugged her shoulders with a curiously helpless gesture. + +"I can't," she said. "I thought I could--but I can't. You don't help me. +I was worried over Louise. I thought--I think she alters. I think she +gets a strained look. I know she thinks about you all the time. I +thought--but, of course, if you see nothing, it's my fancy. There's +nothing definite, I know. If you don't know what I mean----" + +"I don't!" said Clare shortly. "Do you know yourself?" + +"No!" said Alwynne. She searched Clare's face wistfully. "I just thought +perhaps--she was too fond of you--I can't put it differently. I'm a +fool! I wish I hadn't said anything." + +"So do I," said Clare gravely. + +"I didn't mean to interfere: it wasn't impertinence, Clare," said +Alwynne, her cheeks flaming. + +Clare hesitated. She was annoyed at Alwynne's unnecessary display of +insight, yet tickled by her penetration, not displeased by the jealousy +which, as it seemed to her, must be at the root of the protest. Alwynne +had evidently not forgotten her chilly Christmas afternoon.... Louise, +as obviously, had talked.... There must have been some small degree of +friction for Alwynne to complain of Louise.... Curiously, it never +occurred to Clare that Alwynne's remarks hid no motive, that Alwynne +was genuinely anxious and meant exactly what she had said, or tried to +say. Possibly in Alwynne's simplicity lay her real attraction for Clare. +It made her as much of a sphinx to Clare as Clare was to her. + +As she stood before her, apprehensive of her displeasure, obviously +afraid that she had exceeded those bounds to their intercourse that she, +more than Clare, had laid down, yet withal, a curiously dogged look upon +her face, Clare was puzzled as to her own wisest attitude. She was +inclined to batter her into a retraction; it would have relieved her own +feelings. Clare could not endure criticism. But she was not yet so sure +of Alwynne as to allow herself the relief of invective. She thought that +she might easily reserve her annoyance for Louise. It was Louise, after +all, who had exposed her to criticism.... And if Alwynne chose to be +jealous, it was at least a flattering display.... She supposed she must +placate Alwynne.... After all, fifty Louises and her own dignity could +not weigh against the possession of Alwynne.... She spoke slowly, +choosing her words, + +"As if I could think you impertinent! But, my dear--I'm older than you. +Can't you trust me to understand my girls? After all, I devote my life +to them, Alwynne." Clare's quiet dignity was in itself a reproof. + +"I know." Alwynne lifted distressed eyes. "I didn't mean--I didn't +imply--of course, you know best. I only thought----" + +"That I took more notice of Louise than was wise?" + +"No, no!" protested Alwynne unhappily. + +Clare continued-- + +"If you think I'm to blame for encouraging a lonely child--she has no +mother, Alwynne--lending her a few books--asking her to tea with +me--because I felt rather sorry for her----" + +"I didn't mean that----" Alwynne twisted her fingers helplessly. + +"Then what did you mean?" Clare asked her. She had slipped on to the +floor, and was facing Alwynne, very tall and grave and quiet. "Won't you +tell me just exactly what you did mean?" she allowed a glimmer of +displeasure to appear in her eyes. + +And Alwynne, tongue-tied and cornered, had nothing whatever to say. She +had been filled with vague uneasiness and had come to Clare to have it +dispelled. The uneasiness was still there, formless yet insistent--but +the only effect of her clumsy phrases was to hurt Clare's feelings. +After all, was she not worrying herself unduly? Was she to know better +than Clare? She had felt for some moments that she had made a fool of +herself. There remained to capitulate. Her anxiety over Louise melted +before the pain in Clare's eyes--the reproof of her manner. + +"Would you like me to speak to Louise, before you?" went on Clare +patiently. "Perhaps she could explain what it is that worries you----" + +"No, no! for goodness' sake, Clare!" cried Alwynne, appalled. Then +surrendering, "Clare--I didn't mean anything. I do see--I've been +fussing--impertinent--whatever you like. I didn't mean any harm. Oh, +let's stop talking about it, please." + +"I'd rather you convinced yourself first," said Clare frigidly. "I don't +want the subject re-opened once a week." Then relenting, "Poor old +Alwynne! The trials of a deputy! Has she worried herself to death? But +I'm back now. I think I can manage my class, Alwynne--as long as you +stand by to give me a word of advice now and then." + +Alwynne squirmed. Clare laughed tenderly. + +"My dear--give Louise a little less attention. It won't hurt either of +you. Are you going to let me feel neglected?" Then, with a change of +tone. "Now we've had enough of this nonsense." She curled herself in her +big chair. "Alwynne, there's a box of Fuller's in the cupboard, and an +English Review. Don't you want to hear the new Masefield before you go +home?" + +And Alwynne's eyes grew big, and she forgot all about Louise, as Clare's +"loveliest voice" read out the rhyme of _The River_. + +Yet Clare had a last word as she sent her home to Elsbeth. + +"Sorry?" said Clare whimsically, as Alwynne bade her good-bye. + +"I always was a fool," said Alwynne, and hugged her defiantly. + +But Clare, for once, made no protest. She patted her ruffled hair as she +listened to the noises of the departure. + +"Too fond of me?" she said softly. "Too fond of me? Alwynne--what about +you?" + +But if Alwynne heard, she made no answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Miss Marsham was accustomed to recognise that it was the brief career of +Cynthia Griffiths that first induced her to consider the question of her +own retirement. + +It is certain that the school was never again quite as it had been +before her advent. The Cynthia Griffiths term remained a school date +from which to reckon as the nation reckons from the Jubilee. In an +American school Cynthia Griffiths must have been at least a disturbing +element--in the staid English establishment, with its curious mixture of +modern pedagogy and Early Victorian training, she was seismic. + +With their usual adaptability, the new girls, as they accustomed +themselves subduedly to the strange atmosphere, had found nothing to +cavil at in the school arrangements. They had not thought it incongruous +to come from Swedish exercises to prolonged and personal daily prayers, +kneeling for ten minutes at a time while their head mistress wrestled +with Deity. It might have bored girls of sixteen and eighteen to learn +their daily Bible verse, and recite it alternately with the Kindergarten +and Lower School, but it never occurred to them to protest, any more +than they were likely to object to the little note-book which each girl +carried, with its printed list of twenty-five possible crimes, and the +dangling pencil wherewith, at tea-time, to mark herself innocent or +guilty. The hundred and one rules that Edith Marsham had found useful in +the youth of her seminary, forty years before, and that time had +rendered obsolete, irritating, or merely unintelligible, were +nevertheless endured with entire good nature by her successions of +pupils. Alwynne and her contemporaries might fume in private and Clare +shrug her shoulders in languid tolerance, but nobody thought it worth +while to question directly the entire sufficiency of a bygone system to +the needs of the new century's hockey-playing generations. + +But a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump. + +What, if you please, is an old lady to do? An old lady, declining on her +pleasant seventies, owning sixty, not a day more, traditionally +awe-inspiring and unapproachable, whose security lies in the legends +that have grown up of the terrors of her eye and tongue, when Young +America clamours at her intimidating door? Young America, calm-eyed, +courteous, coaxing, squatting confidentially at the feet of Authority, +demanding counsel and comfort. Useless for harried Authority to suggest +consultation with equally harried assistants. Young America, with a +charming smile and the prettiest of gestures, would rather talk it over +quietly with Authority's self. Authority, who is the very twin of her +dear old Grannie at home, will be sure to understand. Such fusses about +nothing all day and every day! Can it be that Authority expects her to +keep her old bureau tidy, when she's had a maid all her life? Young +America will be married as soon as she quits Europe (follows a +confidential sketch of the more promising of Young America's best boys), +and have her own maid right on. Can Authority, as a matter of cold +common-sense, see any use in bothering over cupboards for just three +months or so? If so--right! Young America will worry along somehow, but +it seemed kind of foolish, didn't it? Or could Young America hire a +girl--like she did in Paris? Anyway it was rough luck on the lady in the +glasses to get an apoplexy every day, as Authority might take it was the +case at present. Another point--could Authority, surveying matters +impartially, see any harm in running down town when she was out of +candy? It only meant missing ten minutes French, and if there was one +thing Young America (lapsing suddenly, with bedazing fluency, into that +language) was sure of, it was French. These English-French classes meant +well--but, her God! how they were slow! There had been--Young America +confessed it with candid regret--some difficulties with the cute little +mark-books. Young America had mislaid three in a fortnight. She just put +them down, and they lay around awhile, and then they weren't there. Some +of the ladies had been real annoyed. And once on the subject of +mark-books, did Authority really mean that she was to chalk it up each +time she was late for breakfast, or said "Darn it," or talked in class? +Would, in her place, Authority be able to keep tally? Couldn't Young +America just mark off the whole concern and be done with it? Young +America apologised for worrying Authority with these quaint +matters--but, on her honour, every lady in the school seemed to have +gone plum crazy about them.... They just sat around and yapped at her. +Young America was genuinely scared. She had thought a heart-to-heart +chat with Authority ought to put things right. She would be real +grateful to Authority for fixing things.... + +And so, with the odd curtsey she had learned among "the Dutchies," as +she called her German pensionat, and a hearty kiss on either cheek, +Young America, affable as ever, beamed upon Authority and withdrew. + +Authority felt as if it had been out in a high wind. Instinctively it +clutched at its imposing head-dress. All was in place. Authority lay +back in its chair and gasped fishily. + +But Miss Vigers, frenzied into confession of inability to deal with the +situation--got scant sympathy. + +"What am I to do? I hate troubling you--I am sure, though, it's a relief +to us all to have you back. Of course, if you had been at home she would +never have been admitted.... You would have realised the +unsuitability--but it was not my decision.... Miss Hartill.... But what +am I to do? I flatter myself I can control our English girls--but these +Americans! Open defiance, Miss Marsham! Her room! She refuses to attend +to it. She comes and goes when she chooses. She treats me, positively, +as an equal. Her influence is unspeakable! It must be stopped! Ten +minutes late for breakfast--oh, every day! Once, I could excuse. And on +the top of it all to offer me chocolates! I must ask you to punish her +severely.... Keep her in? Miss Marsham, I did.... I sent her to her +room. Miss Marsham, will you believe me? When I went up to her later, +she was fast asleep! On the bed! In the daytime!! Without taking off the +counterpane!!! Miss Marsham, I leave the matter to you!" + +She paused for the comments her tale deserved. But to outraged +Authority, it had called up a picture--an impudent picture of Young +America, curled kitten-fashion on its austere white pallet--pink cheek +on rounded arm, guileless eyes opening sleepily under a sour and +scandalised gaze. + +Henrietta started. She could not believe her ears. + +Benevolently--unmistakably--Authority had chuckled. + +But the scandal was short-lived. Before the term was over: before +Henrietta had braced herself to her usual resource, a threat of +resignation, or Miss Marsham, hesitating between the devil of her +protesting subordinates and the deep sea of Young America's unshakable +conviction that in her directress she had an enthusiastic partisan, +could allow her maid to suggest to her that she needed a change, the end +had arrived. + +Cynthia, as Alwynne had surmised, found ten weeks of an English private +school more than enough for her; and an imperious telegram had summoned +her docile parents. + +She departed as she had come, in a joyous flurry. The school mourned, +and the Common-room, in its relief, sped the parting guest with a +cordiality that was almost effusive. + +A remark of Henrietta's, as the mistress sat over their coffee on the +afternoon of Cynthia's departure, voiced the attitude of the majority to +its late pupil. + +"I'm thankful," Miss Vigers was unusually talkative, "deeply thankful +that she's gone. An impossible young woman. Oh, no--you couldn't call +her a girl. Would any girl--any English girl--conceivably behave as she +has? They have begun to imitate her, of course. That was to be expected. +She demoralised the school. It will take me a month to get things +straight. I have three children in bed to-day. Headaches? Fiddlesticks! +Over-eating! I suppose you heard that there was a midnight feast last +night?" + +The Common-room opened its eyes. + +"I'm not astonished. A farewell gathering, I suppose! I'm sure it's not +the first," said Clare, her eyes alight with amusement. "But go on. How +did you find it out?" + +"Miss Marsham informed me of it," said Henrietta, with desperate +calmness. "It appears that Cynthia asked her permission. Miss +Marsham--er--contributed a cake. Seed!" + +Clare gurgled. + +"This is priceless. Did she tell you? I wonder she had the face." + +Henrietta grew pink. + +"No. Cynthia herself. She--er--offered me a slice. She had the +impertinence--the entirely American impertinence--to come to my +room--after midnight--to borrow a tooth-glass. To eat ices in. It +appeared that they were short of receptacles." + +"Ices?" came the chorus. + +"Her mother provided them, I believe. In a pail," said Henrietta +stiffly. + +"Did you lend the tooth-glass?" asked Clare. + +Henrietta coughed. + +"It was difficult to refuse. She had bare feet. I did not wish her to +catch cold." + +Clare turned away abruptly. Her shoulders shook. + +"I do not wish to be unjust. I do not think she was intentionally +insubordinate." Henrietta fingered one of the tall pink roses that had +appeared on her desk that morning. "I believe she meant well." + +"She was a dear!" said the little gym mistress. + +"She was an impossible young woman," retorted Henrietta with spirit. "At +the same time----" + +"At the same time?" Clare spoke with unusual friendliness. + +"She certainly had a way with her," said Henrietta. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Cynthia Griffiths had set a fashion. + +Her kewpie hair-ribbons and abbreviated blouses were an unofficial +uniform long after she had ceased, probably, to know that such articles +of dress existed. Her slang phrases incorporated themselves in the +school vocabulary. Her deeds of derring-do were imitated from afar. To +have been on intimate terms with her would have been an impressive +distinction, had not every member of the school been able to lay claim +to it. For Cynthia's jolly temperament laughed at schoolgirl etiquette, +could never be brought to realise the existence of caste and clique. She +darted into their lives and out again, like a dragon-fly through a cloud +of gnats. It was not strange that her beauty, her prodigality, in +conjunction with the all-excusing fact of her nationality, should have +attracted the weather-cock enthusiasm of her companions: should have +made her, short as her career had been, the rage. + +Yet the one person on whom that career was to have a lasting influence +was, to all appearance, the least affected by it. + +Cynthia and Louise Denny were class-mates, for Clare, amused and +interested by the new type, had, after all, arranged for Cynthia to join +the Scholarship Class, though there could be no idea of her entering. +She agreed with Alwynne that there was not much likelihood of Cynthia's +sojourn being a long one. In the meantime, as she had explained to Miss +Marsham, it was better to have the fire-brand under her own eye. Miss +Marsham agreed with alacrity, and contrasted Clare's calmly capable +manner with the protests of Henrietta. She realised joyfully that +Cynthia would not be permitted to appeal from any decision of Miss +Hartill. She recalled, not for the first time, that in all Clare's years +there had never come a crisis for which she had been found unprepared. +Details of a campaign might finally reach the ears of Authority--there +would be always birds of the air to carry the matter--but from Miss +Hartill herself, no word; if pressed, there would be a brief summary, a +laughing comment, never an appeal for help. Miss Marsham had built up +her school by sheer force of personality. She was old now, grown slack +and easy, but instinctively she recognised a ruling spirit, a kindred +mind. One day she must choose her successor.... She was rich. Her school +need not fall to the highest bidder.... There were Henrietta and Clare. +Henrietta had scraped and saved, she knew.... Henrietta was fond of +trying on Authority's shoes.... Of Clare's wishes she was less sure.... +But Clare was a capable girl--a capable girl.... Clare had never let any +one worry her.... + +She read Clare correctly. Clare had no intention of allowing Cynthia +Griffiths to lessen her prestige. But she had her own method of solving +the American problem. She treated her new pupil with the easy good +humour, the mocking friendliness of an equal. She realised the +impossibility of counteracting the effects of a haphazard education, but +recognising equally the inherent kindliness and lawlessness of the +character, played on both qualities in her management of the girl. Her +classes were not demoralised, but stimulated, by the new-comer's +presence: yet Clare had said nothing to Cynthia of rules and +regulations. But Miss Hartill's manner had certainly implied that while +to her, too, they were a folly and a weariness, after all it was easy to +conform. It saved trouble and pleased people. All conveyed without +prejudice to the morals of her other pupils in a shrug, and a twinkle, +and a half-finished phrase. + +Cynthia was charmed. Here was common-sense. For the first time she felt +herself at home. She appalled the classes by her loud encomiums, her +delighted discovery of qualities that it was blasphemy to connect with +Miss Hartill. For Cynthia, with the pitiful shrewdness that her +cosmopolitan years had instilled, admired Clare for reasons that +bewildered the worshippers. To them Clare moved through the school, +apart, Olympian, a goddess, condescending delightfully. To Cynthia, +accustomed to intrigue, she was obviously and admirably Macchiavellian. +It amazed her that the English girls could not perceive Miss Hartill's +cleverness, that they should adore her for qualities as foreign to her +character as they were essentially insipid, and be indignant at +understanding and discriminating praise. + +But Cynthia was above all philosophical. She shrugged her shoulders over +the crazy crew, and reserved her comments for--Louise. For in Louise, +incredible as Alwynne Durand, for instance, would have thought it, she +did find a listener--an antagonist, easily pricked into amusing +indignation, into white-hot denials--nevertheless, a listener. Indeed, +it was the attitude of Cynthia to Clare Hartill rather than her personal +attraction that was responsible for Louise's departure from her original +and sincere attitude of indifference to the advances of the popular +American. + +Louise was less in the foreground than she had been in the previous +term. She had come back to school, less talkative, less brilliant, but +working with a dogged persistence that had on Alwynne, at least, a +depressing effect. But Alwynne, also, was seeing less of the girl. +Cynthia Griffiths obstructed her view--Cynthia, taking one of her +vociferous likings to a sufficiently unresponsive Louise. For the +_rapprochement_ was scarcely a normal, schoolgirl intimacy. Cynthia +Griffiths had been intrigued by Louise's personality. She had been quick +to grasp the importance of the child's position--to guess her there by +reason of her brains and temperament. Yet to Cynthia, judging life, as +she did, chiefly by exterior appearances, Louise, insignificant, timid, +shadowy, was an incessant denial of her nevertheless recognisable +influence in school politics. In the language of Cynthia, she was a dark +horse. Cynthia was charmed--school life was dull--the mildest of +mysteries was better than none. She would devote herself to deciphering +a new type. This little English kid had undoubted influence with girl +and mistress alike. Cynthia had intercepted glances between her and Miss +Hartill, and Miss Durand too, that spoke of mutual understanding. +Perhaps it was money--half the school in her pay? Or secret influences +of the most sinister? Hypnotism, maybe? Cynthia Griffiths, fed on dime +novels and magazine literature, was not ten minutes concocting the +hopefullest of mare's nests. She approached Louise between excitement +and suspicion. + +Cynthia was not scrupulous. She forced her way through the reserves and +defences of the younger girl like a bumble-bee clawing and screwing and +buzzing into the heart of a half-shut flower. + +She found much to puzzle her, more to amuse, but nothing to justify her +gorgeous suspicions. She confessed them one day to Louise, in a burst of +confidence, and Louise was hugely delighted. Cynthia always delighted +her. She liked her jolly ways, and her sense of fun, and was quite +convinced that she had no sense of humour at all. The conviction saved +her some suffering. She was jealous, inevitably jealous, of the +brilliant new-comer, painfully alive to, exaggerating and writhing at +Clare's preoccupation with her; yet the warped shrewdness proper to her +state of mind, she could calculate with painful accuracy how long it +would take Clare to tire of her new toy, what qualities would soonest +induce satiety. She guessed, hoped, prayed, that Miss Hartill would +discover, as she had done, Cynthia's lack of conscious humour, the +obtuseness that underlay her boisterous ease. She was not fine enough to +hold Miss Hartill long: she would grow too fond of Miss Hartill: would, +in the terrible craving to render up her whole soul, expose herself in +all her crudity. Louise did, for a while, soothe the jealousy, the +tearing, clawing beast in her breast, with that comfortable conviction. +That her reasoning was subconscious, that she was unaware of the +process of analysation and deduction that led to her conclusions, is +immaterial; she felt--and as she felt, she acted; her reasons for her +actions were sounder than she dreamed. + +She made mistakes often enough: her profound occupation with Clare +Hartill had induced a spiritual myopia; the rest of the world was out of +focus; and it was her initial misunderstanding of Cynthia Griffiths that +led to their curious, unaffectionate alliance. In all Louise's +ponderings, she had never doubted but that Cynthia would, like the rest +of the world, fall down and worship at the shrine of Clare Hartill. +Cynthia Griffiths, amused spectator of an alien life, did nothing of the +kind. And Louise--amazed, fiercely incredulous, all-suspicious, yet +finally convinced of the inconceivable fact--it had a curious effect. +She should have been indignant, contemptuous of the obtuse creature--as, +indeed, in a sense, she was--but chiefly she was conscious of a lifted +weight--of an enormous and hysterical gratitude. + +Cynthia was a fool--a purblind philistine. But what relief was in her +folly, what immense security! Jealousy could not die out in Louise, but +it entered on a new phase--became passive, enduring resignedly +inevitable pain. But its vigilance, its fierce pugnacity was dead; for +Cynthia--dear fool--did not care. Pearls had been cast before Americans. +Louise was ready enough to be gracious to such exquisite insensibility. +She became friendly. She had guarded her secret jealousy from the world. +She was "keen" on Miss Hartill, certainly, but so was half the school, +at least. She was merely in the fashion. Insignificant and circumspect, +giving no confidences, no one but Clare herself, and Alwynne Durand, +guessed at the intensity of her affection. But with Cynthia Griffiths +she was reckless. Ostrich-like, she trusted to the protection of her +formal disclaimer, while with each new discussion, each half-confidence, +she exposed herself and her feelings more completely. + +And Cynthia, dropping her theories, began to be interested in the +strange, vehement imp, with its alternating fits of frankness and +reticence, wit and childishness, its big brain and its inexplicable yet +obvious unhappiness. She affected Louise, was accustomed to pet and +parade her, long before she had solved the problem of her character; +indeed, it was not until she had confided to the child her plans for an +early departure, that Louise relaxed her self-protective vigilance. She +had begun, in her walks with Cynthia, to realise the relief and healing +of self-expression. If Cynthia were going away to Paris, America, never +to be seen again, what harm in talking--in saying for once what she +felt? There was wry pleasure in it, and, oh, what harm? + +Louise found an odd satisfaction in leading Cynthia--on her side, if you +please, alert for evidence, the amateur detective still--to sit in +judgment on Clare Hartill; would sit, horrified, thrilled, drinking in +blasphemy. She would have allowed no other human being to impeach the +smallest detail of Clare Hartill's conduct, but from Cynthia, though she +raged hotly, she did allow, and in some queer fashion, enjoy it. She +had, perhaps, a vague assurance that Cynthia, being a foreigner, could +not be taken seriously. + +So the pair discussed Clare Hartill from all possible angles till Louise +occasionally forgot to keep up her elaborate pretence of indifference, +to insist on its being understood that the discussion was rhadamanthine +in its impersonality. + +"Yes, I'm off soon," Cynthia had confided. They were sitting together in +her cubicle. "All this is slow--slow. Ne' mind! Wait till this child +gets going!" She stretched herself lazily, and flung back on her little +white bed, arms behind her. Louise studied her magnificent torso. + +"Why did you come?" she demanded. + +Cynthia laughed. + +"Italy--France--Deutschland--I'd done everywhere but England. Now comes +a tour round the world--and so home. I'm Californian, you know. I'll +have great times then. You don't live, over here. You're afraid of your +own shadows. Now an American girl----" + +"How do you mean?" + +"Aren't you? Always afraid of breaking rules? Haven't I asked +you--haven't I begged you to come out with me one day? Oh, Louise, it +would be great! I saw a taxi-man yesterday, outside church, with the +duckiest eyes! Lunch somewhere, and 'phone through for the new show at +Daly's. An American show! Dandy! Only taken you four years to transfer +here! Let's go, Louise? We'd be back to supper." + +Louise twinkled. + +"Rot! We'd be expelled." + +Cynthia opened her china-blue eyes. + +"For a little thing like that? Why? We wouldn't miss a class. Besides, +we'd say you asked me home to tea." + +Louise looked distressed. Their ideas of veracity had clashed before. + +Cynthia, watching mischievously, giggled. + +"Poor kid! Doesn't it want to tell lies, then?" + +"You see--English people don't! Of course, I know it's different +abroad," said Louise delicately. + +"Haven't you ever, Louise?" + +Louise flushed crimson. + +"You have?" Cynthia was amused. "What was it, Louise? Oh, what was it? +Tell! Oh, you needn't mind me--my average is--well, quite average. What +was it?" + +Louise's lips closed. + +"I call you the limit, you know! 'English people don't!' With a red-hot +tarradiddle on your little white conscience all the time. You're a good +pupil, Louise." + +Louise, blushing, turned suspiciously. + +"What are you at now!" she demanded. + +"I was thinking of Clarissa." Cynthia smiled with intention. + +"Clarissa who?" + +"Clare, kid! Clare! Sweet Clare! Sugar-sweet Clare! Our dear Dame +Double!" + +"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," said Louise, in her lowest voice. +"You know I hate it." + +"All right, honey!" Cynthia rolled lazily on to her side and pulled a +box of chocolates from the shelf beside her. + +The room was quiet for a while. + +"Cynthia?" + +"Um?" + +"What did you mean just now?" + +"Have a candy?" + +"No, thanks!" + +Cynthia munched on. + +"About Miss Hartill?" Louise's tone was half defiant, half guilty. She +felt disloyal in re-opening the subject. Yet Cynthia's hints rankled. + +"I don't know. Nothing, I guess." + +"Oh, but you did mean something," said Louise uneasily. + +"Maybe." + +"Tell me." + +"Want to know?" + +"Yes." + +"Badly?" + +"It's not true, of course! But I'd like to know." + +Cynthia's eyes danced. She could be grave enough otherwise, but her eyes +and her dimples could never be kept in order. + +"Tell about the tarradiddle first, and I will." + +But to Louise a lie was a lie and no joking matter. She fidgeted. + +"If you must know----" + +"I must." + +"Well--you know how Miss Hartill hates birthdays?" + +"Why?" + +"At least, school ones. You know, there's such a fuss at Miss +Marsham's--a holiday, presents, and all that. So Miss Hartill won't let +hers be known." + +"'Splendid Isolation' stunt." + +"If you're going to be a hatefully unjust pig, I won't tell you." + +"I apologise. Have a candy?" + +"Well, you know, Agatha found out that Miss Hartill was giving a party +last week, and, of course, every one thought it was for hers. But it +turned out it was Daffy's birthday: Miss Hartill gave it for her. It was +Agatha's fault. She was so dead certain about it." + +"But what did it matter?" + +"Well, you see, I'd got some roses----" + +"Pale pink and yellow? Beauties?" + +"Yes." + +"Oho! So that's where they came from. I did Dame Double an injustice. I +thought it was a best boy." Cynthia gurgled. + +"You saw them?" + +"I went to tea with her--it must have been that day--the eighth?" + +Louise nodded. + +"A party! Agatha is a coon. There was only Daffy there! I wonder she +didn't ask you." + +Louise said nothing. Her face was expressionless. + +"Mean old thing!" Cynthia grew indignant as the situation dawned on her. + +"She can't ask every one. There was no reason whatever to ask me." But +Louise's voice had a suspicious quiver in it, which Cynthia, with +unusual tact, ignored. + +"Well--about the roses? They were beauties, kid!" + +"Oh, I brought 'em round, going to school. I thought she'd started, but +she hadn't. She opened the door. So there I was, stuck." Louise began to +laugh. "I'd meant to leave them, just without any name." + +"I see." Cynthia twinkled. + +"She was rather--rather breakfasty, you know--and I got flustered and +forgot to wish her 'many happy.' Wasn't it lucky? I was thankful +afterwards. I only said they were out of the greenhouse and I thought +she'd like them. She did, too." Louise smiled to herself. + +"Well?" + +"That's all." + +"But where did the lie come in?" + +"Oh! Oh--well--I'd bought them, you see. As if Mamma would let me pick +flowers. Besides, we haven't even got a greenhouse. But I had five +shillings at Christmas, and sixpence in the pudding--and sixpence a week +pocket-money--and I never have anything to buy. I could well afford it," +said Louise, with dignity. + +"That's not a lie," said Cynthia, disappointed. "It's barely an--an +evasion." + +"I didn't mean to--evade. I was only afraid she'd be cross, and yet I +couldn't resist getting them. Do you know the feeling, when you ache to +give people things? But it was a lie, of course." + +"Oh, well! You needn't mind. She tells plenty herself--acts them, at +least----" + +Louise caught her up. + +"There! That's it! That's one of the things! You're always hinting +things! Why do you? I won't have it! Of course, I know you're only in +fun, but if anybody hears you----" + +"I'm not! Oh, but it's no use talking! You think she's a god almighty. +What's the use of my telling you that she's a conceited----" + +"She's not!" + +"Oh, she's a right to be. She'd be a peach if I had the dressing of +her----" + +"She doesn't like American fashions. We don't want her to. We like her +as she is." + +"And she knows it--you bet your bottom dollar! There's not much she +doesn't know. Why, she simply lives for effect! She's the most gorgeous +hypocrite----" + +"You're a beastly one yourself--you pretend you like her----" + +"But I do! I admire her heaps! But I understand her. You don't. She +likes to be top dog. She'll do anything for that. She likes to know +every woman and child in the school is a bit of putty, to knead into +shape. I know! I've met her sort before--only generally it was men they +were after. And yet it bores her too----" parenthesised Cynthia +shrewdly. "That's why she likes me. I don't care two pins for her +tricks. That stings her up a bit. She'll be mighty bored when I go." + +Louise listened, angry, yet fascinated. It gave her a curious pleasure +to hear Miss Hartill belied. She would hug herself for her own superior +discernment. A phrase from a half-digested story often recurred to her: +"One doesn't defend one's god! One's god is a defence in himself." But +Cynthia was going too far--abandoning innuendo for direct assault. She +struck back. + +"It's easy to say things. Just saying so doesn't make it so. And if it +did, I shouldn't believe it." + +"Oh! I can prove it." Cynthia laughed. "Have you noticed the Charette +comedy?" + +"Mademoiselle? Oh, she hates Miss Hartill. But she's French, of course." + +"Does she just? H'm----!" + +"Well, there was a French girl--she left last term--she told Marion that +Mademoiselle had said things to her about Miss Hartill. Agatha told me. +Agatha loathes Mademoiselle. Of course, Mademoiselle is rather down on +her." + +"I don't wonder. You know how Agatha hazes her in class." + +"I can't stand Agatha." Louise shook herself. "Last French Grammar it +was awful--silly, you know, not funny. One simply couldn't work. +Mademoiselle kept her in. I suppose Agatha didn't like that. She's been +a lamb since, anyway. About time too!" + +"Shucks! It wasn't being kept in. It was Clarissa. Oh, my dear, it was +fun! There was poor little Mademoiselle, storming away in her absurd +English, and Agatha cheeking her for all she was worth." + +"How did you hear?" + +"Why, I was in the studio! Agatha didn't know we were there, of course. +The glass doors were open. You know, Daffy gives me extra drawing. And +just when Agatha was in full swing, and Mademoiselle speechless with +rage, Miss Hartill turned up--wanted Daffy." + +"Oh, go on!" Louise cried breathlessly. + +"It really was funny, you know. Miss Hartill was talking to Daffy and +the row going on next door--you couldn't help hearing--and suddenly +Daffy said--Daffy had been fidgeting for some time--'Listen!' and +Clarissa said, 'Oho-o!' You know her way, with about ten o's at the end; +and Daffy said, 'There! Now do you believe me?' kind of crowing. And +Miss Hartill, she just smiled, like a cat with cream, and said, 'All +right, Alwynne! All right, my dear!' and went into the next room. Say, +it was exciting! She didn't raise her voice, but she just let herself +go, and in about two minutes Agatha came out like a ripe +cheese--literally crawling. I wish she hadn't shut the door. I couldn't +hear any more. I could see, of course, and you bet I watched out of the +tail of my eye. Daffy never noticed me." + +"What happened then?" + +"Oh! They stood and talked, and Mademoiselle was scarlet and seemed to +be pitching into Miss Hartill, as far as I could see, and Miss Hartill +was letting her talk herself out, and sometimes she smiled and said +something; that always started Mademoiselle off again. And at last +Mademoiselle went and sat in one of the window-seats, and I couldn't see +her face, but I imagined she was howling. French people always do. +Clarissa went and patted her shoulder." + +"She is a dear!" Loyally Louise bit back her instant jealousy. + +"Oh, she was enjoying herself," said Cynthia coolly. "You should have +seen her face. Sort of smiling at her own thoughts. Have you ever seen a +spider smile?" + +Louise disdained an answer. + +"Nor have I! Have a candy? But I bet I know what it looks like." + +"Well, what happened?" demanded Louise impatiently. + +"Oh, it was annoying! Daffy came and sat down in my place, to correct. I +couldn't see any more. Only when Miss Hartill came out (she didn't +notice me, I was putting away the group), she said to Daffy, 'She's +coming to tea on Friday.' And Daffy said, 'Clare, you're a wonder!' And +Miss Hartill said, 'I didn't do it for her, Alwynne!' And Daffy got +pink. Clarissa did look pleased with herself." + +"Well, so she ought! Wouldn't you be--if you could make people happy?" + +Cynthia threw up her hands. "Happy! Oh, Momma! Are you happy?" + +Louise winced. + +"Is Daffy? Mademoiselle? Any of you fools? Oh, it's no use talking! You +won't believe me when I tell you that she's a cat. Yes, a pussy-cat, +Louise! A silky, purring pussy-cat, pawing you, pat--pat--so softly, +like kisses. But if you wriggle--my! Look out for claws! Have a candy?" + +Louise gathered herself together. She came close to the bed, and leaning +over the older girl, spoke-- + +"I don't understand what you're driving at--but you're wrong. It's you +that's a fool. You misjudge her, utterly. You don't understand +her--you're not fit to." + +"Are you?" Cynthia laughed at her openly. + +"Of course not. No one--Daffy does, of course. But us?--girls? Just +because she's been heavenly to you, you take advantage, to watch her, to +judge, to twist all she says and does. Why do you hate her so?" + +"I don't." Cynthia pulled herself upright. "My dear, you're wrong there. +I like her immensely. She's a real treat. But I don't worship her like +you do." + +"I don't! I--I just love her." Louise glowed. + +Cynthia laughed jollily. + +"Oh, well! You'll get over that. Wait till you get a best boy." + +"If you think I'd look at any silly man, after knowing her----" + +"My dear girl! Has it never occurred to you that you'll marry some day?" + +Louise shook her head. + +"I've thought it all out. I never could love anybody as much as I do +Miss Hartill. I know I couldn't." + +"But it's not the same! Falling in love with a man----" + +"Love's love," said Louise with finality. "Where's the difference?" + +Cynthia sat up. + +"Where's the difference? Where's the----?" She giggled. But something in +the quality of her laughter disturbed. Louise frowned. + +"I didn't say anything funny. You'll love your husband, I suppose, that +you're always talking about having--and I'll stick to Miss Hartill. It's +perfectly simple." + +But Cynthia was still laughing. Louise grew irritable under her amused +glances, and would have turned away, but Cynthia flung her arm about +her. + +"Stop! Don't you really know?" + +"What?" + +"The difference." + +Cynthia's eyes shone oddly. Louise moved uneasily, disconcerted by their +expression. + +Cynthia continued. + +"Hasn't any one told you? Why, with the books you've read----Haven't +you read the Bible ever?" + +"Of course!" Louise was indignant. "I've been right through--four +times." + +"And you've never noticed? Good Lord! That's all I read it for." + +"I haven't an idea what you're driving at," said Louise. Cynthia was +making her thoroughly uncomfortable. + +Cynthia was flushed, laughing, pure devilry in her eyes. Her lips were +pouted, her little teeth gleamed. She looked a child licking its lips +over forbidden dainties. She had pulled Louise into her lap and her +voice had dropped to a whisper. + +"Shall I tell you? Would you like to know? You ought to--you're +fourteen--it's absurd--not knowing about things--shall I tell you?" + +Louise fidgeted. Cynthia's manner had aroused her curiosity, but none +the less she was repelled. Why, she could not have said. She hesitated, +aroused, yet half frightened. + +"I'll tell you," said Cynthia lusciously. + +With a sudden effort Louise freed herself from the encircling arm. She +edged away from the elder girl, stammering a little. + +"I don't think I want to know anything. It's awfully sweet of you. I'd +rather--I always ask Daffy things. Do you mind?" + +Cynthia, good-tempered as ever, laughed aloud. + +"Lord, no! But what a little saint! Aren't you ever curious, Louise? All +right! I won't tease. Have a candy?" + +And Louise, eating chocolates, was not long in forgetting the +conversation and all the curious discomfort it had aroused. If a leaf +had fallen on the white garment of her innocence--a leaf from the tree +of the knowledge of good and evil--she had brushed it aside, all +unconscious, before it could leave a stain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The spring term was nearly over, holidays and a trip to Italy +deliciously near; yet Clare Hartill sat at breakfast and frowned over a +neatly-written letter. + +Clare Hartill did not encourage the re-entry of old friends into her +life. She did not forget them. She would look back upon the far-off +flaming intimacy with regret, would quote its pleasures to the friend of +the hour with disconcerting enthusiasm; but she was never eager for the +reappearance of any whose ways had once diverged from her own. Pleasant +memories, if you will; but, in the flesh, old friends were tiresome. +They claimed instant intimacy; were free-tongued, fond, familiar; could +not realise that though they might choose to stand still, she, Clare, +had grown out of their knowledge, beyond their fellowship. She, indeed, +would find them terribly unaltered; older, glamourless, yet amazingly, +humiliatingly the same. She would look at them furtively as she +entertained them, and shudder at the lapse from taste that surely must +have explained her former affection. She would be gracious, kind, yet +inimitably distant, and would send them away at last, subdued, vaguely +disquieted, loyal still, yet very sure that they would never trouble her +again. Which was exactly what Clare Hartill intended. Yet she had her +fits of remorse withal, her secret bitter railing at fate and her own +nature, for that she could neither keep a friend nor live without one. +Recovering, she would be complacent at having contrived, without loss of +prestige, to rid herself of bores. + +There was one fly in her ointment. Who knows not that fly, earnest and +well-intentioned, which, when it is dug out with a hairpin, cleanses +itself exhaustively and forthwith returns to the vaseline jar? Such a +fly, optimistic and persistent, was the correspondent who invariably +signed herself, "Ever, dear Clare, your affectionate little friend, +Olivia Pring. P.S. Do you remember...?" There would follow a +reminiscence, at least twenty years old, that Clare never did remember. + +Olivia Pring was a school-mate. There had been a term together in the +Lower Third. For a few weeks she had been Clare's best friend and she +never let Clare forget it. Clare, with removes and double removes, had +disappeared speedily from Olivia's world, but she never quite shook off +Olivia. Olivia, amiable, admiring, impervious to snubs, refused to be +shaken off. She went her placid way, became a governess, and an expert +in the more complicated forms of crochet. She wrote to Clare about twice +a year--dull, affectionate letters. Clare, that involute character, +amazed herself by invariably answering them. At long intervals Olivia +would be passing through London, and would announce herself, if quite +convenient, as intending to visit her dear Clare that afternoon. She +would describe the lengthy tussle between herself and her employer, +before she had wrested the requisite permission to stay the night--and +did Clare remember the last visit but three, and the amusing evening +they had had? And the letter was invariably delayed in the posting, and +its arrival would precede that of Olivia by a bare half-hour. Olivia, +growing even fatter and more placid, would apologise breathlessly +between broad smiles at the sight of Clare and recollections of the dear +old days. And Clare, as one hypnotised, would go to her linen cupboard +and give out sheets for the spare room. There would follow an evening of +interminable small-talk for Clare, of sheer delight for Olivia Pring, +who, consciously and conscientiously commonplace, enjoyed dear Clare's +daring views as a youthful curate might enjoy, strictly as an onlooker, +what he imagines to be the less respectable aspects of an evening in +Paris. + +And Clare would retire to bed at ten-fifteen and sleep as she had not +slept for weeks. Olivia would be regretfully obliged to catch the +eight-eleven, and would depart amid embraces. And Clare would order up a +second breakfast and wonder why she stood it. Yet the pile of unused +doileys in her linen cupboard increased yearly. A doiley was Olivia's +invariable tribute, and arrived, intricate and unlovely, within a week +of her visit. + +Clare fingered her letter in quaint helplessness. She had a sleepless +night behind her, and a big morning's work before, and her usual +end-of-term headache. Olivia was arriving--she glanced at the hopelessly +legible sheets--at three-fifty. No chance of mistake there. Clare +decided that it was quite impossible for her to survive a seven hours' +_tête-à-tête_ with her affectionate friend Olivia Pring. If only Alwynne +could help her out. But Alwynne, she knew, was taking the skimmings of +the Sixths and Fifths to a suitable Shakespeare performance. She had +taken the pick of the classes herself the evening before. No chance of +Alwynne, then. And Cynthia! Alack for Cynthia! who could have been +trusted to amuse Olivia Pring as much as Olivia Pring would have amused +her--Cynthia must be aboard ship by now. Clare, in regretful +parenthesis, hoped Cynthia would send a few compatriots to +Utterbridge.... Americans gave a fillip to one's duties.... Anyhow +Alwynne and Cynthia were out of the question. + +There was Louise! She brightened. Louise, queer little thing, was always +amusing.... Louise would serve her turn.... Louise would be so charmed +to come.... Clare laughed a little consciously. Perhaps she had +neglected Louise a trifle of late, perhaps it was not altogether fair of +her. A happy thought buffered the prick of her yawning conscience. It +was Alwynne's fault.... Alwynne, with her ridiculous, well-meaning +objections.... She, Clare, had given in to them, for peace and quiet +sake.... And now, most probably, Louise was not too content with +life.... One knew what schoolgirls were.... Never mind! Clare would be +very nice to Louise this evening.... Louise should enjoy herself, and, +incidentally, preserve Clare from expiring of boredom at poor Olivia's +large, flat feet. + +The invitation was given during the eleven o'clock break. Clare would +occasionally join the school in Big Hall, and share its milk and +biscuits. Often enough to make it any day's delightful possibility, not +often enough for it to be other than an event. She would sit on the +platform steps, watching the gay promenaders below, informal, +approachable, tossing the ball to the daring few, hedged about, in turn, +by the tentative many. Sometimes she would stroll about the hall with a +girl on either side, or one only. She had a curious little trick of +catching the girl she spoke with by the elbow, and pushing her gently +along as she talked, bending over (she was very tall) and enveloping. +Everybody knew the "Gendarme Stunt" as Cynthia Griffiths irreverently +termed it, and no one would have dreamed of approaching or interrupting +such a _tête-à-tête_. + +Nevertheless, Miss Hartill had not exchanged three sentences with Louise +Denny on the morning of Olivia Pring's arrival, before every girl in Big +Hall knew of it, and twice the number of eyes were following them, with +an elaborately accidental gaze, in their progress. + +Possibly Clare was a little touched by Louise's delight at the +invitation. At any rate she managed, in spite of her headache, to be a +very charming companion. She confessed to the headache, and asked Louise +for advice. And Louise, deeply concerned, could think of nothing but a +recipe she had found in Clare's own Culpeper, in which rhubarb and +powdered dormice figured largely. She suggested it in a doubtful little +voice. The school would have given a good deal to know what made Miss +Hartill laugh so. + +Miss Hartill told Louise all about her visitor, whom, she declared, she +depended on Louise to entertain, and added a couple of comical tales of +their mutual schooldays. Unfortunately Clare's _novelli_ owed their +charm more to her inventive touches and graphic manner than to the +actual underlying fact. Louise was left with the impression of an +Olivia Pring who had been Friar Tuck to Clare's Robin Hood. She +appreciated the honour of being asked to meet her to a degree that would +have tickled Clare, had she guessed it. + +"Miss Olivia Pring!" Louise meditated all day over Miss Olivia Pring. +Evidently Miss Hartill's best friend.... She hoped Miss Olivia Pring +would like her.... How dreadful it would be if she didn't ... for what +might she not say of her to Miss Hartill? Louise must be careful, oh, so +careful, of her manners and her speech.... It was rather hard luck that +she would not have Miss Hartill to herself.... It would be dreadfully +uncomfortable--talking before a stranger.... Except for the +delightfulness of being asked by Miss Hartill, she could have wished +that Miss Hartill had not asked her. Rather an ordeal for a +thirteen-year-old--supper with Miss Hartill and Miss Olivia Pring. + +Now shyness, like any other painful sensation, is inexplicable to such +as have not experienced it, is at once forgotten by such as outgrow it, +but to those at its mercy, to sheer suffering, paralysing, stultifying, +a spiritual Torture of the Pear. + +Clare Hartill should have understood; she had her own furtive childhood +for reference; but Clare Hartill had a headache, and she was very tired +of Olivia Pring. Olivia was so placid, so shapeless, so ridiculous, in +her pink flannel blouse, and the reckless glasses, that were ever on the +point of toppling over the precipice of her abbreviated nose into the +abyss of her half-open mouth. It certainly did not occur to Clare that +Louise could feel the slightest discomfort on account of Olivia Pring. + +But Louise was blind to the flannel blouse, and the foolish face, and +the unmanageable glasses. She was wearing glasses of her own, +rose-coloured affairs, through which Miss Pring appeared, not only as a +"grown-up" and a stranger, but as the intimate of Deity in Undress. +Miss Pring did nothing to dispel the illusion--she had conscientiously +flattened the high spirits out of too many little girls to be interested +in a new specimen. She addressed herself chiefly to Clare--recalling +incessantly, and enlarging upon, trifling incidents of their mutual +past, which every fresh sentence of the badgered hostess contrived to +recall to her elastic memory. Louise, always sensitive, her shyness +growing with every word, could but take each unexplained allusion as a +personal snub, and feeling herself entirely superfluous, began to +imagine that Miss Hartill was already regretting the invitation. +Panic-struck she tried to remedy matters by effacing herself as +completely as possible. It was wonderful what a small and insignificant +person Louise could sometimes look, and did look that evening in one of +Clare's big arm-chairs. Her prim little whisper and deprecatory smile +might have struck Clare as pathetic if Clare had not been so very tired +of the affectionate reminiscences of Olivia Pring. As it was, she was +annoyed. She had asked Louise of the bright eyes and quick stammer and +extravagant imagery, to supper with her--the panther-cub, not the +leveret. She had talked of Louise too--had looked forward to putting the +child through its paces, if only for the benefit of Olivia Pring. She +had even surmised that Louise would take Olivia's measure, and at a nod +from Clare would be delicately, deliciously impertinent. Indeed, she had +thought her capable of it. But it was only a schoolgirl after all--a +silly tongue-tied schoolgirl--that she had for an instant compared with +Alwynne: Alwynne, monstrously absent, a match for ten Olivias. + +She yawned, shrugged her shoulders, and suggested, in fine ironic fit, a +game of "Old Maid." Olivia was extremely pleased. She so much preferred +Old Maid--or Beggar-my-Neighbour, perhaps?--to Bridge. She did not +approve of Bridge. In her position it did not do. Clare would remember +that she had always said.... + +Clare fetched the cards. + +Louise! Louise! You have done yourself no good to-night. Shy? Nonsense! +What is there to be shy about? A few words from Miss Hartill--a +prompting or two--a leading question--could have broken the ice of your +shyness for you, eh? And Miss Hartill knows it, as well as you, if not +better. That shall not avail you. Who are you, to set Miss Hartill's +conscience itching? Miss Hartill has a headache. Pull up your chair, and +deal your cards, and stop Miss Hartill yawning, if you can. Believe me, +it's your only chance of escape. + +Louise was a clumsy dealer. Her careful setting out of cards irritated +Clare to snatching point. Olive triumphed in every game. On principle, +Clare disliked losing, even at Beggar-my-Neighbour. And they played +Beggar-my-Neighbour till ten o'clock. + +Louise grew more cheerful as the evening progressed, ventured a few +sentences now and then. Clare was dangerously suave with both her +guests; but Louise, taking all in good faith, hoped after all, that she +had not appeared as stupid as she felt. It had been dreadful at first, +she reflected, as she put on coat and hat. But it had gone better +afterwards.... She didn't believe Miss Hartill was cross with her.... +That had been a silly idea of her own.... Miss Hartill was just as +usual. + +She made her farewells. Clare came out into the hall and ushered her +forth. + +"Good-bye!" Louise smiled up at her. "It was so kind of you to have me. +I have so much enjoyed myself." Then, the formula off her tongue: "Miss +Hartill, I do hope your head's better?" + +"Thank you!" said Clare inscrutably. "Good-night!" Then, as the maid +went down the stairs: "Louise!" + +"Yes, Miss Hartill?" + +Clare was smiling brilliantly. + +"Don't come again, Louise, until you can be more amusing. At any rate, +natural. Good-night!" + +She shut the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Louise spent her Easter holidays among her lesson books. Miss Hartill +and Miss Durand were in Italy, all responsibilities put aside for four +blessed weeks, but for Louise there could be no relaxation. The +examinations were to take place a few days before the summer term began, +and their imminence overshadowed her. Useless for Miss Durand to extract +a promise to rest, to be lazy, to forget all about lessons. Louise +promised readily and broke her promise half-an-hour after she had waved +the train out of the station. Impossible to keep away from one's History +and Latin and Mathematics with examinations three weeks ahead. Miss +Durand might preach; her overtaxed brain cry pax; her cramped body ache +for exercise; but Louise knew herself forced to ignore all protests. She +would rest when the examinations were over. Till then--revision, +repetition--repetition, revision--with as little time as might be +grudged to eating and sleeping and duty walks with Mrs. Denny. + +There was no time to lose. The nights swallowed up the days all too +swiftly. + +Yet, waking one morning with a start to realise that the day of days had +dawned at last, she found it incredible. The morning was exactly like +other mornings, with the sun streaming blindingly in upon her, because +she had forgotten, as usual, to drawn her blind at night, her head +already aching a little, hot and heavy from uneasy sleep. All night long +her brain had been alert, restless, beyond control. All night long it +had tugged and fretted, like a leashed dog, at the surface slumber that +tethered it. She felt confused, burdened with a half-consciousness of +vivid, forgotten dreams. + +She dressed abstractedly, lesson books propped against her +looking-glass, and wedged between soap-dish and pitcher. For the +hundredth time she conned the technicalities of her work, and making no +slips, grew more cheerful for it had been the letter, not the spirit, +that had troubled her--little matters of rules and exceptions, of dates +and derivations, that would surely trip her up. But she was feeling sure +of herself at last, and thrilling as she was with nervous excitement, +could yet be glad that the great day had dawned, and ready to laugh at +all her previous despondencies. Things were turning out better than she +had expected. There was bracing comfort in beginning with her own +subject--Miss Hartill's own subject. She could have no fears for herself +in the Literature examination. French in the afternoon, that was less +pleasant. But she would manage--must, literally. "Miss Hartill +expects----" She laughed. She supposed the sailors felt just the same +about Nelson as she did about Miss Hartill. She wondered if Lady +Hamilton had minded his only having one eye and one arm? Suppose Miss +Hartill had only one eye and one arm? Oh! If anything happened to Miss +Hartill...! She shivered at the idea and instantly witnessed, with all +imaginable detail, the wreck of the train as it entered Utterbridge +station, and she herself rescuing Miss Hartill, armless and blind, from +the blazing carriage. She had her on the sofa, five years later, in the +prettiest of invalid gowns, contentedly reliant on her former pupil. And +Louise, blissfully happy, was her hands and feet and eyes, her nurse, +her servant, her--(hastily Louise deprived her alike of income and +friends) her bread-winner and companion. Here her French Grammar, +slithering over the soap to the floor, woke her from that delicious +reverie. + +She picked it up, and applied herself for a while to its dazing +infinitives. But teeth-brushing is a rhythmic process: her thoughts +wandered again perforce. She had got to be first.... Miss Hartill would +be so pleased.... It would be heavenly to please Miss Hartill again as +she used to do.... Nothing had been the same since Cynthia came.... She +flushed to the eyes at the recollection of her last unlucky +visit----"You needn't come again unless you can be more amusing. You +might at least be natural...." Yet Miss Hartill had been so kind at the +last ... had waved to her from the train.... + +The postman's knock startled her, disturbed her meditations anew. +Letters! Was it possible? Would Miss Hartill have remembered? Have sent +her, perhaps, a postcard? Stranger things had been. She had for weeks +envisaged the possibility. She finished her dressing and tore +downstairs. + +The maid was hovering over the breakfast-table. + +"Are there any letters, Baxter? Are there any letters?" But she had +already caught sight of a foreign postcard on her plate, a postcard with +an unfamiliar stamp. She scurried round the table, her heart thumping. + +But the big, adventurous handwriting was hatefully familiar. The +postcard was from Miss Durand. + +She waited a moment, her lips parted vacantly, as was her fashion when +controlling emotion; waited till the maid had gone. + +Then she crumpled and tore the thin cardboard in her hand and flung it +at last on the floor, in a passion of disappointment. + +"She might have written!" cried Louise. "Oh, she might have written! It +wouldn't have hurt her--a postcard." + +Presently a thought struck her. She groped under the table for the torn +scraps of paper and spread them in her lap, piecing them eagerly, +laboriously. Miss Hartill might have written on Miss Durand's postcard. + +She had the oblong fitted together at last and read the scrawl with +impatient eagerness. Miss Durand was just sending her a line to wish her +all imaginable luck. She and Miss Hartill were having a glorious time. +They were sitting at that moment where she had made a cross on the +picture postcard. She wished Louise could be with them to see the +wonderful view over the valley and with good wishes from them both, was +her Alwynne Durand.... + +Louise's eyes softened--"from them both." That was something! Miss +Hartill had sent her a message. She sighed as she wrapped the scraps +carefully in her handkerchief. Life was queer.... Here was Miss Durand, +so kind, so friendly always--yet her kindness brought no pleasure.... +And Miss Hartill, who could open heaven with a word--was not half so +kind as Miss Durand. Louise marvelled that Miss Hartill could be so +miserly. She was sure that if she, Louise, could make people utterly +happy by kind looks and kind words, stray messages and occasional +postcards, that she would be only too glad to be allowed to do it. To +possess the power of giving happiness.... And with no more trouble to +yourself than the writing of a postcard! Queer that Miss Hartill did not +realise what her mere existence meant to people.... She couldn't realise +it, of course ... that was it.... She thought so little about +herself.... It was her own beautiful selflessness that made her seem, +occasionally, hard--unkind even.... She didn't realise what she meant to +people.... If she had, she would have written.... Of course she would +have written ... just a word ... on Daffy's postcard.... + +Louise sighed again. One didn't ask much.... But it seemed the more +humble one grew--the less one asked--the more unlikely people were to +throw one even that little.... At any rate there was the examination to +tackle.... If she did well--! She lost herself again in speculations as +to the form Miss Hartill's approval might take. + +The family trooped in to breakfast as the brisk maid dumped a steaming +dishful of liver and bacon upon the table. + +Louise occupied her place and began to spread her bread-and-butter, +avoiding her father's eye. But, as she foresaw, she was not permitted to +escape. + +Mr. Denny pounced upon the butter-dish. + +"Not with bacon," he remarked, with reproachful satisfaction, and +removed it. + +Louise said nothing. She was careful not to look at her parent, for she +knew that her expression was not permissible. His harmless tyrannies +irritated her as invariably as her tricks of personality grated upon +him. She thought him smug and petty, and despised him for his submissive +attitude to her step-mother. His noisy interferences with her personal +habits she thought intolerable, though she had learned to endure them +stolidly. But most of all, she hated to see his fat, pudgy hands +touching her food. She was accustomed to cut bread for the family. No +one guessed why she had arrogated to herself that duty. + +And he, good man, would look at his daughter occasionally, and wonder +why she was so unlike his satisfactory sons and their capable mother: +would be vaguely annoyed by her silences, and by a certain expression +that reminded him uncomfortably of his first "fine-lady" wife; would +have an emotion of disquieted responsibility; would hesitate: would end +by presenting his daughter with a five-shilling-piece, or be delivered +from a dawning sense of responsibility by crumbs on the carpet, the +muddy boots of a son and heir, or, as in the present instance, an +unjustifiable predilection for butter. + +"Bread with your meat," he said firmly and handed her a full plate. + +Then he watched her with interest. His conception of the duties of +fatherhood was realised in seeing that his children slightly over-ate +themselves at every meal. He did as he would be done by. + +Louise picked up knife and fork unwillingly. She was dry-mouthed with +excitement and the beginnings of a headache, and the liberal portion of +hot, rich food sickened her. But anything was better than a fuss. She +sliced idly at the slab of liver. + +Opportunity beckoned Mr. Denny. + +"Don't play with your food," said the father sharply. + +She ate a few mouthfuls, conscious of his supervision. Satisfied, he +turned at last to his own breakfast. + +There was a peaceful interval. + +The children talked among themselves. Mrs. Denny, hidden behind her +tea-cosy, was exclusively concerned with the table manners of the +youngest boy. The moment was propitious. + +Softly Louise rose and slipped to the sideboard. Her plate once hidden +behind the biscuit-tin.... + +Mr. Denny looked up. He was ever miraculously alert at breakfast. + +"More bacon, Louise?" + +"No, thank you, Father," said Louise fervently. + +"Have you finished your plate?" + +"Yes, Father." + +Her brothers gave tongue joyously. + +"Oh-h! You whopper!" + +"Oh, Father, she hasn't!" + +"Mother, did you hear? Louise says she's finished her bacon. She +hasn't." + +"Not near!" + +"Not half!" + +"Not a quarter!" + +"Well--of all the whopping lies!" + +Mr. Denny sprang up, his eyes glistening. He, too, enjoyed a scene. The +plate was retrieved from its hiding-place and its guilty burden laid +bare. + +"Emma, do you see this? Emma! Leave that child alone and attend to me! +Flagrant! Flagrant disobedience! Louise, I told you to eat it. Turning +up your nose at good food! There's many a child would be thankful--Emma! +Am I to be disobeyed by my own children? And a lie into the bargain! If +that is the way you are taught at your fine school, I'll take you away. +Disgraceful! Eat it up now. Emma! Are you or are you not going to back +me up? Is all that food to be wasted?" + +Mrs. Denny's calm eyes surveyed the excited table. + +"Don't fuss, Edwin. Louise, eat up your bacon." + +"I can't," said Louise sullenly. + +"Then you shouldn't have taken so much." + +"I didn't. It was Father----" + +"Eat it up at once," said Mrs. Denny peremptorily, as the baby cast his +spoon upon the carpet. The tone of her voice ended the discussion. + +Mr. Denny watched his daughter triumphantly, as she toiled over her +task, called her attention to a piece of bacon she had left on the edge +of her plate, and when she had finished told her she was a good girl and +that it would do her good. After which he gave her a shilling. + +"I don't want it," muttered Louise. + +"You don't want it?" repeated Mr. Denny incredulously. + +Louise looked at him. There was a world of uncomprehending contempt in +the eyes of father and child alike, though the father's were amused, +where the child's were bitter. + +Mr. Denny laughed jollily. + +"I say, kids! Hear that? Your sister here hasn't any use for a shilling. +Bet you haven't either! Eh? I don't think!" + +Ensued clamour, with jostling and laughter and clutching of coins, from +which the head of the house retired to his chair by the fire, chuckling +and content. He enjoyed distributing largesse, especially where there +was no great need for it, though he was liberal enough to famous +charities. He never gave to beggars, on principle. + +Louise slipped out of the room under cover of the noise, and was dressed +and departing when her step-mother called her back. + +"Louise! You stay to lunch to-day, don't you?" + +"At school? Oh no, Mamma. Holidays, you know! They only open a +class-room for the exam." + +"The fifty-pound job, eh?" Her father eyed her over the top of his +paper approvingly. For once his daughter was showing a proper spirit. +"Go in and win, my girl! I've given you the best education money could +buy. If you don't get it, you jolly well ought to. Fifty quid, eh? I +wasn't given the chance of earning fifty quid when I was thirteen. +Shop-boy, I was. Started as shop-boy like me father before me." + +His wife cut in sharply. + +"Isn't there an afternoon examination? I understood----" + +"Yes, Mamma. But no dinners. It's all shut." + +Mrs. Denny frowned. + +"It's annoying. I wanted you out of the way. Nurse is taking the +children for an outing. I've enough to do without providing lunches--you +must take some sandwiches--spring cleaning--maids all busy----" + +"I'd rather take sandwiches!" Louise's face brightened. + +"I thought the cleaning was over--not a comfortable room in the house +for the last fortnight." Mr. Denny was testy. + +His wife answered them thickly, her mouth full of pins as she adjusted +her dusting apron. + +"Very well! Ask cook to--no, she's upstairs. Cut them yourself. There's +plenty of liver. Perfectly absurd! Do you want the house a foot deep in +dust? You leave the household arrangements to me! The top-floor hasn't +been done for years--not thoroughly." + +"The top floor? Not the attics?" said Louise. + +"Yes! I'm re-arranging the rooms. John's getting too big for the +nursery. He needs a room to himself. I'm putting him in cook's old +room." + +Louise paused, the slice of bread half cut. + +"Where's cook going?" said her father. + +She awaited the answer, a fear catching at her breath. + +"Oh, in the lumber-room," said Mrs. Denny easily. "It only wants +papering. A nice, big room! A sloping roof, of course. But with her +wages, if she can't put up with a sloping roof--! But it'll take some +clearing! You wouldn't believe what an amount of rubbish has collected." + +"It's not rubbish," said Louise. Her voice was low with passion. "It's +not rubbish! You shan't touch it." + +Mrs. Denny spun round amazedly: Her step-daughter, the loaf clutched to +her breast with an unconscious gesture, the big knife gleaming, was a +tragi-comic figure. + +"What on earth----?" she began. + +Louise leaned forward, hot-eyed. + +"Mamma! You won't! You can't! You mustn't! Father, don't let her! That's +Mother's room! If you put cook in Mother's room----" She choked. A +priestess defending her altars could have used her accents. + +Mr. Denny put down his paper. + +"What's the matter with the girl?" he demanded. + +Mrs. Denny shrugged her shoulders. + +"I've no idea! I don't know what she means. Put down that knife; +Louise--you'll cut yourself. And mind your own business, please." + +"You don't understand!" Louise fought for calmness, for words that +should enlighten and persuade. "I didn't mean to interfere. But the big +attic! Mamma! Father! That's my room. I always go there--do my lessons +there--I love it! You don't know how I love it. You see----" She paused +helplessly. + +"But you've got the nursery to sit in," said Mrs. Denny, equally +helpless. "I'm sorry, Louise, if you've taken a fancy to the room--but I +want it for cook." + +Louise made her way to the hearth and stood between the pair. + +"Mamma--please! Please! Please! There's the other attic for cook--not +this one!" + +"Now be quiet, Louise!" Mrs. Denny was getting impatient. + +Suddenly Louise lost grip of herself. + +"It's not right! It's not right! You've got all the house! Every room +is yours and you grudge me that one! Nobody's ever wanted it but me! +It's mine! You've got your lovely rooms--drawing-room, and dining-room, +and morning-room, and bedroom, and summerhouse, and the boys have got +the nursery and the maids have got the kitchen, and yet you won't let me +have the attic! It's not fair! It's mean! Why can't cook have the other +attic? Not this one! Not this one!" + +"But why? Why?" Mrs. Denny was more bewildered than angry. She looked +down at her step-daughter as a St. Bernard looks at an aggressive +kitten. Desperately Louise tore off her veils. + +"Because of Mother. Can't you understand? All her things are there. +She's there! So I've always played up there. Oh, won't you understand?" + +Mrs. Denny flushed. + +"You talk a lot of nonsense, Louise. Finish your sandwiches. You'll be +late." + +"Then you will leave it, as it is?" + +"Certainly not. I told you--I need it for cook." + +Louise turned to her father with a frenzied gesture. + +"Father! Don't let her! Don't let her touch it! Oh, how can you let her +touch it?" + +Mr. Denny put down his paper, staring from one to the other. + +"Emma? What's she driving at?" + +"To control the household, apparently. She's a very impertinent child," +said Mrs. Denny impatiently. + +"Father! I'm not! I don't! Father! I only want her to leave my attic +alone! Father----" + +"Don't worry your father now," began Mrs. Denny. + +"He's my father! I can speak to him if I choose," cried Louise shrilly. + +"Now then, now then!" reasoned Mr. Denny heavily. "Can't have you rude +to your mother, you know." + +Louise gave herself up to her passion. + +"She's not my mother! I call her Mamma! She's not my mother! Mother +wouldn't be so cruel! To take away all I've got like that. Her books are +there! Her things! It's always been our room--hers and mine! And to take +it away! To put cook--it's horrible! It's wicked! It's stealing! I hate +her! I hate you--all of you! I'll never forget--never--never--never!" + +She stopped abruptly on a high note, stared blindly at the outraged +countenances that opposed her, and fled from the room. + +They listened to the clatter of umbrellas in the hall stand, to the +furious hands fumbling for mackintosh and satchel, to the bang of the +hall door. + +Mr. Denny whistled. + +"Hot stuff! What? I never knew she had it in her." There was a curious +element of approval in his tone. He respected volubility. + +His wife frowned; then, she, too, began to laugh. She was as incapable +as he of imagining the state of nerves that could lead, in Louise, to +such an outburst. To speak one's mind, noisily and emphatically, was a +daily occurrence for her. Silence was stupidity, and meekness +irritating. This "row" was unusual because Louise had taken part in it, +but she certainly thought no worse of her step-daughter on that account. +The child should be sent to bed early as a punishment, she decided, but +good-humouredly enough. She was too thick-skinned to be pricked by +Louise's repudiation. She dismissed it as "temper." Its underlying +criticism of her character escaped her utterly. + +By the time the attic was cleared and the paperhanger at work, she had +forgotten the matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It is not impossible to sympathise with Ahab. + +It must have been difficult for him, with his varied possessions, to +realise the value to Naboth of his vineyard. He had offered +compensation. Naboth would undoubtedly have gained by the exchange. +Ahab, owning half Palestine, must have been genuinely puzzled by this +blind attachment to one miserable half-acre. One wonders what would have +happened if they had met to talk over the matter. Ahab, convinced of the +generosity of his offer, courteously argumentative, carefully repressing +his not unnatural impatience, would have contrasted favourably with the +peasant, black, fierce, dumb, incapable of explaining himself, conscious +only of his own bitter helplessness in the face of oppression and loss. + +The Naboth mood is a dangerous one. Fierce emotions, unable to disperse +themselves in speech, can turn in again upon the mind that bred them, to +work strange havoc. The affair of the attic, outwardly so trivial, shook +the child's nature to its foundation. Though one's house be built of +cards, it is none the less bedazing to have it knocked about one's ears. +To Louise, the loss of her holy place, but yet more the manner of its +loss, was catastrophic. Her nerves, frayed and strained by weeks of +overwork and excitement, snapped under the shock. Her sense of +proportion failed her. Miss Hartill, the examination, all that made up +her life, faded before this monstrous desecration of an ideal. She +suffered as Naboth, forgetting also his greater goods of life and kith +and kin, suffered before her. + +Before she reached the school the violence of her emotion had faded, and +she was in the first stage of the inevitable physical reaction. She felt +weak and shaken. She was going, she knew, to her examination. She +wondered idly why she did not feel nervous. She tried to impress the +importance of the occasion upon herself, but her thoughts eluded +her--sequence had become impossible. She gave up the attempt, and her +mind, released, returned to the scene of the morning in incessant, +miserable rehearsal. + +Mechanically she made her way into the school by the unfamiliar +mistresses' entrance, greeted the little knot of competitors assembled +in the hall. But if she were introspective and distraught, so were they: +her silence was unnoticed. + +The nervous minutes passed jerkily. Louise thought that the clock must +be enjoying himself. He was playing overseer; he wheezed and grunted as +her father did at breakfast; had just such a bland, fat face. Her father +would be a fat, horrible old man in another ten years. She was glad. +Every one would hate him, then, as she hated him, show it as she dared +not do. + +Miss Vigers interrupted her meditations; Miss Vigers, utterly unreal in +holiday smiles and the first hobble-skirt in which her decent limbs had +permitted themselves to be outlined. She marshalled the procession. + +The Lower Fifth class-room, newly scrubbed and reeking of naphthaline, +with naked shelves and treble range of isolated desks, was unfamiliar, +curiously disconcerting. Louise, ever perilously susceptible to outward +conditions, was dismayed by the lack of atmosphere. She wriggled +uneasily in her desk. It was uncomfortable, far too big for her: +Agatha's initials, of an inkiness that had defied the charwoman, stared +at her from the lid. She was at the back of the room. Between Marion's +neat head and the coiffure of the little Jewess, the bored face of the +examiner peered and shifted. He was speaking-- + +"You will find the questions on your desks. Write your names in the top +right-hand corner of each page. Full name. Kindly number the sheets. You +are allowed two and a half hours." + +A pause. Some rustling of papers and the snap and rattle of +pencil-boxes. Then the voice of the examiner again-- + +"You may begin." + +Instantly a furious pen-scratching broke the hush. Louise glanced in the +direction of the sound, and smiled broadly. Agatha had begun. Miss +Hartill would have seen the joke, but the examiner was already absorbed +in the book he had taken from his pocket. Louise gazed idly about her. +So this was what the ordeal was like! There were her clean, blank papers +on the desk before her, and the printed list of questions. She supposed +she had better begin.... But there was plenty of time. She had a curious +sense of detachment. Her body surrounded her, rigid, quiescent, dreading +exertion. Her mind, on the contrary, was bewilderingly active, +consciously alive with thoughts, as she had once, under a microscope, +seen a drop of water alive with animalculi: thoughts, however, that had +no connection with real life as it at the moment presented itself: +thoughts that admitted the fact of the examination with a dreamy +impersonality that precluded any idea of participation. Her mind felt +comfortable in its warm bed of motionless flesh, would not disturb its +repose for all the ultimate gods might offer: but was interested +nevertheless in its surroundings, gazing out into them with the detached +curiosity of an attic-dweller, peering out and down at a dwarfed and +distant street. Yet each trivial object on which her eyes alighted gave +birth to a train of thought that led separately, yet quite inevitably, +to the memories that would shatter her quietude, as conscious and +subconscious self struggled for possession of her mind. + +She stared at the intent backs of her neighbours. One by one they +hunched forward, as each in turn settled to work. Louise considered them +critically. What ugly things backs were! It was funny, but girls with +dark skirts always pinned them to their blouses with white safety-pins, +and _vice versa_. It made them look skewered.... Yet Miss Durand had +said that backs were the most expressive part of the whole body.... That +was the day they had seen the Watts pictures. But then the draperies of +the great white figure in "Love and Death" were not fastened up in the +middle with safety-pins.... That had been a wonderful picture.... She +knew how the boy felt, how he fought.... How long had he been able to +hold the door? she wondered. Characteristically, she never questioned +the ultimate defeat. It was terrible to be so weak.... But the Death was +beautiful.... pitying.... One wouldn't hate it while one resisted it, as +one hated Mamma.... Mamma, forcing her way into an attic.... Louise +writhed as she thought of it. + +The girl in front of her coughed, a hasty, grudging cough, recovered +herself, and bent again to her work. Louise was amused. What a hurry she +was in! What a hurry every one was in! How hot Marion's cheeks were! And +Agatha.... Agatha was up to her wrists in ink.... Like the women in the +French Revolution.... Though that was blood, of course.... They were +steeped in gore.... It would be fascinating to write a story about the +knitting women ... click--click--clicking--like a lot of pens +scraping.... What were they all scribbling like that for? Of course, it +was the examination.... There was a paper on her own desk too.... How +funny! + +"Distinguish between Shelley the poet, and Shelley the politician. +Illustrate your meaning by quotations." + +Shelley? The name was familiar.... She sells sea-shells.... + +"Give a short account of the life of Shakespeare." + +He had a wife, hadn't he? A narrow, grudging woman, who couldn't +understand him.... A woman like Mamma.... Mamma, who was turning out the +attic and laughing at Louise.... Not that that mattered--but to clear +the attic--to take away Mother's things.... What would Mother +do--little, darling Mother...? It was holidays.... Mother would know.... +Mother would be there, waiting for Louise. A hideous picture rose up in +Louise's mind. With photographic clearness she saw the attic and the +faint shadow of her mother wavering from visibility to nothingness as +the sunlight caught and lost her impalpable outlines: there was a sound +of footsteps--Louise heard it: the faint thing held out sweet arms and +Louise strained towards them; but the door opened, and Mrs. Denny and +the maids came in. Mamma pointed, while the maids laughed and took their +brooms and chased the forlorn appearance, and it fled before them about +the room, cowering, afraid, calling in its whisper to Louise. But the +maids closed in, and swept that shrinking nothingness into the dark +corner behind the old trunk: but when they had moved the trunk, there +was nothing to be seen but a delicate cobweb or two. So they swept it +into the dustpan and settled down to the scrubbing of the floor. + +The picture faded. Louise crouched over her desk, her head in her hands. +About her the pens scratched rhythmically. + +For a space she existed merely. She could not have told how long it was +before thoughts began once more to drift across the blankness of her +mind like the first imperceptible flakes that herald a fall of snow. + +She moved stiffly in her seat. The thoughts came thicker--thoughts of +her mother still, of the dream presence that she would not feel +again.... Never again? There was the Last Judgment, of course.... She +would see her then.... And who knew when the Judgment would come.... In +a thousand years? In the next five seconds? She counted slowly, holding +her breath: "One--two--three--four--five----" and stared out expectantly +into space through the lashes of her dropped lids. + +All about her sat forms, bowed like her own, scarcely moving. Of course, +of course--she nodded to herself--satisfied with her own acuteness. +Obviously, the Last Judgment.... They were all waiting for God.... He +hadn't arrived yet, it seemed.... Well, one might look about a little +first.... How queer Heaven smelt! The heart of Louise leapt within +her.... Now was the opportunity to find Mother.... Mother would be +somewhere among the dead.... But they all had ugly backs.... But +Mother.... Of course Mother would be standing on that high platform +place like a throne.... It was her place.... She always stood there.... +Or did she? Was there not some one else? very like her ... with eyes ... +and a smile ... whom Louise knew so well? Wasn't it Mother? With patient +deliberation she strove to disentangle the two personalities, that +combined and divided and blurred again into one. There was Mother--and +the Other--one was shape and one was shadow--but which was real? There +was Mother--and the Other--who was Mother? No, who was--who was--The +Other was not Mother--but if not, who?--who?--who?-- + +A chorus of angels took up the chant: Who? who? who? They had flat, +faint voices, that gritted and whispered, like pens passing over paper. + +Who? who? who? + +The answer came thundering back out of infinite space in the awaited +voice of God.... + +"You have ten minutes more." + +Louise gave a faint gasp. Reality enveloped her once more, licking up +her illusion as instantly and fiercely as an unnoticed candle will +shrivel up a woman's muslins. She stood naked amid the ashes of her +dreams. + +She glanced wildly about her. The girls at her elbows were furiously at +work. The little examiner had put away his book and was staring at her. +Her eyes fell. Before her lay foolscap, fair and blank, save for her +name in the corner, and a close-printed paper that she did not +recognise, clamouring for information anent Shelley, and Carlyle, and +the Mermaid Tavern. Because, of course, she was at the Literature +examination, and there were ten minutes more. + +And she had written nothing. + +An instant she sat appalled. Then she snatched up her pen and wrote.... + +Her pen fled across the paper at Tam o' Shanter speed, leaving its trail +of shapeless, delirious sentences. She never paused to consider--she +wrote. She knew only that she had ten--twelve--fifteen questions to +answer, and ten minutes in which to do it. Ten minutes for a two and a +half hours' paper! No matter--if one stopped to think.... Hurry! hurry! +Shelley was born in 1792--he was the son of Sir Timothy Shelley, of +Field Place, near Horsham---- + +When the examiner collected the papers, she had written exactly two +pages. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +The examination had taken place early in May, but the summer term was +nearly over before news of the results arrived. When it came, it made +but a small sensation. The school had tired of waiting. Not only was its +own more intimate examination drawing near, but its many heads were +filled, to the exclusion of all else, with the excitements and rivalries +of the summer theatricals. + +The school play was an institution. Of late years--ever since she had +joined the staff indeed--it had grown into an annual personal triumph +for Miss Hartill. + +Clare was blessed--cursed--with that sixth sense, the _sens du théâtre_. +Her own nature was, in essence, theatrical; her frigid and fastidious +reserve warring incessantly with her irrepressible love of the scene for +its own sake. She was aware of the trait and humiliated by its presence +in her character. Usually she would curb her inclination with a severity +that was in itself histrionic: at times she indulged it with voluptuous +recklessness. + +As a girl, the stage had appealed to her strongly; but her excessive +squeamishness, with her acute sense of personal, bodily dignity, closed +it to her as a career. Also her love of power. Though she knew little of +stage life she had sufficient intuition to gauge correctly what she +might become. Successful necessarily--dominant never. And she required a +dais. But the compelling woman, she knew, is successful through her +combination of intellectual strength with sexual charm. She must not +scruple to use all the weapons at her service. Clare had told herself +that there were some weapons to which she would never condescend. If +sting had lain in the fact that, though she would, they were not hers to +use, she did not acknowledge it, even to herself. Resolutely she put +from her the idea of fostering a useless talent; and the desire to +exploit it, save surreptitiously in social intercourse, dulled as she +grew older. + +Nevertheless, the yearly plays were to Clare a source of excitement and +gratification. She alone was responsible for the production. In five +successful years they had become an event, a festival--not only to the +school, but to the entire neighbourhood. Two, and then three public +performances were given each summer, and the proceeds benefited the +school charities. _As You Like It_, _Twelfth Night_, _Verona_, and _The +Merchant of Venice_, followed upon the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and +exhausted the list of entirely suitable plays; but after some +hesitation, Clare had devised for her next venture scenes from _King +John_. Several forms were studying the period, the Sixths and Fifths +were reading the play, politically also it was apropos. (Clare had ever +sound reasons to gild her decisions.) Privately she had been slightly +embarrassed by the fact that the classes she supervised had that year +proved themselves unusually poor in dramatic ability. She could depend, +indeed, on a score of keen and capable children, but in Louise Denny +alone had she glimpsed an actress who could do her credit. The child's +physique precluded her from rôles that, otherwise, she could easily have +filled, but as Prince Arthur, she could be made the central, +unforgettable figure of an otherwise trite performance. "_King John_," +quoth Clare; "decidedly, the very play." And _King John_ was chosen. + +Since the beginning of the term, with Clare as generalissimo and Alwynne +most ingenious of adjutants, staff and school had worked +enthusiastically. Costumes were finished, staging painted and planned, +and the various scenes were, at length, receiving their final polish. +Alwynne was responsible for the interpretation of the minor parts, while +Clare, in her spare time, devoted herself to the principals, attacking +alternately the exaggerations of Agatha's "Constance," Marion's stolid +"Hubert," a certain near-sighted amiability in the spectacled "King +John." + +Clare was a born stage-manager, patient, resourceful, compelling. The +children trusted her; she had the habit of success. Her air of authority +cushioned them, denied the possibility of failure. Clare, wholly in +earnest, Clare at usual hours, intimate and relaxed, Clare appealing, +exhorting, inspiring, was irresistible. She got what she wanted from +them and was not ill content. She knew to the last ounce their +capabilities. + +With Louise alone she had difficulties. The child was almost too easily +trained. Responsive, quickly fired or chilled, she was, in fact, too +delicately and completely attuned to Clare herself. Clare could be +crude: she had her gusty moods: the little æolian harp quivered to +snapping point before them. Originally this extreme sensitiveness had +fascinated Clare; she felt like a musician exploring the possibilities +of an unknown instrument; but she tired of it in time. As Louise became +saturated with the stronger personality, she had, in her passionate +desire to satisfy Clare, grown into her mere replica; reproducing her +phraseology, voicing her opinions, reflecting her moods, stifling, in +the exquisite delight of abnegation, all in her that had originally +attracted the older woman. That the effect had been, first to amuse, +then to irritate, finally to bore Clare's fickle humour, was natural +enough. Clare, had she cared, could have guided the child, despite the +great disparity of age, into a pleasant path of affection and +friendship, but that she did not choose. She was disappointed, and +showed it: and there, for her, the matter ended. That she was in any way +responsible, she would not admit. + +She did not, indeed, fully realise the extent of the change in Louise +until the rehearsals began. For all her growing indifference, in spite +of the marked deterioration that automatically it had caused in the +girl's work, she had still a high and just opinion of her capabilities. +She was positive that as Prince Arthur, Louise would give a fine and +original performance, and anticipated with amused interest her initial +rendering of the character. + +At the first rehearsal Louise did not disappoint her. She was neither +stiff nor self-conscious, and her acting, which proved to be entirely +instinctive, carried conviction. Though Clare worked from the head, she +could appreciate the more primitive method, but even then, the character +as portrayed by Louise amazed her. The deliberate pathos, the cloying +charm, did not seem to exist for Louise. She played as in an ecstasy of +terror. The text, Clare knew, could permit the reading, and the +conception interested her; but the temptation to criticise, alter and +improve, was natural. Here and there, as rehearsals progressed, she +pulled and patched and patted--quite genuinely in the interest of the +play as a whole. But the result was discouraging. The Louise of former +days would have defended her own version, delighting Clare with shy +impudences and flashes of insight, naïve parries and counter-attacks, +till between them they had attained notable results. But the sparkle had +been drilled out of Louise. She was humble, anxiously acquiescent, +agreeing with every alteration, accepting every suggestion, however +foreign to her own instinctive convictions, while the vividness faded +slowly from her reading, leaving it lifeless and forced. + +"It's patchwork," said Clare disgustedly to Alwynne, at the end of the +third week, "pure patchwork. She does everything I tell her--and the +result is dire. What it will be like on the night, heaven knows! And +there's nobody else. Yet she _can_ act. That first performance was quite +excellent." + +"And she tries." + +"She slaves! She would be less irritating if she didn't. You know, +Alwynne, I let myself go yesterday. I told her how impossible she was. +And all she did was to look at me like a mournful monkey!" + +"Inarticulate. Exactly." + +Clare lifted her eyebrows. Alwynne looked at her quaintly. + +"You know perfectly well what's wrong. Why on earth don't you leave her +alone?" + +"Uncoached?" + +"That as well, of course. You said yourself she was excellent at first. +Why don't you leave her to herself? It's safe. She's not like the +others. She's a nectarine, not a potato. Give her a free hand till the +dress-rehearsal. It won't be your reading--I prefer yours, too; at least +I think I do----" + +"I'm glad you say 'think.' But think again. There's no question of which +you ought to prefer. But I, my good child, must consider my public! It +wants to enjoy itself! It wants to weep salt tears! Louise's reading +would cheat it of its emotions!" + +"At least it will be a reading, not a repetition. I don't mean that, +though, when I say--leave her alone. Clare--you won't realise what you +mean to people!" + +"I don't follow----" but Clare laughed a little. + +"You do. You know you've made Louise crazy about you." Clare shrugged +impatiently. + +"I dislike these enthusiasms." + +"But you cause them. I think it is rather mean to shirk the +consequences." + +"Really, Alwynne!" But Clare was still smiling. + +"You do. You begin by being heavenly to people--and then you tantalise +them." + +"Does it hurt, Alwynne? Are you going to run away?" + +Alwynne smiled. + +"Oh, you won't get rid of me so easily. I'm a limpet. Do you know, I +couldn't imagine existence without you now. I've never been so +gloriously happy in my life. You wouldn't ever get really tired of me, +would you?" + +"I wonder." + +"I know." + +"I've warned you that I'm changeable. Instance your Louise." + +"Oh, Clare, do be nicer to Louise." + +"Oh, Alwynne, do mind your own business. I'm as nice as is good for her. +But I believe you're right about this acting. I'll wash my hands of her +till the dress-rehearsal, if you like. You can tell her I said so." + +But Alwynne, whispering to Louise that perhaps the old way was better +after all, that Miss Hartill had said she didn't mind, achieved little. + +"Oh, Miss Durand--don't let her think I'm hopeless. I shall get it right +in time. I'd rather stick to the way she showed me. Miss Durand--do you +think she's angry? Honestly, I will get it right. Miss Durand--I suppose +there's no news?" + +The child's face was very drawn; her eyes seemed larger than ever; she +looked like a little old woman! Alwynne was concerned; she felt vaguely +responsible. She, too, wished that the news, good or bad, would come, +and put an end at least to the tension. + +And one morning, all unexpectedly, the news did come. + +The performances were but two days away. The decorous Big Hall was in +confusion. The school sat, picnic-fashion, for its prayers; and the head +mistress, entering between half-hung cloths, mounted a battlemented +rostrum to address it. She carried a sheaf of papers. Louise, sitting +with her class at the further end of the hall, outwardly decorous +enough, was in reality paying little attention. Her vague, unhappy +thoughts were concerned with the coming rehearsal; she could not +remember what Miss Hartill's last directions had been; she was sure she +should stumble. Sometimes the mere words seemed to evade her. Yet the +play was on her shoulders--Miss Durand had said so. She supposed Prince +Arthur was really fond of Hubert? Not pretending, because he was afraid? +But of course it was easy to love a person and yet be terrified of them. +She stole a look at Clare, prominent in the grave group of mistresses. +They were all very intent. It dawned on her that the head mistress had +been speaking for several minutes. + +Suddenly there was an outburst of clapping. The spectacled girl at the +end of the row grew pink and stared at her hands. + +"What is it?" breathed Louise. "Oh, what is it? What is it?" + +A neighbour caught the murmur and looked down at her curiously. + +"Are you asleep? It's the lists. Your exam. You'll be second, I expect." + +But Marion was second. + +The clapping crackled up anew. + +So the news was come! + +It was cruel to let it spring upon you thus.... You would have asked so +little ... ten minutes ... a bare ... in which to brace yourself.... +Surprise was horrible ... it caught you with your soul half-naked ... it +shocked like sudden noise.... + +There came a fresh outburst. + +It was wicked to make such sounds ... like all the policeman's-rattles +in the world.... + +The reading proceeded; it calmed her; it barely stirred the beautiful +silence. But presently the neat voice altered. Old Edith Marsham was a +kindly soul. She had not quite forgotten her own schooldays. She +realised, perfunctorily, as the successful do, the blankness of defeat. +Louise heard her name pronounced, a trifle hurriedly. Louise +Denny--failed. + +She made no sign. She sat erect, listening to the conclusion of that +matter, clapped in due course, stood, kneeled, rose again, as applause, +hymns and prayers buzzed about her, filed with her class from the hall +and added her shy word to the clamour of congratulation in the long +corridors. Inwardly, she was stunned by the evil that was upon her. + +The irregular morning classes (the imminent entertainment had +disorganised the entire system of work) gave her time to rouse, to +review her position. + +She turned helplessly within herself, wondering how she should begin to +think--and where. She wondered idly if this was how soldiers felt, when +a shell had blown them to pieces? She wondered how they collected +themselves afterwards? Where did they begin? Did an arm pick up the legs +and head, or how? + +The picture thus conjured up struck her as excessively funny. She began +to giggle. The mistress's astonished voice roused her to the necessity +for self-control. She picked up her pen. The thoughts flowed more +clearly--yes, like ink in a pen. + +So it had come. + +All along she had known that she must have failed: known it from the day +of the examination itself. The burden of that knowledge had been upon +her for weeks like a secret guilt. Daily she had gone to prayers in cold +fear, thinking: "Now--now--now--they will read it out." Daily she had +studied Clare's face, to each change of expression, each abstraction or +transient sternness, her heart beating out its one thought: "She had +heard! she knows!" And yet behind her academic certainty of failure had +lain a little illogical hope. There was just a chance--an examiner more +kind than just ... a spilled ink-bottle ... an opportune fire. The child +in her could still pray for miracles, for help from fairyland, and half +believe it on the way. + +And now the daily terrors, the daily reliefs, were alike over. Louise, +who had learned, as she thought, to do without hope these many weeks, +realised pitifully her self-deception. This hopelessness, this dead +weight of certainty, was a new burden--a Sisyphus rock which would never +roll for her. She was at the end. + +Her mind, for all its forced and hot-house development, had, in matters +of raw fact, the narrow outlook of the schoolgirl, superimposed upon +the passions, the more intense for their utter innocence, of the child. +Her sense of proportion, that latest developed and most infallible sign +of maturity, was embryonic. The examination, so intrinsically +unimportant, appeared to her a Waterloo. She could not see beyond it. + +Clare, inexplicably altering, daily sterner and more indifferent, save +for stray gleams of whimsical kindness, that stung and maddened the +child by their sweetness and rarity, would, Louise considered, be +effectually alienated. But Louise could not conceive life possible +without Clare. The future was a night of black misery, without a hint of +dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +The morning wore to an end. Clare had come in at the mid-morning break +to announce that the dress rehearsal would take place on the afternoon +of the following day. All costumes were to be ready. The day-girls were +to lunch at the school. She was brief and businesslike, inaccessible to +questions. She did not look at Louise. + +Alwynne, later in the morning, supplementing her instructions, paused a +moment at the child's desk. But Louise gave no sign. Alwynne hesitated. +She herself was averse from verbal sympathy. Also she was pressed for +time, and Clare, she knew, wanted her. The one o'clock bell shattered +her indecision. She gave her directions and hurried away. + +Louise packed her books together and went home. + +She endured the cheerful noisy lunch; carried out some small commissions +for her step-mother; shepherded the troop of small boys into the paddock +behind the garden and saw them established at their games. She stayed a +moment with the round two-year-old, sprawling by the pile of coats, but +he, too, had his amusements. Every pocket tempted his enquiring fingers. +He ignored her. + +She went back to the house. Habit brought her for the fiftieth time to +the attic, and she had opened the door before she remembered. She looked +about her. An iron bedstead, covered by a crude quilt, stood where the +trunk of books had lain. A square of unswept carpet lay before it. There +was a deal night-table and a candlestick of blue tin, with matches and a +guttered candle. Across a chair lay a paper-back, face downwards, and a +pair of soiled red corsets. The ivy had been cut away from the window, +and the sunlight cast no fantastic frieze, but a squared, black shadow +on the floor. The air was close, and a little rank. Louise shrank from +it. + +"Mother?" she said; and then: "You've gone away, haven't you? It's no +use calling?" + +She waited. The uneven water-jug rattled in its basin. + +She spoke again-- + +"Mother, I know it's all spoiled here, but couldn't you come? Just for a +little while, Mother? I'm most miserable. Please, Mother?" + +There was no answer. + +"What shall I do?" cried Louise wildly. "What shall I do? Oh, what shall +I do?" + +She turned from that empty place, stumbled to her room, and flung +herself across her bed. She was shaken by her misery, as a dog shakes a +rat. She cried, her head on her arms, till she was sick and blinded. +Loneliness and longing seared her as with irons. + +The clock ticked, and the sunshine poured into the room. The shouts of +the children, the crack of the ball on bat sounded faintly. The house +slept. Two hours passed. + +Somewhere a clock chimed and boomed. Four o'clock. + +Slowly and stiffly Louise roused herself and got off her bed. She was +cramped and shivering. She stood in the middle of the room and held out +her hands to the brassy sunlight, but it did not warm her. She felt +dazed and giddy; her head burned as if there were live coals in it. Her +thoughts flowed sluggishly; she found it impossible to hurry them; they +split apart into fragments that were words and meaningless phrases, or +stuck like cogged wheels. Her mind moved across immense spaces to adjust +these difficulties, but she policed them in vain. There was one +sentence, in particular, that she could not deal with. It would not move +along and make room for other thoughts. It danced before her; its grin +spanned the horizon; it inhabited her mind; it was reversible like a +Liberty satin; it ticked like a clock: "What next? What next? What next? +Next what? Next what? Next what?" + +What next?... Dully she reckoned it up. The tea-bell--homework--bedtime. +Night--and the false dreams. Morning--and the anger of Miss Hartill. Day +and week and month--and the anger of Miss Hartill. The years stretched +out before her in infinite repetition of the afternoon's agony, till her +raw nerves shrank appalled. Kneeling down, she told God that it was +impossible for her to endure this desolation. She implored Him, if He +should in truth exist, not to reckon her doubt against her, but to be +merciful and let her die. It was not the first time that she had prayed +thus, but never before with such fierce insistence. If He existed He +could impossibly refuse.... + +Speaking her thoughts, even to so indefinite a Listener, steadied her. A +ghost of hope had drifted through her mind. A ghost indeed; a messenger +that whispered not of waking but of sleep, not of arduous renewing but +of an end. Death was life upon his lips and life, death; yet he was none +the less a hope. + +The familiar text upon the wall above her bed caught her eye. The +message seemed no more miraculous than the pansies and mistletoe that +wreathed about its gilt and crimson capitals. "God is our Refuge and +Strength, a very present Help in Trouble." "Ask and it shall be given +unto you" confirmed her from the other wall. + +She sat between those tremendous statements and considered them. + +God had never yet answered any prayer of hers.... Not, she supposed, +that He could not, but because He did not choose.... He was rather like +Miss Hartill.... But Miss Hartill would never understand.... At least +one could explain things to God--if God were.... And she asked so little +of Him--just to let her die and be at peace.... She thought He might--if +He had even time for sparrows.... She wondered how He would manage it! +If He would only be quick--because red-hot wires ran through her head +when she tried to think, and she was afraid--afraid--afraid--of +to-morrow and Miss Hartill.... + +The tea-bell pealed across the garden. + +She tidied her hair, and fetching the sponge and towel stood before the +glass, trying to trim her marred face into some semblance of composure. +The boys would be clamouring--and one never knew.... There might be +tainted food--a loose baluster--a tag of carpet.... He had his ways.... +She must not baulk Him.... + +She went downstairs. + +The children were tired and cross and quarrelsome--the heat had soured +even cheerful Mrs. Denny. It was not a pleasant meal. But it could not +oppress Louise. Outwardly docile and attentive, her mind had withdrawn +into itself and sat aloof, inviolate, surveying its surroundings much as +it would have watched the actors in a moving picture. She was impervious +to bickerings and querulous comment. What did it matter? She would never +have tea with them again.... She was going away from it all.... If only +God did not forget.... + +All through the breathless evening she awaited His pleasure. + +Long after the house was quiet, and Mrs. Denny tucking up her children, +had come and gone, Louise lay wakeful--still waiting. + +It was an airless night. Every other moment the little unaccountable +noises of a sleeping building broke the warm silence. Shadows scurried +across the counterpane and over her face like ghostly mice, as the trees +outside her window bent and nodded to a radiant moon. + +She was weary to the point of exhaustion. Momently her body seemed to +shrink away from her into the depths of the bed--warm, fathomless +depths--leaving her essential self to float free and uncontained. She +would resign herself luxuriously to the sensation of disintegration, but +with maddening regularity her next breath clicked body and soul together +anew. Yet, as she drowsed, the space between breath and breath +lengthened slowly, till they lay divided by incredible æons in which her +thoughts wandered and lost themselves, grew hoar and died and were born +again; while the dead-weight of her body sank ever deeper into sleep, +was recalled to consciousness with ever increasing effort. + +She speculated languidly upon her sensations. They recalled a day at the +dentist's, years before. A tube had been placed over her mouth and she +had struggled, remembering a hideous story of a woman--a French +marquise--that she had read in a magazine. The name began with a "B" or +a "V." "Brin--" something. The Funnel--_The Leather Funnel_--that was +the name of the story.... But there came no choking water--only sweet, +buzzing air.... And then her body had dropped away from her, as it was +doing now.... She recalled the sensation of rest and freedom; she had +passed, like a bird planing down warm breezes, into exquisite +oblivion.... She had returned, centuries later, to a dull aching pain, +harsh noises, and lights that were like blows.... But if she had not +returned? She would have been dead.... They would have buried her.... +Such things had happened.... So that was death--that cradling, beautiful +sleep. And God was sending it to her now; flooding her, drowning her in +its warm comfort.... God was very good.... She was sorry--sorry that she +had often not believed in Him.... But Miss Hartill didn't.... But she +would never see Miss Hartill any more.... Perhaps, years after, when she +was tired of sleeping, she would go back and see her again.... There was +All Souls' Night, when you woke up.... But she would not frighten Miss +Hartill.... She laughed a little, to think that she could ever frighten +Miss Hartill.... She would just kiss her, a little ghost's kiss that +would feel like a puff of air ... and then she would go back and sleep +and sleep and sleep ... with only the yew-berries pattering on to her +gravestone to tell her when another year had drifted past.... It was +funny that people could be afraid to die.... She wondered if ghosts +snored, and if you heard them, if your grave were very close? It was her +last thought as she slid into slumber. + +Instantly the breakfast gong came crashing across her peace. She fought +against waking. Her eyelids lifted the weight upon them as violets press +upwards against a clod of rotten leaves. She lay dazedly, her mind +cobwebbed with dreams, her thoughts trickling back into the channels of +the previous night. Slowly she took in her situation. There was the +window, and a shining day without: she could hear the starlings +quarrelling on the lawn, and the squeak of an angry robin.... There was +her room, and the tidy pile of clothes by the bed ... the bed, and she +herself lying in it.... So she was not dead! There was to-day to be +faced, and Miss Hartill's anger, and all the other hundreds and +thousands of days.... + +And she must get up at once. + +Her sick mind shrank from that, as from a culminating terror. She was +desperately tired; her body ached as if it had been beaten. Dressing was +a monstrous and impossible feat.... It could not be.... Yet her +step-mother would come--she was between God and Mrs. Denny--and God had +left her in the lurch. + +She lay shielding her eyes from the strong light. + +The pressure on her eyeballs was causing the usual kaleidoscopic ring of +light to form within her closed lids. The phenomenon had always been a +childish amusement to her; she was adept at the shifting pressure that +could vary colour and pattern. She watched idly. Red changed to green, +purple followed yellow, and the ring narrowed to a pin-point of light on +its background of watered silk; then it broke up as usual into starry +fragments. But they danced no dazzling fire-dance for her ere they +merged again into the yellow ring; to her distracted fancy they were +letters--fiery letters, that formed and broke and formed again. +G--O--D--then an H and a P and an L. She puzzled over them. "God hopes?" +"God helps?" But He hadn't.... "God helps?" A Voice in her ears exactly +like her own took it up--"Those that help themselves." It spoke so +loudly that she shrank. The universe echoed to Its boom: yet she knew +so well that the Voice was only in her own head. + +No wonder her head ached, when it was all full of Lights and Voices.... +And Miss Hartill would be angry if she took Them to school.... If only +she need not go to school.... Why--why had God cheated her? "He helped +those----" Was that what They meant? + +She looked about her, brightening yet uncertain; then her long plait of +hair caught her eye. Lazily she lifted it, disentangled a strand no +thicker than coarse string, and doubling it about her throat, began to +tighten it, using her fingers as a lever, till the blood sang in her +ears. She had sat upright in bed for the greater ease. Suddenly she +caught sight of her face in the wardrobe mirror. It was growing pink and +puffy; the eyes goggled a little. The sensation of choking grew +unendurable. Instinctively her fingers freed themselves and the noose +fell apart. She swung forward, panting, and watched her features grow +normal again. + +"It's no good. Oh, I am a coward," cried Louise, wearily. + +Her mother's old-fashioned travelling clock, chiming the quarter, +answered her, and for a moment forced her thoughts back from those +borderlands where sanity ends. Habit asserted itself; she was filled +with everyday anxieties. She was late, certainly for breakfast, probably +for school. She jumped out of bed, washed and dressed in panic speed, +collected her belongings and hurried from the house. + +Her father, hearing the gate clack, glanced up from his newspaper. + +"Has that child had any breakfast?" he demanded, uneasily. + +There was no answer. He was late himself, and his wife had poured his +coffee and left the room. He could hear her heavy footfall in their +bedroom overhead. + +He returned to his reading. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Louise ran up the steep hill, her satchel padding at her back, the soft +wind disordering her hair and whipping a colour into her white cheeks. +She gained the deserted cloakroom, flung off her hat, and fled upstairs. +But she was later than she guessed. Racing, against all rules, through +the upper hall and down the long corridor, the drone of voices as she +passed the glass-panelled doors warned her that no hurrying could avail +her. She was definitely late. Her speed slackened. + +The passage ended at right-angles to a small landing, into which her +class-room opened. She paused, sheltering in the curve of the hall, +listening. The class was still. The single voice of a mistress rang +muffled through the walls. She could not distinguish the accents. + +It was Miss Durand's class; but when everything was so upset ... one +never knew ... it might be Miss Hartill herself.... That would be just +Louise's luck.... She hated you to be late.... But there was no point in +hesitating.... + +Yet she hesitated, shifting her weight uneasily from foot to foot, till +a far-off step in the corridor without, ended her uncertainty. Some one +was coming.... That again might be Miss Hartill.... Louise must be in +her place.... Yet surely it was Miss Hartill's voice in the form-room? + +She crept to the door and peered through the glass. + +Miss Durand was standing at the blackboard. + +Louise entered, brazen with relief, and began her apologies. But Alwynne +was no Rhadamanthus, and her official reprobation was marred by a +twinkle. She would have been late herself that morning, but for +Elsbeth--poor dear Elsbeth, who conceded, without remotely +comprehending, the joys of that extra twenty minutes. And when had +Louise been late before? Little, good, frightened Louise! She entered +the name in the defaulters' book, but her manner sent the child to her +desk quieted. + +Alwynne, at sentry-go between blackboard and rostrum, dictating, +supervising, expounding, yet found time to watch her. Louise was always +a little on her motherly young mind. The child's shrinking manner +worried her--and her pain-haunted eyes. Pain was Alwynne's devil. She +was selfish, as youth must be, but at least, unconsciously. Hint +trouble, and all of her was eager to serve and save. She was the +instinctive Samaritan. But her perception was blurred by her profound +belief in Clare. Louise, she knew, was in good hands, in wise hands; +where she had known ten children, Clare had trained a hundred; if +Clare's ways were not hers--so much the worse for hers. + +Yet this disciplining of Louise was a long business; she wished it need +not make the child so wretched. Surely Clare forgot how young she +was.... There would be new trouble over the affair of the papers.... If +Clare would but be commonplace for once, laugh, and say it didn't +matter, and perhaps ask Louise to tea.... The child would be radiant for +another six months--and work better too.... But, of course, it was +absurd for her to dictate to Clare.... Louise had had such a pretty +colour when she came in; it was all gone now.... She looked dreadfully +thin.... Alwynne wondered if it would do any good to speak to Clare +again.... Dear Clare--she was so proud of her girls, so eager to see +them successful.... Louise was a bitter disappointment to her.... Yet, +if she could have been gentler--but, of course, Clare knew best.... +Alwynne only hoped the rehearsal would be a success. If Louise did well, +it might adjust the tension.... + +She watched the child, sitting apparently attentive, noted the moving +lips, the little red volume half hidden in her lap. Shakespeare had no +business in a physiology lesson, but Alwynne let her alone. + +The hour was over all too quickly for Louise. Earlier in the year, when +she had been at her most brilliant, and Miss Hartill's classes the +absorbing joy of her day, she had yet welcomed the hours with Miss +Durand. They alone had not seemed, in comparison, a waste of priceless +time. They were jolly hours, quick-stepping, cheerful, laughter-flecked; +void of excitements, yet never savourless; above all restful. +Unconsciously she had counted on them for their recuperative value. Even +now, exhausted, overwrought, beyond all influence, the kindly atmosphere +could at least soothe her. Wistfully her eyes followed Alwynne, as the +young mistress left the room. + +Clamour arose; slamming of desk-lids, thud of satchels and rattle of +pencil-cases mingling with the babble of tongues. The next lesson was +French Grammar. The little Frenchwoman was invariably late. She dreaded +the lesson as much as her audience enjoyed it. They welcomed it as a +pleasant interlude--the hour for conversation. Agatha did not even +trouble to keep an eye on the door, as she turned to Louise, immobile +beside her. + +"I say, were you late?" + +"Didn't you see?" + +"Why were you late? Weren't you called? Didn't you wake up?" + +"No." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, the housemaid died in the night. Smallpox." Louise stooped over her +book, her shoulders hunched against questions. + +"No, but tell me. Did you get in a row?" + +"You heard what Daffy said. I want to learn, Agatha." + +"Oh, not that. Did you get in a row about the rehearsal?" + +"What rehearsal?" + +"The rehearsal yesterday." + +Louise sat up, her eyes widening. + +"There was no rehearsal yesterday?" she said anxiously. + +"Wasn't there just!" + +"But I never heard; nobody told me." + +"Why, Daffy came in herself, yesterday morning. Every one was there. I +suppose you were moonstruck as usual. Do you mean to say you didn't +hear? I don't envy you." + +"Was she angry?" said Louise, in her smallest voice. + +Agatha began to enjoy herself. + +"Angry? She was raving!" + +"What did she say?" + +"Well, she didn't say much," admitted Agatha. "Just asked where you +were, and if not, why not--you know her way. Then we got started and +went all through it, and had a gorgeous afternoon. She read your part. I +say, she can act, can't she? But she was pretty mad, of course." + +"Was she--" said Louise. But it was not a question. + +"Oh, and you're to go to her at break, this morning. Don't go and +forget, and then say I didn't tell you." And she turned to greet the +entering mistress with a flood of Anglo-French. + +Louise had three parts of an hour in which to assimilate the message. +How unlucky she was! She remembered the previous morning as one +remembers a nightmare.... Miss Durand had certainly drifted through its +dreadfulness--but of what she had said or done, Louise remembered +nothing. But it was certain that she had managed to annoy Miss Hartill +more than ever. To miss a special rehearsal! Now she was to go to her, +and Miss Hartill would be so angry already, that when the question of +the papers arose, the last chance of her leniency was gone.... For, of +course, she would speak of the examination.... What would she say? Her +imagination stubbed; it could not pierce the terror of what Miss Hartill +would say. + +The break was half over before she had wrenched herself out of her desk, +along the length of the school, and up the staircase to Clare's little +sanctum. + +She knocked timidly. Clare's answering bell, that invariably startled +her, rang sharply. She hesitated--the bell rang again, a prolonged, +shrill peal. She pulled herself together, opened the door, and went in. + +The floor was littered with gay costumes. Miss Durand, in a big apron, +laughter-flushed, with her pretty hair tumbling down her back, was +sorting them into neat heaps. + +Clare, at ease in a big arm-chair, directing operations, while her quick +fingers cut and pasted at a tinsel crown, was laughing also. + +"How happy they look," thought Louise. + +Clare glanced up. + +"Well, Louise," she said, not unkindly. + +Louise stammered a little. + +"Miss Hartill--I'm very sorry--I'm most awfully sorry. They said--the +girls said--there was rehearsal yesterday, and you wanted me. I honestly +didn't know. I've only just heard there was one." + +Clare kept her waiting while she clipped at the indentations of the +crown. The scissors clicked and flashed. It seemed an interminable +process. + +Finally she spoke to Alwynne, her eyes on her work. + +"Miss Durand! You gave my message to the Fifths?" + +Yes, Alwynne had told the girls. + +"Wasn't Louise in the room at the time?" + +Alwynne's unwilling eyes took in every detail of the forlorn figure +between them. She lied swiftly, amazing herself-- + +"As a matter of fact--I believe Louise was not in the room at the time. +It was my fault: I should have seen that she was told. I'm so sorry." + +Louise gave a little gasp of relief--more audible than she realised. + +Clare roused at it. She disliked a check. She disliked also the obvious +sympathy between the child and the girl. + +"No, it was my fault. I should have gone myself. It's always wiser. It +saves trouble in the long run. Never mind, Louise. You couldn't help it. +Are you sure of your words?" + +Louise, infinitely relieved, was quite sure of her words. + +"Very well. Shut the door after you--oh, Louise!" + +Louise turned in the doorway. + +"Yes, Miss Hartill." + +"I may as well explain to you now. I am re-arranging the classes." + +Louise questioned her mutely. + +"You will be in the Upper Fourth next term." + +Louise stood petrified. She had never thought of this. + +"You are moving me down? I am third still." + +"We think--Miss Marsham agrees with me--that the work in the Fifth is +too much for you. It is not your fault." + +"Miss Hartill, I have tried--I am trying." + +Clare smiled quite pleasantly. + +"I am quite sure of it. I tell you that I'm not blaming you. I blame +myself. If I expected more of you than you could manage--no one but +myself is to blame. I am sure you will do well in the Fourth." + +Louise broke out passionately-- + +"It is because of the examination." + +Clare held out her crown at arm's length, and eyed it between criticism +and approval as she answered Louise. + +"I think," said Clare smoothly, "we had better not discuss the +examination." + +Louise stood in the doorway, her mouth quivering. + +Alwynne could stand the scene no longer. She jerked herself upright, +and, going to the child, slipped her arm about her and pushed her gently +from the room. + +Clare was still admiring her crown, as Alwynne shut the door again. +Alwynne must try it on. It would suit Alwynne. + +Alwynne peeped at herself in the little mirror, but her thoughts were +with Louise on the other side of the door. + +"Clare," said Alwynne uneasily, "you hurt that child." + +Clare looked at her oddly. + +"Do her good," she said. "Do you think no one has ever hurt me?" + +Alwynne was silent. At times her goddess puzzled her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +To the schoolgirls the dress rehearsal was, if possible, more of an +ordeal than the performances themselves. The head mistress attended in +state with the entire staff and such of the girls as were not themselves +acting. Stray relatives, unable to be present at the play proper, dotted +the more distant benches, or were bestowed in the overhanging galleries, +while the servants, from portly matron to jobbing gardener, clustered at +the back of the hall. + +The platform at the upper end had been built out to form a stage, and +when, late in the afternoon, the final signal had been given and the +improvised curtains drew audibly apart, Clare had fair reason to plume +herself on her stage-management. + +The long blinds of the windows had been let down and shut out the +sceptical sunshine; and the candle footlights, flickering +unprofessionally, mellowed the paintwork and patterned the home-made +scenery with re-echoing lights, pools of unaccountable shadow, and +shaftlike, wavering, prismatic gleams, flinging over the crude +stage-setting a veil of fantastic charm. + +The play opened, however, dully enough. The scenes chosen had had +inevitably to be compressed, run together, mangled, and Clare had not +found it easy work. Faulconbridge, bowdlerised out of all existence, +could not tickle his hearers, and King John, not yet broken in to crown +and mantle, gave him feeble support. But with the entrance of Constance, +Arthur and the French court, actors and audience alike bestirred +themselves. + +Agatha, her dark eyes flashing, her lank figure softened and rounded by +the generous sweep of her geranium-coloured robes, looked an authentic +stage queen. Her exuberant movements and theatrical intonation had been +skilfully utilised by Clare, who, playing on her eager vanity, had +alternately checked and goaded her into a plausible rendering of the +part. She was the reverse of nervous; her voice rolled her opening +speech without a tremor; her impatient, impetuous delivery (she hardly +let her fellow-actors finish their lines) fitted the character and was +effective enough. + +Yet to Clare, note-book in hand, prepared to pounce, cat-like, on +deficiencies, neither she nor her foil dominated the stage, nor the row +of schoolgirl princes. Her critical appreciation was for the little +figure, wavering uncertainly between the shrieking queens, with scared +anxious eyes, that swept the listening circle in faint appeal, quivering +like a sensitive plant at each verbal assault, shrinking beneath the +hail of blandishments and reproaches. The one speech of the scene, the +reproof of Constance, was spoken with un-childlike, weary dignity-- + + "Good my mother, peace! + I would that I were low laid in my grave; + I am not worth this coil that's made for me." + +Yet it was not Arthur that spoke, nor Louise--no frightened boy or +overwrought, precocious girl. It was the voice of childhood itself, +sexless, aloof; childhood the eternal pilgrim, wandering passive and +perplexed, an elf among the giants: childhood, jostled by the uncaring +crowd, swayed by gross energies and seared by alien passions. + +"She's got it," muttered Clare to Alwynne, reporting progress in the +interval; "oh, how she's got it!" She laughed shortly. "So that's her +reading. Impudent monkey! But she's got her atmosphere. Uncanny, isn't +it? It reminds me--do you remember that performance of hers last autumn +with _Childe Roland_? I told you about it. Well, this brings it back, +rather. Clever imp. I wonder how much of my coaching in this act she'll +condescend to leave in?" + +"You gave her a free hand, you know," deprecated Alwynne. + +"I did. But it's impudence----" + +"Inspiration----" + +"Impudence all the same. When the rehearsal is over I must have a little +conversation with Miss Denny." She showed her white teeth in a smile. + +Alwynne caught her up uneasily-- + +"Clare--you're not going to scold? It wouldn't be fair. You know you're +as pleased as Punch, really." + +Clare shot a look at her, but Alwynne's face was innocent and anxious. +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"Am I? I suppose I am. I don't know. On my word, Alwynne, I don't know! +But run along, my deputy. There's an agitated orb rolling in your +direction from the join of the curtains." + +Alwynne fled. + +The opening scene of the second division of the play--as Clare had +planned it--showed Arthur a prisoner to John and the old queen. The +child's face was changed, his manner strained; his startled eyes darted +restlessly from Hubert to the king and back again to Hubert; the pair +seemed to fascinate him. Yet he shrank from their touch and from +Elinor's embrace, only to check the instinctive movement with pitiful, +propitiatory haste, and to submit, his small fists clenched, to their +caresses. His eyes never left their faces; you saw the tide of fear +rising in his soul. Not till the interview with Hubert, however, was the +morbid drift of the conception fully apparent. He hung upon the man, +smiling with white lips; he fawned; he babbled; he cajoled; marshalled +his poor defences of tears and smiles, frail defiance and wooing +surrender, with an awful, childish cunning. He watched the man as a +frightened bird watches a cat; turned as he turned, confronting him with +every muscle tense. His high whisper premised a voice too weak with +terror to shriek. Yet at the entrance of the attendants there came a cry +that made Clare shiver where she sat. It was fear incarnate. + +Clare fidgeted. It was too bad of Louise.... And what had Alwynne been +thinking of? A free hand, indeed! Too much of a free hand altogether! +The fact that she was listening to a piece of acting, that, in a +theatre, would have overwhelmed her with admiration, added to her +annoyance. A school performance was not the place for brilliant +improprieties. Certainly impropriety--this laborious exposure of a naked +emotion was, in such a milieu, essentially improper--Louise must be +crazy! And in what unholy school had she learned it all--this baby of +thirteen? And what on earth would staff and school say? + +She stole a look at her colleagues. Some were interested, she could see, +but obviously puzzled. A couple were whispering together. A third had +chosen the moment to yawn. + +Her contradictory mind instantly despised them for fools that could not +appreciate what manner of work they were privileged to watch. She saw +her path clear--her attitude outlined for her. She would glorify a +glorious effort (it was pleasant that for once justice might walk with +expediency) and her sure, instant tribute would, she knew, suffice to +quiet the carpers. But, for all that, the performances themselves should +be, she promised herself, on less dangerous lines than the +dress-rehearsal. She would have a word with Louise: the imp needed a +cold douche.... But what an actress it would make later on! Clare sighed +enviously. + +The scene was nearly over. With the glad cry--"Ah! now you look like +Hubert," the enchantment of terror broke. A few more sentences and +Arthur was left alone on the stage. + +As the door clanged (Alwynne was juggling with hardware in the wings) +the child's strained attitude relaxed and the audience unconsciously +relaxed with it. He swayed a moment, then collapsed brokenly into a +chair. The long pause was an exquisite relief. + +But before long the small face puckered into frowns; a back-wash of +subsiding fear swept across it. The hands twitched and drummed. You felt +that a plan was maturing. + +At last, after furtive glances at the door, he rose with an air of +decision, and crossed quickly to the alcove of the window. For an +instant the curtains hid him, and the audience stared expectantly at an +empty stage. When he turned to them again, holding the great draperies +apart with little, resolute fists, his face was alight with hope, and, +for the first time, wholly youthful. In the soft voice ringing out the +last courageous sentences, detailing the plan of the escape, there was a +little quiver of excitement, of childish delight in an adventure. He +ended; stood a moment smiling; then the heavy folds hid him again as +they swept into position. + +There was a tense pause. + +Suddenly as from a great distance, came a faint wailing cry. Thereon, +silence. + +The curtains wheezed and rattled into place. + +Alwynne, hurrying on to the stage to shift scenery for the following +act, nearly tripped, as she dismantled the alcove, over a huddle of +clothes crouched between backing and wall. She stooped and shook it. A +small arm flung up in instant guard. + +"Louise? Get up! The act's over. Run out of the way. Stop--help me with +this, as you're here." + +Obediently the child scrambled to her feet. She gripped an armful of +curtain, and trailed across the stage in Alwynne's wake. Till the +curtains rose on the final act, she trotted after her meekly, helping +where she could. + +With King John embarked on his opening speech, Alwynne drew breath +again. She ran her eye over the actors, palpitant at their several +entrances, saw the prompter still established with book and lantern, and +decided that all could go on without her for a moment. She put her hand +on Louise's shoulder and drew her into the passage. + +"What is it, Louise?" + +"Nothing." + +"What were you doing just now? Were you scared? Was it stage fright?" + +"Oh no." Louise smiled faintly. + +"Then what were you doing?" + +Louise considered. + +"I was dead. I had jumped, you know. I was finding out how it would +feel." + +"Louise! You gruesome child!" + +"I liked it--it was so quiet. I'd forgotten about shifting the scenery. +I'm sorry. Does it--did it hurt him, do you think, the falling?" + +Alwynne put both her hands on the thin shoulders and shook her gently. + +"Louise! Wake up! You're not Prince Arthur now! Gracious me, child--it's +only a play. You mustn't take it so seriously." + +Louise made no answer; she did not seem to understand. + +Alwynne was struck by a new idea. She took the child's face in her hand +and turned it to the gaslight. + +"Did I see you at lunch, Louise? I don't believe I did. Do you know +you're a very naughty child to take advantage of the confusion?" + +"Miss Durand, I had to learn. I was forgetting it all. I slipped the +last two lines as it was--you know, the 'My uncle's spirit is in these +stones' bit. I wasn't hungry." + +"And you were very late, too. What did you have for breakfast?" + +An agitated face peered round the corner. + +"Miss Durand, which side do I come on from? Hubert's nearly off." + +"The left." Alwynne hurried to the rescue, dragging Louise after her. +She hustled the anxious courier to his entrance, twitched his mantle +into position, and saw him safely on the stage. Then she turned to +Louise. + +"Louise, will you please go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Random for two +cups of tea and some buns--at once. There is some tea made, I know. I'm +tired and thirsty--two cups, please. Bring it to me here, and don't run +into any one with your hands full. Be quick--I'm dying for some." + +Louise darted away on her errand. Poor Daffy did look hot and +flustered.... Daffy was such a dear ... every one worried her ... it was +a shame.... Wouldn't Daffy have been a pleasant mother? Better than +shouting Constance.... What was it she had asked for? A plum, a cherry +and a fig? No, that wasn't it. Oh, of course, tea--tea and buns. + +Alwynne looked after her, smiling and frowning; she was not in the least +thirsty. What a baby it was.... But nothing to eat all day! Mrs. Denny +ought to be ashamed of herself.... She, Alwynne, would keep a vigilant +eye on her to-morrow, poor little soul.... Had she really lost herself +so entirely in the part--or was there a touch of pose? No, that was more +Agatha's line.... Agatha was enjoying herself.... She listened amusedly, +watching through a crack in the screen, till a far-away chink caught her +ear. She went out again into the passage, and met Louise with a laden +tray. + +Alwynne drank with expressive pantomime and motioned to the other cup. + +"Drink it up," she commanded. + +"It's a second cup--for you----" began Louise. + +"Be a good child and do as you're told! I must fly in a minute." + +The child looked doubtful; but the steaming liquid was tempting and the +new-baked, shining cakes. She obeyed. Alwynne watched the faint colour +flush her cheeks with a satisfaction that surprised herself. + +"Finish it all up--d'you hear? I must go." She hesitated: "Louise--you +were very good to-day. I am sure Miss Hartill must have been awfully +pleased." + +She went back to the stage. She had had the pleasure of bringing a look +of relief to Louise's face. Alwynne could never remember that the +kindest lie is a lie none the less. + +In the part of Arthur the child, unconsciously, had seen embodied her +own psychological situation. She had enacted the spirit, if not the +letter, of her own state of mind, and in the mock death had experienced +something of the sensations, the sense of release, of a real one. Left +to herself, she might gradually have dreamed and imagined and acted +herself out of her troubles, have drifted back to real life again, cured +and sane. But Alwynne, with her suggestion of good cheer, had destroyed +the skin of make-believe that was forming healingly upon the child's +sore heart. Louise awoke, with a pang of hope, to her real situation. + +"I am sure Miss Hartill must have been awfully pleased." ... So pleased +that, who knew, she might yet forgive the crime of the examination? If +it might be.... "What might be must be," cried the child within her. + +There came a crash of clapping; the rehearsal was over at last, and in a +few moments flocks of girls, chattering and excited, came trouping past +Louise on their way to tea. + +She did not follow them. She was suddenly aware of boy's clothes. She +must change them.... She could not find Miss Hartill till she was tidy, +and she had determined to speak with her. + +Miss Durand had said.... She would do as Arthur did to Hubert--she would +besiege Miss Hartill, force her to be kind, till she could say, "Oh, now +you look Miss Hartill! all this while you were disguised." She shivered +at the idea of undergoing once more the emotional experience of the +scene--but the vision of Miss Hartill transfigured drew her as a magnet +pulls a needle. + +She went towards the stairs. + +The big music-room at the top of the house had been temporarily +converted into a dressing-room, and she thought she would go quickly and +change, while it was still quiet and spacious. But as she pushed open +the swinging doors that divided staircase from passage, she saw Clare +coming down the long corridor. There was no one else in sight. Again +wild, unreasoning hopes flooded her. She would seize the opportunity ... +she would speak to Miss Hartill there and then.... She would ask her why +she was always angry.... Perhaps she would be kind? "I am sure Miss +Hartill must have been awfully pleased...." She must have speech with +her at once--at once.... + +She waited, holding open the door, her heart beating violently, her face +steeled to composure. + +Clare, passing with a nod, found her way barred by a white-faced scrap +of humanity, whose courage, obviously and pitifully, was desperation. +But Clare could be very blind when she did not choose to see. + +"Miss Hartill, may I speak to you?" + +"I can't wait, Louise. I'm busy." + +"Miss Hartill, was it all right? Were you pleased? I tried furiously. +Was it as you wanted it?" + +"Oh, you played your own version." Clare caught her up sharply. + +"But Miss Durand said--you said I was to." + +"I expect it was all right," said Clare lightly. "I'm afraid I was too +busy to attend much, even to your efforts, Louise." She smiled +crookedly. "And now run along and change." + +She pushed against the door, but Louise, beyond all control, caught back +the handles. + +"Miss Hartill--you shall listen. Are you always going to be angry? What +have I done? Will you never be good to me again as you used to be?" + +Clare's face grew stern. + +"Louise, you are being very silly. Let me pass." + +"Because I can't bear it. It's killing me. Couldn't you stop being +angry?" + +Clare, ignoring her, wrenched open the door. Louise, flung sideways, +slipped on the polished floor. She crouched where she fell, and caught +at Clare's skirts. She was completely demoralised. + +"Miss Hartill! Oh, please--please--if you would only understand. You +hurt me so. You hurt me so." + +Clare stood looking down at her. + +"Once and for all, Louise, I dislike scenes. Let me go, please." + +For a moment their eyes strove. And suddenly Louise, relaxing all +effort, let her go. Without another look, Clare retraced her steps and +entered the Common-room. Louise, still crouching against the wall, +watched her till she disappeared. The doors swung and clicked into +rigidity. + +There was a sudden uproar of voices and laughter and scraping chairs. A +distant door had opened. + +Louise started to her feet, and sped swiftly up the stairs, flight on +flight, of the tall old house, till she reached the top floor and the +music-room. It was empty. She flung-to the door, and fumbled with the +stiff key. It turned at last, and she leaned back against the lock, +shaking and breathless, but with a sense of relief. + +She was safe.... Not for long--they would be coming up soon--but long +enough for her purpose. + +But first she must recover breath. It was foolish to tremble so. It only +hindered one ... when there was so little time to lose. + +Hurriedly she sorted out her little pile of everyday clothes--some +irrelevant instinct insisting on the paramount necessity of changing +into them. Mrs. Denny would be annoyed if she spoiled the new costume. +She re-dressed hastily and, clasping her belt, crossed to the window. + +It was tall and divided into three casements. The centre door was open. +A low seat ran round the bay. She climbed upon it and stood upright, +peering out. + +How high up she was! There was a blue haze on the horizon, above the +line of faint hills, that melted in turn into a weald, chequered like +the chessboard counties in _Alice_. So there was a world beyond the +school! Nearer still, the suburb spread map-like. She craned forward. +Directly under her lay the front garden, and a row of white steps that +grinned like teeth. It was on them that she would fall--not on the +grass.... + +She imagined the sensation of the impact, and shuddered. But at least +they would kill one outright.... One would not die groaning in rhymed +couplets, like Arthur.... + +Clasping the shafts, she hoisted herself upwards, till she stood upon +the inner sill. Instantly the fear of falling caught her by the throat. +She swayed backwards, gasping and dizzy, steadying herself against the +stout curtains. + +"I can't do it," whispered Louise hoarsely. "I can't do it." + +Slowly the vertigo passed. She fought with her rampant fear, wrenching +away her thoughts from the terror of the death she had chosen, to the +terror of the life she was leaving. She stood a space, balanced between +time and eternity, weighing them. + +With an effort she straightened herself, and put a foot on the outer +ledge. Again, inevitably, she sickened. Huddled in the safety of the +window-seat, stray phrases thrummed in her head: "My bones turn to +water"--"There is no strength in me." He knew--that Psalmist man.... + +She slipped back on to the floor, and walked unsteadily to the littered +table. Her hands were so weak that she could hardly lift them to pour +out a glass of water. + +She leaned against the table and drank thirstily. What a fool she +was.... What a weak fool.... An instant's courage--one little +second--and peace for ever after.... Wasn't it worth while? Wasn't it? +Wasn't it? She turned again to her deliverance. + +As she pulled herself on to the seat, she heard a noise of footsteps in +the passage without, and the handle of the door was rattled impatiently. +In an instant she was on the sill. This was pursuit--Miss Hartill, and +all the terrors! There must be no more hesitation. Once more she +crouched for the leap, only, with a supreme effort, to swing herself +back to safety again. Her hands were so slippery with sweat that they +could barely grip the window-shafts. There was a banging at the door and +a sound of voices calling. She swayed in a double agony, as fear strove +against fear. + +She heard the voice of a prefect-- + +"Who is it in there? Open the door at once." + +They would break open the door.... They would find her.... They would +stop her.... Coward that she was--fool and coward.... One instant's +courage--one little movement! + +She stiffened herself anew. Poised on the extreme edge of the outer +sill, she pushed her two hands through the belt of her dress, lest they +should save her in her own despite. She stood an instant, her eyes +closed. + +Then she sprang.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Clare was enjoying tea and triumph. She had worked hard for both, and +was virtuously fatigued. The rocking-chair was comfortable, and the +little gym mistress had brought her her favourite cakes. The +Common-room, tinkling its tea-cups, buzzed criticism and approval. The +rehearsal had been a success. + +The talk centred, while opinion divided, on the Constance and the Prince +Arthur. The general standpoint seemed to be that Agatha had reached the +heights. Her royal robes had been effective; she reminded nearly every +one of a favourite actress. Louise was less popular. A curious +performance--very clever, of course--only one had not thought of Arthur +quite like that! Now the Constance---- + +Clare, watching and listening, purred like a sleepy cat. She wondered +why Alwynne was absent ... she was missing a lot.... Louise was +annoying--she had been excessively irritated with her ten minutes +before--and there was the debacle of the scholarship papers--but to +class her with Agatha! What fools these women were! + +The discussion had become argument, and was growing faintly acrimonious, +when a deep voice cut across it. + +Miss Hamilton, a visiting music mistress, always had a hearing when she +chose to speak. She was a big woman, with a fine massive head and shrewd +eyes. She dressed tweedily and carried her hands in her pockets, +slouching a little. It was her harmless vanity to have none. Teaching +music was her business; her recreations, hockey, and the more +law-abiding forms of suffrage agitation. She was a level-headed and +convincing speaker, with a triumphant sense of humour that could, and +had, carried her successfully through many a fantastic situation. +Rumours of her adventures had spread among the staff, if not through the +school, and beglamoured her; she could have had a following if she had +chosen. But her healthy twelve stone crashed through pedestals, and she +established comradeship, as she helped you, laughter-shaken, to pick up +the pieces. + +A postponed lesson had given her time to attend the rehearsal, and she +had afterwards joined the flock of mistresses at tea. Clare, who thought +more of her opinion than she chose to own, had eyed her once or twice +already, and at the sound of her voice she stopped her lazy rocking. + +"But they are not in the same category! Any schoolgirl could have played +Constance as What's-her-name played it, given the training she has had." +Miss Hamilton nodded pleasantly to the rocking-chair. She appreciated +Clare's capacities. "But Arthur----" + +"Well, I thought Agatha was splendid," repeated a junior mistress +stubbornly. + +"She was. An excellent piece of work! 'But the hands were the hands of +Esau.'" + +"They always are," said the little gym mistress fervently. + +Clare gave her a quick, brilliant smile. She blushed scarlet. + +The music mistress laughed; she enjoyed her weekly glimpse of school +interdependencies. + +"Why did you single out _King John_, Miss Hartill?" she inquired +politely. + +Clare was demure, but her eyes twinkled. + +"The decision lay with Miss Marsham," she murmured. + +"Of course. But having a Cinderella on the premises--eh?" + +"If you know of a glass slipper----" + +"You fit it on! Exactly! Where did you discover her?" + +"Starving--literally starving, in the Lower Third." Clare thawed to the +congenial listener. "It was an amazing performance, wasn't it? Of +course, there was nothing of the actual Arthur in it----" + +Miss Hamilton nodded. + +"That struck me. It was a child in trouble--not a boy. Not a girl +either--but, of course, only a girl would be precocious enough to +conceive and carry out the idea. If she did, that is!" + +"Oh, it was original," Clare disclaimed prettily. "It had little to do +with me. I had to let her go her own way." + +Miss Hamilton liked her generosity. + +"You're wise. It's all very well to trim the household lamps, but a +burning bush is best left alone. I don't altogether envy you. Genius +must be a disturbing factor in a school." + +"You think she has genius?" + +"It was more than precocity to-day--or talent. The Constance had +talent." + +"And was third in the scholarship papers. Louise failed completely. +Isn't it inexplicable? What is one to do? Of course, it was disgraceful: +she should have been first. I expected it. I coached her myself. I know +her possibilities. Frankly, I am deeply disappointed." + +Miss Hamilton pulled her chair nearer. She was interested; Clare was not +usually so communicative. But their further conversation was interrupted +by the opening of the door, and old Miss Marsham appeared on a visit of +congratulation, accepting tea and dispensing compliments with equal +stateliness. + +"An excellent performance! We must felicitate each other--and Miss +Hartill. But we are accustomed to great things from Miss Hartill. There +can be no uneasiness to-morrow. The child in the green coat, in that +scene--ah, you remember? I thought her a trifle indistinct. Perhaps a +hint----? Altogether it was excellent. Especially the Constance--most +dramatic. If I may criticise--acting is not my department--but the +Prince Arthur? Now, were you satisfied? Louise is a dear child, but +hardly suitable, eh?" + +Clare stiffened. + +"I thought her acting remarkable." + +"Did you? Now I can't help feeling that Shakespeare never intended it +like that. He makes him such a dear little boy. It's so pathetic, you +know, where he begs the man not to put out his eyes. So childlike and +touching. Like little Lord Fauntleroy. I know I cried when I saw it, +years ago. Now this child was not at all appealing." + +Clare shrugged her shoulders. + +"It is not a pretty scene, Miss Marsham, though the managers conspire to +make us think so. A child at the mercy of brutes, knowing its own +danger, terrorised into the extreme of cunning, parading its poor little +graces with the skill of a mondaine--it's not pretty! And Louise spared +us nothing." + +Miss Marsham fidgeted. + +"If that is your view of the scene, Miss Hartill, I wonder that you +consider it fit for a school performance." + +Clare hedged. + +"My private view doesn't matter, after all. Traditionally it is +inadmissible, of course. But if you would like the treatment altered a +little, I will speak to Louise. It is only the dress rehearsal, of +course." + +Miss Marsham looked relieved. + +"Perhaps it would be better. A little more childlike, you know. But +don't let her think me annoyed, Miss Hartill; I am sure she has worked +so hard. Just a hint, you know. I should not like her feelings to be +hurt. Poor child, the results were a sad disappointment to her, I'm +afraid. You spoke to her about the change of class?" + +"Yes." + +"I hope she was not distressed?" + +Clare remembered the look on Louise's face. She hesitated. + +"She will get over it," she said. + +The kind old woman looked worried. + +"You must not let her feel that she has failed over this, Miss +Hartill--on the top of the other trouble. You will be judicious?" + +A door slammed in the distance; there was a blurr of voices, a sound of +hurrying footsteps. + +Clare rose impatiently; she was tired of the subject. + +"It will be all right, Miss Marsham. I understand Louise. What in the +world is that disgraceful noise?" + +But the door was flung open before she could reach it. Alwynne stood in +the aperture, panting a little. In her arms lay Louise, her head falling +limply, like a dead bird's. Behind them, peering faces showed for a +moment, white against the dusk of the passage. Then Alwynne, staggering +beneath the dead weight, stumbled forward, and the door swung to with a +crash. + +The roomful of women stared in horrified silence. + +"She's dead," said Alwynne. "I found her on the steps. She fell from a +window. One of the children saw it. She's dead." + +She swayed forward to the empty rocking-chair, and sat down, the child's +body clasped to her breast. She looked like a young mother. + +Clare, watching half stupified, saw a thin trickle of blood run out +across her bare arm. + +It woke her. + +"Send for a doctor!" screamed Clare. "Send for a doctor! Will nobody +send for a doctor?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +The sudden death of Louise Denny had shocked, each in her degree, every +member of the staff. The general view was that such a deplorable +accident could and should have been impossible. Every one remembered +having long ago thought that the old-fashioned windows were unsafe, and +having wondered why precautions had never been taken. Every one, the +first horror over, canvassed the result of the unavoidable inquest, and +speculated whether any one would be censured for carelessness. The +younger mistresses were so sure that it was nobody's business to be on +duty in the dressing-room at that particular hour that they spent the +rest of the hushed, horror-stricken day in telling each other so, +proclaiming, a trifle too insistently, their relief that they at least +had nothing, however remote, to do with the affair: while inwardly they +ransacked their memories to recall if perchance some half-heard order, +some forgotten promise of standing substitute or relieving guard could, +at the last moment, implicate them. + +But the task of quieting and occupying the frightened children, and of +clearing away, as far as might be, all traces of the dress rehearsal, +was at least distraction. On the heads of the school, real and nominal, +the strain was immeasurably greater. It was first truly felt, indeed, +many hours later. Old Miss Marsham, in whom the shock had awakened +something of her old-time decision of character, had conducted the +interview with the decorously grieving parents with sufficient dignity; +had overseen the temporary resting-place of the dead child; had +communicated with doctors, lawyers and officials. But the spurt of +energy had subsided with the necessity for it. She had retired late at +night to her own apartments and the ministrations of her efficient +maid, a broken old commander, facing tremulously the calamity that had +befallen her life-work: foreseeing and exaggerating its effect on the +future of the school, planning feverishly her defence from the gossip +that must ensue. An accident ... of course, an accident ... a terrible +yet unforeseeable accident.... That was the point.... At all costs it +must be shown that it was an accident pure and simple, with never a +whisper of negligence against authority or underling.... But she was an +old woman.... She needed, she supposed bitterly, a shock of this kind to +humble her into realising that her day was over.... She had been driving +with slack reins this many a long year.... She had known it and had +hoped that no one shared her knowledge. And none had known.... So there +came this pitiful occurrence to advertise her weakness to the world.... +The poor child! Ah, the poor little child! There had been a lack of +supervision, no doubt ... some such gross carelessness as she, in her +heyday, would never have tolerated.... And she was grown too old, too +feeble to hold enquiry--to dispense strict justice.... She must depend +on the lieutenants who had failed her, to hush the matter up--to make +the administration of the school appear blameless.... They could do +that, she did not doubt, and so she must be content.... But in the day +of her strength she would not have been content.... But she was old.... +It was time for her to abdicate.... She must put her affairs in order, +name her successor--Clare Hartill or the secretary, she supposed.... +They knew her ways.... There was that bright girl who had faced her +to-day with the little child in her arms ... what was her name? Daughter +or niece of some old pupil of her own.... She could more easily have +seen her in her seat than either of her vice-regents.... So young and +strong and eager.... She had been like that once.... Now she was a weak +old woman, and because of her weakness a little child lay dead in her +house.... Yes, Martha might put her to bed.... Why not? She was very +tired. + +Henrietta Vigers had also her anxieties. She had so long claimed the +position of virtual head that there was no doubt in her own mind that +other people would consider her as responsible as if she had been the +actual one. She worried incessantly. Should she have had bars put up to +those old-fashioned windows? She, who was responsible for all the +household arrangements? Ought she not to have foreseen the danger and +guarded against it? And there was the matter of the dressing-room +mistress.... For the school machinery she had made herself even more +pointedly responsible.... She should have arranged for some one to +oversee the children.... But the dressing-room had been a temporary one +and she had overlooked the necessity.... Yet if some one had been in the +room the accident could impossibly have happened.... She felt that she +would be lucky to escape public censure, that loss of prestige in the +eyes at least of the head mistress was inevitable. + +But the more or less selfish perturbation, as distinct from the emotion +of sheer humanity, that was aroused by the death of the little +schoolgirl in the two older women, was as nothing to the sensation of +sick dismay that it awoke in Clare Hartill. She, too, through the night +that followed on the accident, lay awake till sunrise, considering her +position. She was stunned by the unexpectedness of the catastrophe; a +little grieved for the loss of Louise, but, above all, intensely and +quite selfishly frightened. She felt guilty. She remembered, +remorselessly enlightened, the afternoon, the expression in Louise's +eyes, and not for one instant did she share the general belief in the +accidental nature of her death. Her conscience would not allow her the +comfort of such self-deception. Later she might lull it to sleep again, +but for the moment it was awake, and her master. This same keen-witted +conscience of hers, this quintessence of her secret admirations and +considered opinions, her epicurean appreciation of what was guileless +and beautiful and worthy, co-existing, as it did, with the +intellectualised sensuality of her imperious and carnal personality, was +no small trial to Clare. Though it could not sway her decisions nor +influence her actions by one hair's-breadth, it was at least cynically +active, as now, to prick and fret at her peace. It was, indeed, at the +root of the whimsical irritability that, for all her charm, made her an +impossible housemate. + +Essentially, her attitude to life was simple. It was an orange, to be +squeezed for her pleasure. It must serve her; but she owed it, +therefore, no duty. She found that she achieved a maximum of pleasurable +sensations by following the dictates of that mind which is the +mouthpiece of body, while indulging, as Lucullus ate turnips, in austere +flirtations with that other mind, which is the mouthpiece of spirit. So +she served Mammon, or rather, she allowed Mammon to serve her, but she +was, on occasions, critically interested in God. And this was her +undoing. Could she have been content to be frankly selfish, she might +have been happy enough, but her very interest in the kingdom of Heaven +had created her conscience, and had laid her open to its attacks. She +ignored it, and it made her wretched: she compromised with it, and +became a hypocrite. + +She resented the death of Louise because it challenged her whole scheme +of life. She was furiously angry with the dead child for what she felt +to be an indictment of her legitimate amusements. Louise, so meek and +ineffectual, had yet been able to steal a march on her, had stabbed in +the back and run away, beyond reach of Clare's retaliation.... Louise +had fooled her.... She, Clare, proud of her insight, her complete +knowledge of character, her alert intuition, had yet had no inkling of +what was passing in that childish mind.... If she had guessed, however +vaguely, she could have taken measures, have scourged the mere +suggestion of such monstrous rebellion out of that subject soul.... But +Louise, secure in her insignificance, had tricked her, planned her sure +escape.... But how unhappy she must have been!... + +In a sudden revulsion of feeling Clare grew faint with pity, as she +tried to realise the child's state of mind during the past months. Her +thoughts went back to the Christmas Day they had spent together. She had +been happy enough then.... Half sincerely she tried to puzzle out the +change in Louise, the gradual deterioration that had led to the tragedy. +Had she been to blame? Louise had grown tiresome, and she had snubbed +her.... There was the thing in a nutshell.... If she was to be so tender +of the feelings of all the silly girls who sentimentalised over her, +where would it end, at all? + +Poor little Louise.... She had been really fond of her at the +beginning.... She had thought for a time that she might even supplant +Alwynne.... But Louise had disappointed her.... She had let her work go +to the dogs.... All her originality and charm fizzled out.... She had +ceased to be interesting.... And she, Clare, had naturally been bored +and had shown it.... Why couldn't the child take it quietly? If Louise +had only known--and had conducted herself with tact--Clare had been +preparing to be nicer to her again.... She had been deeply interested in +her performance of the morning, had recognised its uncanny +sincerity--had thought, with a distinct quickening of interest, that +Louise was recovering herself at last, and that it might be as well to +take her in hand again.... Oh, she had been full of benevolent impulses! +But then Louise had been tiresome again ... had stopped her and made a +scene.... She hated scenes ... at least (with a laugh) scenes that were +not of her own devising.... + +She supposed she should have recognised that the child was +overwrought--terribly overwrought by the emotions aroused by such an +interpretation as she had insisted upon giving.... She ought never to +have been allowed to play it like that.... That was Alwynne's doing.... +Alwynne had persuaded Clare to leave Louise to her own devices.... +Alwynne was so headstrong.... She hoped that Alwynne would never need to +realise how much she was to blame.... + +Here she became aware that her conscience was convulsed with cynical +laughter. She flushed in the darkness, her opportune sense of injury +increasing. + +Alwynne might well be distressed.... If any awkward questions should be +asked, Alwynne might find herself uncomfortably placed.... People would +wonder that she had not noticed how unbalanced Louise was growing.... +Every one knew how intimate, how ridiculously intimate, she and Louise +had become.... Alwynne had fussed over her like an old hen ... had even +on occasion questioned her, Clare's, method with her.... She must have +known what was in Louise's mind.... Yet Clare had no doubt that people +would be only too ready to accuse her, rather than Alwynne, of criminal +obtuseness.... Henrietta Vigers, for instance.... Henrietta would be +less prejudiced than many others, though.... She was no friend to +Alwynne.... It might do no harm to talk over the matter with Henrietta +Vigers.... A word or two would be enough.... + +Of course it would be considered an accident.... But if by any chance, +vague suspicions were rife, a judicious talk with Henrietta would have +served, at least, to prevent Clare from being made their object.... She +had her enemies, she knew.... Alwynne, with her easy popularity, had +none save Henrietta.... A few waspish remarks from Henrietta would not +hurt Alwynne.... Clare would protect Alwynne from serious annoyance, of +course.... If the mistresses--the school--oh, if the whole world turned +against Alwynne, Clare would make it up to her.... What did Alwynne +want, after all, with any one but Clare? The less the world gave +Alwynne, the more she would be content with Clare, the more entirely she +would be Clare's own property.... It was a good idea.... She would +certainly speak to Miss Vigers.... + +She was outlining that conversation till she fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +On the following afternoon Clare and Henrietta were sitting together in +the mistresses' room. The afternoon classes were over and the day pupils +and mistresses had gone home. The boarders were at supper and the staff +with them. + +But Henrietta had taken no notice of the supper-hour. She had more work +in hand than she could well compass--letters to write and answer, of +explanation, and enquiry, and condolence. She could have found time for +her supper, nevertheless, but when she was overworked she liked her +world to be aware of it. Clare, contrary to her custom, had stayed late. +She was waiting for Alwynne. She had offered, perfunctorily enough, her +assistance, but Henrietta had refused all help from her. Yet Henrietta +had turned over the bulk of her formal correspondence to Alwynne, who +sat, hard at work, in the adjacent office. She disliked Alwynne, but +accepted the very necessary help from her more easily than from Clare +Hartill. Yet she was softened by Clare's offer, which she had refused, +and not at all grateful for Alwynne's help, though she accepted it. + +She wrote busily for more than an hour, and Clare, silent, scarcely +moving, sat watching her. Henrietta had, for once, no feeling of +impatience at her idle supervision. She did not experience her usual +sensation of intimidated antagonism. It was as if the stress of the last +twenty-four hours had temporarily atoned the two incongruous characters. +Neither by look or gesture had Clare flouted any suggestion or +arrangement of Henrietta's--indeed, her presence had been quite +distinctly a support. Henrietta had appealed more than once, and even +confidently, to her. Henrietta had thought, with a touch of +compunction, how strangely trouble brought out the best in people. Miss +Hartill had been very proud of Louise Denny; evidently felt her death. +The shock was causing her to unbend. Not, as one would have expected, to +Alwynne Durand--she hoped, by the way, that Miss Durand was addressing +those envelopes legibly: she did so dislike an explosive +handwriting--no, Miss Hartill was turning, very properly, to herself in +the emergency.... She was pleased.... There should be free-masonry +between the heads of the school.... And Clare Hartill, for all her lazy +indifference, was influential and enormously capable.... Henrietta +wondered if it would be safe to consult her.... She might, without +acknowledging a definite uneasiness, find out cautiously whether it had +occurred to Miss Hartill that she, Henrietta, might be considered to +have been negligent. + +She glanced across at her inscrutable colleague. Clare was staring +thoughtfully at her. Her lips were puffed a little, as if in doubt. + +Their eyes met for a moment in a glance that was almost one of +understanding. + +Henrietta hesitated, for the first time not at all disconcerted by +Clare's direct gaze. But the sparkle of gay malice that attracted half +her world, and disconcerted the other half, was gone from Clare's eyes. +Their expression, for the time being, was calm, possibly friendly; at +any rate, irreproachably matter-of-fact. + +Henrietta flung down her pen with a sigh of fatigue, and bent and unbent +her cramped fingers. But it was not fatigue that made her stop work. She +wanted to talk to Clare Hartill, and had a queer conviction that Clare +Hartill wanted to talk to her. + +"Finished?" Clare spoke from the shadow of her deep chair. Her back was +to the light, but Henrietta faced the west window. The evening sun laid +bare her face for Clare's inspection. Not a flicker of expression could +escape her, if she chose to look. + +"More or less. I want half-an-hour's rest." + +"I don't wonder. You've had everything to see to." Clare's voice was +delicately sympathetic. + +Henrietta unbent. + +"A secretary's work isn't showy, Miss Hartill, but it's necessary: and +any happening that's out of the common doubles it. The correspondence +over this unhappy affair alone----" + +"I know. Of course, at Miss Marsham's age----" + +"It all falls on me! People don't realise that. The extra work is +enormous. Miss Marsham depends on me so entirely, of course." + +"Yes, yes," murmured Clare appreciatively. + +Henrietta played with her papers. + +"I feel the responsibility very strongly," she said abruptly; but her +tone was confidential. + +Clare nodded. + +"Yet, of course--as far as nominal responsibility goes--I am not the +head of the school. I cannot be held responsible--any oversight----" + +Clare nodded. + +"Oh, Miss Vigers--you merely carry out instructions, like the rest of +us"--she hesitated imperceptibly--"officially," she added slowly. + +Henrietta looked relieved. + +"I am so glad you see what I mean." + +"Oh, I do, entirely," Clare assured her grimly. + +"I'm not heartless," said Henrietta suddenly, flushing. Her tone +justified herself against unuttered criticism. "And the poor child's +death was as much a shock to me as to any one. But I was not fond of +her--as you were, for instance----" + +Clare's pose never altered. + +"I was very proud of her," she said gently. "I thought her an +exceptional child. But, as Miss Durand said to me only a few days ago--I +didn't really know her: not, at least, as she did. Alwynne, I know, +thinks we have lost a genius. But you're right--it was a shock to me--a +terrible shock." + +"It was that to everybody, naturally. But in a way it's curious," said +Henrietta meditatively, "how much we all feel it--how oppressively, at +least: for I don't think any one was very fond of Louise." + +"Oh, Miss Durand was deeply attached to her," Clare protested, her +beautiful voice low with emotion. + +"Yes, of course! Oh, I've noticed that." Clare's unusual accessibility +made Henrietta anxious to agree. Also, though she had noticed nothing +unusual, she did not wish to appear lacking in penetration. She recalled +Alwynne's haggard face; recollected how much she had had to do with the +child; and decided that Clare was probably right. + +"But except for her," she went on, "and your interest in her----" + +"I've never had such a pupil," said Clare calmly. +"Industrious--original--oh, I shall miss her, I know. But you're +right--she was not popular----" + +"Yet everybody feels her death--among ourselves, I mean--to an +extraordinary degree. After all--an accident is only an accident, +however dreadful! But there's a sort of oppression on us--a kind of +fear. Do you know what I mean? I think we all feel it. It draws us +together in a curious way." + +"'The Tie of Common Funk,'" rapped out Clare, forgetting her rôle. + +Henrietta stiffened. + +"I don't think it is an occasion for slang," she said. "The child's not +buried yet." + +Clare bit back a flippancy. + +"I thought you would realise," continued Henrietta severely, "that the +situation is trying for us all----" + +"Of course I do." Clare hastened to soothe her. "But seriously, Miss +Vigers, I do not think you need be anxious. The inquest--oh, a painful +ordeal, if you like. But you, at least, can have no reason to reproach +yourself." + +Henrietta relaxed again. + +"No! As I say, I'm not the head of the school. I'm not responsible for +regulations--only for carrying them out. And accidents will happen." + +"I only hope," said Clare, as if to herself, "that it will be considered +an accident----" + +Henrietta stared. + +"But Miss Hartill! Of course it was an accident!" + +Clare looked at her wistfully. + +"Yes! It was, wasn't it? Yes, of course! It must have been an accident." +Her tone dismissed the matter. + +But Henrietta was on the alert. Her own anxieties had been skilfully +allayed. Her mind was recovering poise. She nosed a mystery and her +reviving sense of importance insisted on sharing the knowledge of it. + +"Miss Hartill--you are not suggesting----?" Her tone invited confidence. + +Clare gave a little natural laugh. + +"Oh, my dear woman--I'm all nerves just at present. Of course I'm not +suggesting anything. One gets absurd ideas into one's head. I'm only too +relieved to hear you laugh at me. Your common sense is always a real +support to me, you know. I've grown to depend on it all these years. I'm +afraid I've got into the way of taking it too much for granted." + +She gave a charming little deprecatory shrug. + +Henrietta flushed: she felt herself warming unaccountably to Clare +Hartill. She wondered why she had never before taken the trouble to draw +her out.... She was evidently a woman of heart as well as brain. She +felt vaguely that she must constantly have been unjust to her. But these +sensations only whetted her eager curiosity. She pulled in her chair to +the hearth. + +"But what ideas, Miss Hartill? If you will tell me--I should be the last +person to laugh. I have far too much respect for--I wish you would tell +me what is worrying you. Does anything make you think it was not an +accident?" + +Clare was the picture of reluctance. + +"Impressions--vague ideas--is it fair to formulate them? Even if Louise +were unbalanced--but, of course, I did not see much of her out of class. +I confess I thought her manner strained at times. But I teach. I have +nothing to do with the supervision of the younger children." + +"That is Miss Durand's business," remarked Henrietta crisply. + +"Oh, but if she had noticed anything----" began Clare. Then, lamely, +"Obviously she didn't----" + +"It was her business to. She should have reported to me. Why, she +coached Louise, didn't she?" + +"Of course, if Louise had really overworked--badly----" reflected Clare, +with the distressed air of one on whom unwelcome ideas are dawning. "One +hears of cases--in Germany--but it's impossible!" + +Henrietta looked genuinely shocked, but none the less she was excited. + +"She failed in that exam.----" she adduced. + +"Yes! Miss Durand coached her for that, you know. Poor Miss Durand! How +she slaved over her! She was dreadfully disappointed," said Clare +indulgently. + +"Of course, she let her overdo herself!" cried Henrietta triumphantly. +"But you coached her too--didn't you notice either?" + +"I coach the whole class. You know how busy I am. I'm afraid I left +Louise a good deal to Alwynne," said Clare regretfully. + +"But she's supposed to be grown up--an asset to the school, according to +Miss Marsham," said Henrietta tartly. "But, I must say, if she couldn't +see that the child was doing too much, she's not fit to teach----" + +"Oh, my dear!" cried Clare, distressed. "You mustn't say such things. +You've no idea how conscientious Alwynne is. She may have worked Louise +too hard--but with the best intentions. She would be heartbroken if you +suggested it." + +"Oh, you are always very lenient to Miss Durand," began Henrietta, with +a touch of jealousy. + +"Ah! She's so young! So full of the zeal of youth. Besides, I'm +very fond of her." Clare's smile took Henrietta into her +confidence--confessed to an amiable weakness. + +Henrietta brooded. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill, you talk of my common sense. I wish--I wish you could +see Miss Durand from my point of view for a moment." She eyed Clare, +attentive and plastic in her shadows, and took courage. +"This--appalling--probability----" + +"Possibility----" Clare deprecated. + +"Oh, but it seems terribly probable to me--only carries on my idea of +Miss Durand. She is so ignorant--so inexperienced--so undisciplined--she +cannot possibly have a good influence on young children----" + +"She is my friend!" Clare reminded her, with gentle dignity. + +"And if your suspicions are correct--if Louise's death were not +accidental--if it had anything to do with her state of mind--if it were +the effect of overwork--I consider--I must consider Miss Durand in some +measure responsible. I feel that Miss Marsham should be told." + +Clare shook her head. Her solemn, candid eyes abashed Henrietta. + +"Miss Vigers--we are speaking in confidence. I should never forgive +myself if anything I've said to you were repeated." + +"Of course, of course!" Henrietta appeased her hastily. "But I've had my +own suspicions--oh, for a long time, I assure you. I've not been blind. +And I might feel it my duty--on my account, you understand--after all +Miss Marsham depends on me implicitly--to speak to her--for the sake of +the school----" + +Clare considered. + +"That, of course--I can't prevent. But Miss Vigers--forgive +me--but--don't let your sense of responsibility make you unfair. And for +heaven's sake, don't let my vague uneasiness--it's really nothing +more--affect your judgment. We may both be utterly mistaken. I am sure +the result of the inquest will prove us mistaken after all--it will be +found to have been an accident." + +Henrietta closed her lips obstinately. + +Clare rose in her place. + +"It was an accident!" she cried passionately. "In my heart I am sure. I +wish I'd never said anything to you. I'd no right to be suspicious. +Think of what Miss Durand's feelings would be if she realised----" She +flung out her hands appealingly. "Oh, we're two overwrought women, +aren't we? Sitting in the dusk and scaring ourselves with bogies. It was +an accident, Miss Vigers--a tragic accident! Make yourself think so! +Make me think so too!" Her beautiful eyes implored comfort. + +Henrietta, quite touched, patted her awkwardly on the arm. She enjoyed +her transient superiority. + +"Of course, of course, we'll try to think so. Now you must go home. You +are quite overwrought. It will be a trying day for us all to-morrow. I +shall go to bed early too. Won't you go home now?" + +Clare nodded, mute, grateful. She went to her peg, and took down her hat +and jacket. + +"Have you finished with Miss Durand? She was going home with me." + +"Oh! Miss Durand!" Henrietta's tone grew crisper. "Yes, of course. I'll +see if she has done. I'll send her to you. And you mustn't let yourself +worry, Miss Hartill. Leave it all to me. These things are more my +province. Good-night!" said Henrietta cordially. + +She left the room. + +Clare, pinning on her hat, stared critically at herself in the +inadequate mirror. + +"I think," she said confidentially, "we did that rather well." + +She smiled. The cynical lips smiled back at her. + +"You beast!" cried Clare, with sudden passion. "You beast! You beast!" + +She was still staring at herself when Alwynne came for her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Clare Hartill's precautions proved to be unnecessary as the alarms of +her colleagues. The inquest was a formal and quickly concluded affair, +and the only corollary to the verdict of accidental death was an +expression of sympathy with all concerned. + +Whereon, there being no further cause for the detaining of Louise Denny +above ground, she was elegantly and expeditiously buried. + +The whole school attended the funeral. The flowers required a second +carriage, and for the first time in his life, Mr. Denny was genuinely +proud of his daughter. He did not believe that his own death could have +extracted more lavish tributes from the purses of his acquaintances. + +Clare Hartill, writing a card for her wreath of incredible orchids, did +not regret her extravagance. After all--one must keep up one's +position.... There would certainly not be such another wreath in the +churchyard.... How Louise would have exclaimed over it! Poor child.... +It was all one could do for her now. Clare hesitated, pen +arrested--"With deepest sympathy." It was not necessary to write +anything more.... Her name was printed already.... But Louise would have +liked a message.... After all, she had been very proud of Louise.... + +She reversed the card, and wrote, almost illegibly, in a corner, +"Louise--with love. C. H." She paused, lips pursed. Sentimental, +perhaps? Possibly.... But let it go.... + +Hastily she impaled her card on its attendant pin, and thrust it, print +upward, among the flowers. The message was for Louise; no one else need +see it. + +Alwynne, too, sent flowers. But as usual she had spent all but a +fraction of her salary. Seven and sixpence does not make a show, even if +the garland be home-made. The shabby wreath was forgotten among the +crowd of hot-house blooms. It lay in a corner till the day after the +funeral. Then the housemaid threw it away. + +So Louise had no message from Alwynne. + +By the end of a fortnight Louise was barely a memory in the school. A +month had obliterated her entirely. + +Yet her short career and sudden death had its influence on school and +individual alike. Miss Marsham had had her lesson; she began to make her +preliminary preparations for giving up her head mistress-ship, and +selling her interest in the school; though it was the following spring +before she began to negotiate definitely with Clare, on whom her choice +had finally fallen. She would not be hurried; she would not appear +anxious to settle her affairs; but she had determined, between regret +and relief, that the next summer should be the last of her reign. + +Henrietta, though her anxieties were abated by the turn affairs had +taken, was still doubtful whether Miss Marsham were as blindly reliant +upon her as usual. But, though feeling her position still somewhat +insecure, her spirits had risen, and her natural love of interference +had risen with them. She could not forget her conversation with Miss +Hartill: an amazing conversation--a conversation teeming with +suggestions and possibilities.... Of course, Miss Hartill had had no +idea, poor distracted woman, of how skilfully Henrietta had drawn her +out.... Henrietta felt pleased with herself. Without once referring to +Miss Hartill, she could follow out her own plans as far as Miss Durand +was concerned.... Later, Miss Hartill might remember that apparently +innocent conversation and realise that Henrietta had stolen a march on +her.... Yet, though she might be loyally angry, for her friend's sake, +she could not do anything to cross Henrietta's arrangements ... could +not wish to do anything, because essentially, if reluctantly, she had +approved them, had recognised that it was time to curtail Miss Durand's +activities.... + +Henrietta felt virtuous. Miss Durand had brought it on herself.... She +wished her no harm.... But it was right that Marsham should realise how +far she was from an ideal school-mistress.... She had been engaged as +scholastic maid-of-all-work.... Yet in a few terms she had become second +only to Miss Hartill herself.... It was not fit.... Let her go back to +her beginnings.... She, Henrietta, had only to open Miss Marsham's +eyes.... But to that end there must be evidence.... + +For the rest of the term, patient and peering as a rag-picker, she went +about collecting her evidence. + +Clare did not give another thought to her conversation with the +gimlet-eyed secretary. It had served its purpose--had been a barrier +between herself and the possibility of attack--had given her a feeling +of security. She perceived, nevertheless, that her transient affability +had made Henrietta violently her adherent. Clare was resigned to knowing +that the change of face would be temporary--she could not allow a +parading of herself as an intimate, and thither, she shrewdly suspected, +would Henrietta's amenities lead. But she found it amusing to be +gracious, as long as no more was expected of her. She did not like +Henrietta one whit the better; felt herself, indeed, degraded by the +expedient to which she had resorted, and fiercely despised her tool. +Henrietta should be given rope, might attack Alwynne unhindered, +nevertheless she should hang herself at the last.... Clare would ensure +that.... Once--Henrietta had called her a cat.... Oh, she had heard of +it! Well--for the present, she would purr to Henrietta, blank-eyed, +claws sheathed.... Let her serve her turn. + +But Clare, beneath her schemes and jealousies, was, nevertheless, deeply +and sincerely unhappy. The removal of the entirely selfish and +cold-blooded panic that had been upon her since Louise's death, left her +free to entertain deeper and sincerer feelings. She thought of Louise +incessantly, with a growing feeling of regret and responsibility. She +hated responsibility, though she loved authority--she had always shut +her eyes to the effects of her caprices. But the more she thought of +Louise, the more insistent grew her qualms. That the child was dead of +its own will, she never doubted; but she fought desperately against the +suggestion that her own conduct could have affected its state of mind, +was ready to accept the most preposterous premise, whose ensuing chain +of reasoning could acquit her. But nobody having accused her, no +ingenuity of herself or another, could, for the time being, acquit her. +She was merely a prey to her own intangible uneasinesses. Yet it needed +but a key to set the whole machinery of her conscience in motion against +her. The key was to be found. + +The term was drawing to an end, and Alwynne, rounding off her special +classes and generally making up arrears, was proportionately busy. She +still spent her week-ends with Clare, but she brought her work along +with her. She had her corner of the table, and Clare her desk, and the +two would work till the small hours. + +But by the last Sunday evening, Clare's piles of reports and examination +papers had disappeared, and she was free to lie at ease on her sofa, and +to laugh at Alwynne, still immersed in exercise books, and tantalise her +with airy plans for the long, delicious holidays. It had been, in spite +of the season, a day of rain and cold winds. The skies had cleared at +the sunset, with its red promise of fine weather once more, but the +remnant of a fire still smouldered on the hearth. Alwynne was flushed +with the interest of her work, but ever and again Clare shivered, and +pulled the quilted sofa-wrap more closely about her. She wished that +Alwynne would be quick.... Surely Alwynne could finish off her work some +other time.... It wouldn't hurt her to get up early for once, for that +matter.... She was bored.... She was dull.... She wanted amusement.... +She wanted Alwynne, and attention, and affection, and a little +butterfly kiss or two.... Alwynne ought to be awake to the fact that she +was wanted.... + +She watched her, between fretfulness and affection, æsthetically +appreciative of the big young body in the lavender frock, and the crown +of shining hair, pleased with her property, intensely impatient of its +interest in anything but herself. + +"Alwynne----?" There was a hint of neglect in her voice. + +Alwynne beamed, but her eyes were abstracted. + +"Only another half-hour, Clare. I must just finish these. You don't +mind, do you?" + +"I? Mind?" Clare laughed elaborately. She picked up a book, and there +was silence once more. + +Leaves fluttered and a pen scraped. The light began to fade. + +Suddenly Alwynne gave a smothered exclamation. Clare looked up and +pulled herself upright, angry enough. + +"Alwynne! Your carelessness--you've dropped your wet pen on my carpet. +It's too bad." + +Alwynne groped hastily beneath the table. But even the prolonged +stooping had not brought back the colour to her cheek, as she replaced +her pen on the stand. + +"I'm sorry. I was startled. It hasn't marked it. Clare--just listen to +this." + +"What have you got hold of?" demanded Clare irritably. She disliked +spots and spillings and mess, as Alwynne might know. + +"It's Louise's composition book. I always wondered where it had got to, +when I cleared out her desk. It must have lain about and got collected +in with the rest, yesterday." + +"Well?" said Clare, with a show of indifference. + +"Here's that essay on King John and his times. Do you remember? You gave +it to them to do just before the play. It's not corrected. Not +finished." She hesitated. "Clare! It's rather queer." + +"Is it any good?" said Clare meditatively. + +"What for?" + +"The School Magazine. We're short of copy. The child wrote well. But I +suppose it wouldn't do to use it--though I don't see why not." + +Suddenly Alwynne began to read aloud. + + "_Another way by which King John got money from the Jews was by + threatening them with torture. He was all-powerful. He could draw + their teeth, tooth by tooth, twist their thumbs, or leave them to + rot in dark, silent prisons. They could not do anything against + him. If he could not force them to yield up their treasure he would + have them burned, or cause them to be pressed to death. This is a + horrible torture. I read about a woman who was killed in this way + in the 'Hundred Best Books'; and there was a man in Good King + Charles's days whom they killed like this. It is the worst death of + any. They tie you down, so that you cannot move at all, and there + is a slab of stone that hangs a little above you. This sinks very + slowly, so that all the first day you just lie and stare at it and + wonder if it really moves. People come and give you food and laugh + at you. You are scarcely afraid, because it moves so little and you + think nobody could be really so cruel and hurt you so horribly, and + that you will be saved somehow. But all the time the stone is + sinking--sinking--and the day goes by and the night comes and they + leave you alone. And perhaps you go to sleep at last. You are + horribly tired, because of the weeks of fear that are behind you. + Perhaps you dream. You dream you are free and people love you, and + you have done nothing wrong and you are frightfully happy, and the + one you love most kisses your forehead. But then the kiss grows so + cold that you shrink away, only you cannot, and it presses you + harder and harder, and you wake up and it is the stone. It is the + sinking stone that is pressing you, pressing you, pressing you to + death--and you cannot move. And you shriek and shriek for help + within your gagged mouth, and no one comes, and always the stone is + pressing you, pressing you, pressing you_----" + +Clare caught the exercise-book from Alwynne's hand and thrust it into +the heart of the half-dead fire. It lay unlighted, charring and +smouldering. The unformed handwriting stood out very clearly. Clare +caught at a matchbox, and tore it open; the matches showered out over +her hand on to the rug and grate. She struck one after another, breaking +them before they could light. Silently Alwynne took the box from her +shaking fingers, lit a match and held it to the twisting papers. A thin +little flame flickered up, overran them eagerly, wavered a second, and +died with a faint whistling sigh. + +"Do you hear that? Did you see that?" Clare knelt upright on the hearth. +She held up her forefinger. "Listen! Like a voice! Like a child's voice! +A child sighing! Light the candles--light all the candles! I want light +everywhere. No room for any shadow." + +But as Alwynne moved obediently, she caught at her hand. + +"Alwynne! Stay with me! Don't go into another room. Alwynne, I'm +frightened of my thoughts." + +Alwynne put her hand shyly on her shoulders, talking at random. + +"Clare, dear, do get up. Come on to the sofa. You mustn't kneel there. +You'll strain yourself. I always get tired kneeling in church. It makes +one's heart ache." + +Clare would not move. + +"Don't you think my heart aches?" she said. "Don't you think it aches +all day? You're young--you're cold--you can sit there reading, +reading--with a ghost at your shoulder----" + +An undecipherable expression flashed across Alwynne's face. It came but +to go--and Clare, absorbed in her own passion, saw nothing. + +"It's Louise!" she cried, between sincerity and histrionics. "Calling to +some one. Calling from her grave. They call it an accident, like fools. +Oh, can't you hear? She died because she was forced. She's +complaining--plaining--plaining----I tell you it's nothing to do with +me. It wasn't my fault!" + +She flung her arms about Alwynne's waist and clutched her convulsively. +She was sincere enough at last. + +"Alwynne! Alwynne! Say it was not my fault." + +Alwynne sank to her knees beside her and held her close. They clung to +each other like scared children. But Clare's abandonment awoke all +Alwynne's protective instincts. She crushed down whatever emotions had +hollowed her eyes and whitened her cheeks in the last long weeks, and +addressed herself to quieting Clare. Clare, stepped off her pedestal, +unpoised, clinging helplessly, was a new experience. In the face of it +she felt herself childish, inadequate. But Clare was in trouble and +needed her. The very marvel of it steadied. All her love for Clare rose +within her, overflowed her, like a warm tide. + +By sheer strength she pulled Clare into a chair and dropped on to the +floor beside her, face upturned, talking fast and eagerly. + +"You're not to talk like that. Of course it's not your fault. If +anything could be your fault. Clare, darling, don't look like that. You +must lean back and rest. You're just tired, you know. We've talked of it +so often. You know it was an accident. Why can't you believe it, if +every one else does?" + +"Do you?" said Clare intently. + +Alwynne's eyes met hers defiantly. + +"I do. Of course I do. It's wicked to torment yourself. But if I +didn't--if the poor baby was overtired and overworked--is it your fault? +You only saw her in class at the last. You couldn't help it if the +exams, and the play were suddenly too much--if something snapped----" + +"You see, you do think so," said Clare bitterly. "I've always known you +did. Well--think what you like--what do I care?" She put up her clenched +hands and rubbed and kneaded at her dry aching eyes. + +Alwynne watched her, desperately. Here was her lady wanting comfort, and +she had found none. She wracked her brains as the sluggish minutes +passed. + +Clare's hands dropped at last. She met Alwynne's anxious gaze and +laughed harshly. + +"Well? The verdict? That I was a brute to Louise, I suppose?" + +Alwynne looked at her wistfully. + +"Clare, I do love you so." + +Clare stiffened. + +"Then I warn you--stop! I'm not good for you. I hurt people who love me. +You always pestered me about hurting Louise. You needn't protest. You +always did. And now you lay her death at my door. I see it in your face. +Can't I read you like a book? Can't I? Can't I?" Her face was distorted +by the conflict within her. + +Alwynne's simplicity was convinced. Here, she felt, was tragedy. Awe and +pity tore at her sense of reality. Love loosened her tongue. Her words +rushed forth in a torrent of incoherent argument. She was so eager that +her fallacies had power to convince herself, much more Clare. + +"Clare, I won't have it. You don't know what you say. What is this mad +idea you've got? What would poor Louise think if she heard? Why, she +adored you. And you were kind--always kind--only when you thought it +better for her, you were strict. It's folly to torment yourself. If you +do--what about me?" + +"You?" Clare's eyes glinted suddenly. + +"Me! If you are to blame, how much more I? Oh, don't you see?" Alwynne's +face grew rapt. Here was inspiration; her path grew suddenly clear. +"Clare, don't you see? If she did--" she paused imperceptibly--"I ought +to have seen what was coming. I knew her so much better than you." + +Clare repressed a denial. + +"Oh, darling--you mustn't worry. It's my responsibility. Try and +think--at the play, for instance. Did you think her manner strained? No, +of course you didn't. But I did. I thought at the time it had all been +too much for her. I did notice--I did! I thought--that child will get +brain-fever if we're not careful----I meant to speak to Elsbeth. I +meant to speak to you. Oh, I'd noticed before. Only I was busy, and +lazy, and put it off. She was unhappy at failing--I knew. I wanted to +tell you that I know how much it meant to her--and I didn't. I was +afraid----" She broke off abruptly; her eloquence ended as suddenly as +it had begun. + +But she had succeeded in her desire. Clare was recovering poise; would +soon have herself all the more rigidly in control for her recent +collapse. She stiffened as she spoke. + +"Afraid of whom?" + +"I mean I was afraid all along of what might happen," Alwynne concluded +lamely. "You see, it was my fault?" There was an odd half-query in her +voice. + +"If you noticed so much and never tried to warn me, you are certainly to +blame." Clare's voice was full of reluctant conviction. "I can't +remember that you tried very hard." + +"Oh, Clare!" began Alwynne. Their eyes met. Clare's face was hard and +impassive--all trace of emotion gone. Her eyes challenged. Alwynne's +lids dropped as she finished her sentence. "That is--no, I didn't try +very hard." + +"And why not?" + +Inconceivably an answer suggested itself to Alwynne, an unutterable +iconoclasm. Her mind edged away from it horrified and in an instant it +was not. But it had been. + +"I don't know," she stammered. + +"You realised the responsibility you incurred?" Clare went on. + +"I didn't. No, never!" Alwynne supplicated her. + +"You do now?" + +"Oh, yes," she said despairingly. She rejoiced that Clare could believe +and be comforted, but it hurt her that she believed so easily. It +alarmed her, too, made her, knowing her own motives, yet doubt herself. +She felt trapped. + +"I'm sorry you told me," said Clare abruptly. + +They sat a moment in silence. A ray from the dying sun illuminated their +faces. In Alwynne an innocent air of triumph fought with distress, and a +growing uneasiness. Clare was expressionless. + +Clare put up her hand to shelter herself, and her face was scarcely +visible as she went on. She spoke softly. + +"My dear, I can't say I'm not relieved. I feel exonerated--completely. +Yet I wish you hadn't told me. I'd have rather thought it my fault than +known it----" + +"Mine," said Alwynne huskily. + +Clare bent towards her, tender, gracious, yet subtly aloof; confessor, +not friend. + +"Oh, Alwynne! Why will you always be so sure of yourself? Why not have +come to me for advice as you used to? What are we elder folk for? I love +your impetuosity--your self-reliance--and I believe, I shall always +believe, that you wanted to spare me trouble and worry. I know you. But +you're not all enough, Alwynne, to decide everything for yourself. You +won't believe it, I suppose--oh, I was just the same. But doesn't all +this dreadful business show you? A few words--and Louise might have been +with us now. Of course you acted for the best, but----There, my dear, +there, there----" for her beautiful, pitiful voice had played too +exquisitely on Alwynne's nerves, and the girl was sobbing helplessly. + +And Clare was very kind to Alwynne, and let her cry in peace. And when +she was tired of watching her, she braced her with deft praises of +courage and self-control. Self-control appealed very strongly to Clare, +Alwynne knew. While she dried her eyes, Clare whispered to her that the +past was past and that one couldn't repair one's mistakes by dwelling +on them. Let devotion to the living blot out a debt to the dead. She +must try and forget. Clare would help her. Clare would try to forget +too. They would never speak of it again. Never by word or look would +Clare refer to it. It should be blotted out and forgotten. + +And after a discreet interval, when there was no chance of big, +irrepressible tears dropping into the gravy, or salting the butter, +Clare thought she would like her supper. + +She made quite a hearty meal, and Alwynne crumbled bread and drank +thirstily, and watched her with humble, adoring eyes. + +Clare, in soft undertones, was delicately amusing, full of dainty quips +that coaxed Alwynne gently back to smiles and naturalness. She spared no +pains, and sent Alwynne home at last, with, metaphorically speaking, her +blessing. + +But Alwynne stooped as she walked, as though she carried a burden. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +The summer holidays came and went, eight cloudless weeks of them. Clare +loved the sun; was well content to be out, day after day, cushioned and +replete, on the sunniest strip of sand in the sunniest corner of a +parched and gasping England. She found it wonderfully soothing to listen +with shut eyes to the purr of the sea and the distant cries of gulls and +children, with Alwynne to fan her and shade her, and clamber up and down +two hundred feet of red cliff for her when the corkscrew was forgotten, +or the salt, or Clare's bathing-dress, or a half-read magazine. Clare +grew brown and plump as the drowsy days went by. Alwynne grew brown, +too, but she certainly did not grow plumper. But then the heat never +suited Alwynne. She had often said so, as she reminded Elsbeth. For, +when Alwynne came back to her for the three weeks at home that she had +persuaded Clare were due to Elsbeth, Elsbeth was difficult to satisfy. +Elsbeth was inclined to be indignant. What sort of a holiday had it +been, if Alwynne could come back so thin, and tired, and colourless +under her tan? What had Miss Hartill been about to allow it? + +But Alwynne's account of their pleasant lazy days was certainly +appeasing.... It must have been the heat.... Not even the most +suspicious of aunts could conscientiously suspect Clare of having +anything to do with it.... Wait till September came, with its cooling +skies.... Alwynne would be better then. + +In the meantime Elsbeth tried what care and cookery and coddling could +do, and Alwynne submitted more patiently than usual. + +Alwynne, indeed, was unusually gentle with Elsbeth in the three weeks +they spent together before the autumn term began. She was always good to +Elsbeth, considerate of her bodily comforts, lovingly demonstrative. But +Clare had taught Alwynne very carefully that she was growing up at last, +becoming financially and morally independent, free to lead her own life, +that if she stayed with Elsbeth it was by favour, not by duty. And +Alwynne, immensely flattered by the picture of herself as a woman of the +world, had lived up to it with her usual drastic enthusiasm. Elsbeth, +not unused to disillusionment and hopes deferred, could sigh and smile +and acquiesce, knowing it for the phase that it was and forgiving +Alwynne in advance. But Clare, who owed her neither gratitude nor duty, +she never forgave. She was a very human woman, for all her saintliness. + +She got her reward that summer, when Alwynne came back, quieted, grave, +very tender with Elsbeth, clinging to her sometimes as if she were +nearer nine than nineteen. But Elsbeth was fated never to have her +happiness untainted. She was haunted by the conviction that Alwynne's +subduement was not natural. Her pleasure in being with her aunt was so +obvious that Elsbeth was worried, and knowing how infallibly Alwynne +turned to her in any trouble, she expected revelations. But none +came--only the manner was there that always accompanied them. Yet +something was wrong.... A quarrel with Clare Hartill. + +But Alwynne, delicately questioned, chattered happily enough of their +holiday, and there were frequent letters----She was over-anxious, too, +to protest that she was perfectly well, and, in proof, exhausted herself +in unnecessary housework. But she continued restless and abstracted, +jumped absurdly at any sudden noise, and followed Elsbeth about like a +homeless dog. + +And she had contracted an odd habit of coming late at night into +Elsbeth's room, trailing blankets and a pillow under her arm, to beg to +sleep on Elsbeth's sofa--just this once! She would laugh at herself and +pull Elsbeth's face down to her for a kiss, but she never gave any good +reason for her whim. But she came so often that Elsbeth had a bed made +up for her at last, and she slept there all the holidays, or lay awake. +Elsbeth suspected that she lay awake two nights out of three. + +With the autumn term Alwynne seemed to rouse herself, and flung herself +into her work with her usual energy. Elsbeth saw less of her. The school +claimed all her days, and Clare the bulk of her evenings. She had moved +back into her own room again, and Elsbeth, her door ajar, would lie and +watch the crack of light across the passage, and grieve over her +darling's sleeplessness, and the shocking waste of electric light. + +She wondered if the girl were working too hard.... Could that be at the +root of the matter? She grew so anxious that she could even consult +Clare on one of the latter's rare and formal calls. + +"I am so glad to see you. Alwynne is changing; she'll be down in a +minute. I made her lie down. Miss Hartill, I'm very distressed about the +child. Do you think she looks well?" + +Clare, less staccato than usual, certainly didn't think so. + +"So thin--she's growing so dreadfully thin! Her neck! You should see her +neck--salt-cellars, literally! And she had such a beautiful neck! But +you've never seen her in evening dress." + +Yes, Clare had seen her. + +"And so white and listless! I don't know what to make of her. I don't +know what to do." + +Clare, with unusual gentleness, would not advise Elsbeth to worry +herself. Possibly Alwynne was doing a little too much. Clare would make +enquiries. But she was sure that Elsbeth was over-anxious. + +But Elsbeth was not to be comforted. She nodded to the open door. + +"Look at her now--dragging across the hall." + +But Alwynne, in her gay frock, cheeks, at sight of Clare, suddenly +aflame, did not look as if there were much amiss. She was thinner, of +course.... + +Elsbeth, however, had made Clare uneasy. She attacked Alwynne on the +following day. + +"Your aunt says you're dying, Alwynne. What's the matter?" + +"Dear old Elsbeth!" Alwynne laughed lightly. + +"_Is_ anything wrong?" Clare did not appear to look at her; nevertheless +she did not miss the slight change in Alwynne's face, as she answered +with careful cheeriness-- + +"What should be wrong in this best of all possible----" + +Clare caught her up. + +"I'm not a fool, Alwynne. What's the matter?" + +"I wish you wouldn't discuss me with Elsbeth," said Alwynne uneasily. "I +don't like it. I won't have you bothered." + +"I'm not," said Clare coolly. "At the same time----" + +Alwynne braced herself. She knew the tone. + +"--I don't like any one about me with a secret grief and a pale, +courageous smile. I can't stand a martyr." + +"I'm not!" Alwynne was wincing. Then, suddenly: "What has Elsbeth been +saying? Honestly, I didn't know she'd noticed anything." + +"What is the matter?" said Clare again, gently enough. "Tell me, silly +child!" + +Alwynne shrugged her shoulders. + +"Nothing! Just life!" + +Clare waited. + +"I'm sorry if I've been horrid--" she paused--"to Elsbeth." + +Clare opened her eyes. + +"What about me?" + +"I'm never horrid to you," said Alwynne with compunction. "That's what's +so beastly of me." + +"Well, upon my word!" cried Clare blankly. + +"Oh, you know what I mean." Alwynne jumbled her words. "I always want to +be nice to you. It's perfectly easy. And then I go home to Elsbeth, the +darling, and am grumpy and snappy, and show her all the hateful side of +me. Heaven knows why! Only yesterday she said, 'You wouldn't speak to +Clare Hartill like that,' in her dear, hurt voice. I felt such a brute." + +A little smile hovered at the corners of Clare's mouth. + +"I was always so sorry," said Clare smoothly, "that you couldn't spend +Christmas Day with me last year." + +Alwynne wrinkled her forehead. + +"What's that got to do----?" + +Clare caught her up. + +"With your secret griefs? Nothing whatever! You're quite right. But what +are they, Alwynne? Who's been worrying you? Have you got too much to +do?" + +"It's not that," said Alwynne unwillingly. + +"Then what?" + +"Oh, things!" + +"What things?" + +"Miss Vigers, for one," Alwynne began. Then she burst out: "Clare, I +don't know what I've done to her. She never leaves me alone." + +Clare stiffened. + +"Miss Vigers? What has she to say to you? You're responsible to +me--after Miss Marsham." + +"She doesn't seem to think so. It's nag, nag, nag--fuss, fuss, fuss. Are +the girls working properly? Am I not neglecting this? Or overdoing that? +Do I remember that Dolly Brown had measles three terms ago? Why is +Winifred Hawkins allowed to sit with the light in her eyes? Do I make a +habit of keeping So-and-so in? and if so, why so? And Miss Marsham +doesn't approve of this, and Miss Marsham evidently doesn't know of +that--and my manner is excessively independent--and will I kindly +remember...? Oh, Clare, it's simply awful. I get no peace. And you know +how driven I am, with Miss Hutchins away. You'd think I'd done something +awful from the way she treats me. Everlastingly spying and hinting----" + +"Hinting what?" Clare's voice was icy. + +"That's what I can't make out. That's the maddening part of it. Do you +think I'm such a failure? Do you think I'm not to be trusted? I get on +with the children--they work well! Truly, Clare, I don't know why she +dislikes me so. You'd think she was trying to worry me into leaving." + +"You should have told me before," said Clare curtly, and changed the +subject so abruptly that Alwynne feared she was angry, and wished that +she had held her tongue. + +She was right. Clare was angry. Clare had conveniently forgotten her +little conversation with Henrietta on that panic-stricken summer day: +was naturally surprised and indignant to find it bearing the fruit she +had intended it to bear. This was what came of confiding in people! And +Henrietta, she had no doubt, would be prepared to give chapter and verse +for her surveillance, if Clare should, directly or indirectly, call it +in question.... Henrietta would appear to have Clare in a cleft stick: +and Alwynne was to suffer in consequence. Clare (a great deal fonder +of Alwynne than she, or Alwynne, or any one save Elsbeth, guessed) +laughed to herself, once, softly, and her eyes snapped. Wait a while, +Henrietta ... wait a wee while! + +Thoughtfully she approached the question of the counter-attack. That was +inevitable, a sop to her own conscience. Besides, it would be +amusing.... It was necessary, however, to decide upon the weapon. + +It was a small matter--the refusal of a boarder for lack of space--that +provided it. Quietly, she went to work. + +For the first time, for her own departments had allowed her energy its +outlet, she set herself to disentangle the lines on which the school was +run. She found many knots. Half day, half boarding school, grown from a +timid beginning into one of the most flourishing of its kind, it was, +indeed, like the five hundred-year-old town in which it stood, a +marvellous compound of ancient custom and modern usage. The "Seminary +for Young Ladies" of the 'seventies was three parts obliterated by the +'nineties High School regimen, on which, in its turn, was superimposed +the cricket and hockey of the twentieth century's effemination of the +public-school system; the whole swollen, patchwork concern held together +by the personality of its creator, and its own reputation. + +Clare nodded. It was obvious to her, that with the retirement of Miss +Marsham, accomplished already in all save name, the school would fall to +pieces. A pity ... it had a fine past ... was a valuable property +still.... With a vigorous woman at its head, judiciously iconoclastic, +no stickler for tradition, it would revive its youth.... She herself, +for instance.... She toyed with the idea. + +Miss Marsham was looking out for a successor.... She herself had been +sounded.... Should she? She shook her head. Life was very pleasant as it +was.... She knew that she hated responsibility as much as she liked +power.... She sat on the school's shoulders, at present.... As head +mistress the school would sit on hers.... No, thank you! She had better +uses for her spare time.... There were books ... idleness ... +Alwynne.... Imagine never having time to play with Alwynne! + +Nevertheless it would be fascinating to plan out the reorganisation of +the school ... and carry it out, for that matter. She could do it, she +knew. She would get all pat and then have some talks--some suggestive +talks--with Miss Marsham.... She, Clare, had some little influence.... +And there was life in the old warhorse yet.... Anything that she could +be persuaded to believe would benefit her school would have her instant +sanction.... She would be nominally responsible, of course, and would +give Clare, nevertheless, a free hand.... And Clare, sweeping clean, +would sweep away whatever withstood her.... Henrietta would have little +energy left for Alwynne when Clare had finished her spring-cleaning.... + +For the next few weeks, Clare spent nearly all her spare time at the +school. She would stay to supper, and even, on occasion, superintend +"lights out." She would ask artless questions, and the matron and the +young mistresses found her "so sympathetic when you really got her to +yourself. So sensible, you know--always sees what you mean." + +Finally, Clare shut herself up for a Saturday and a Sunday with a neat +little note-book, and drew up plans and made some calculations. Then she +went to see Miss Marsham. She went to see Miss Marsham several times. + +The plan was certainly an excellent one.... Miss Marsham could not +follow the details very well ... but that, of course, would be dear +Clare's affair.... A great saving ... an immense improvement.... There +would be changes, of course.... This idea of separate houses, for +instance.... It would mean taking extra premises--but Clare was quite +right, they were overcrowded--had had to turn away girls.... She quite +agreed with Clare ... she had always preferred boarders herself; one had +a freer hand.... With a mistress responsible for each house, though, +what would there be left for Miss Vigers to do?... Yes--she might take +over a house, of course.... But Miss Marsham paused uneasily. She +anticipated trouble with Henrietta. + +She was justified. Henrietta refused utterly to discuss the suggested +alterations. Miss Marsham must excuse her; she had her position.... One +house? after controlling the entire school's economy? She did not +suggest that Miss Marsham could be serious--that was impossible.... Miss +Marsham was serious? Then there was no more to be said.... + +She said a good deal, however, and at considerable length; ended, +breathless, waspish, leaving her resignation in her principal's hands. +Neither she nor Miss Marsham dreamed that it would be accepted. + +But Clare Hartill, consulted by Miss Marsham, was puzzlingly relieved. +Very delicately she congratulated her chief on being extricated from a +difficult position; praised Miss Vigers's tact--or her sense of fitness. +Unusual good sense.... People so seldom realised their limitations, +unprompted ... poor Miss Vigers was certainly no longer young ... hardly +the woman for a modern house-mistress-ship.... Old fashioned ... in +these days of degrees and college-training so much more was expected ... +and after that affair in the summer no doubt she had lost confidence in +herself.... Clare was sure that Miss Vigers had appreciated Miss +Marsham's forbearance, but of course, she must know, in her own heart, +that if she had taken proper precautions--it was her business to arrange +for a mistress to be on duty, wasn't it?--the accident could not have +happened. Poor little Louise! Oh, and of course, poor Miss Vigers +too!... Well, it was for the best, she supposed ... and Miss Vigers +seemed to feel that it was time for her to go.... Perhaps it was.... But +they would all be sorry to lose her.... Clare really thought that she +would like to get up a presentation from the school.... Now what did +Miss Marsham consider appropriate? + +So Henrietta found herself taken at her word. She left, passionately +resentful, at the half-term; hoping, at least, to embarrass her employer +thereby. (But Clare Hartill knew of such a nice suitable +woman--Newnham.) + +Henrietta Vigers was forty-seven when she left. She had spent youth and +prime at the school, and had nothing more to sell. She had neither +certificates nor recommendations behind her. She was hampered by her +aggressive gentility. Out of a £50 salary she had scraped together £500. +Invested daringly it yielded her £25 a year. She had no friends outside +the school. She left none within it. + +Miss Marsham presented her with a gold watch, decorously inscribed; the +school with a handsomely bound edition of Shakespeare. + +Heaven knows what became of her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Said Clare to Elsbeth at their next meeting-- + +"I found out what the trouble was. Henrietta Vigers has been +slave-driving her. I should have guessed before, but you know that sort +of thing can go on in a school unnoticed." + +"Oh, yes," said Elsbeth. + +Clare shot a suspicious glance at her, but Elsbeth's face was impassive. + +"But she'll be all right now. Miss Vigers is leaving us at half-term." + +"So I hear." + +Their eyes met. Clare flushed faintly. + +"I couldn't have Alwynne bullied." + +"I know exactly how you feel," said Elsbeth quietly. Then, with a direct +glance, "Has Miss Vigers got another post?" + +"I haven't enquired." + +"You're a bad enemy," Elsbeth's tone was quaintly reflective, almost +admiring. + +"But a good friend, I hope?" Clare laughed. + +"I hope so," said Elsbeth doubtfully, and Clare laughed again. It amused +her to cross swords with Elsbeth. At times she felt, that had it not +been for Alwynne--that bone of contention she could have liked her. + +"You can't be one without the other," she instructed her. "I don't +pretend to be a saint. And you'll see how much better Alwynne will be +next term." + +But the spring term came, and Alwynne was no better. She flagged like a +transplanted tree. She went about her business as usual, but even +Clare, not too willing to acknowledge what interfered with her scheme of +things, realised that her efficiency was laborious, that her high +spirits were forced, her comicalities not spontaneous, that she was in +fact, not herself, but merely an elaborate imitation. + +But where Elsbeth grew anxious Clare grew irritated. She spied a +mystery. Some obscure, yet powerful instinct prevented her from probing +it, but she was none the less piqued at being left in the dark. It +annoyed her too, that Alwynne should be obviously and daily losing her +health and good looks. Clare required above all vitality in her +associates. It had been, in her eyes, one of Alwynne's most attractive +characteristics. This changing Alwynne, whitened, quieted, submissive, +the sparkle gone from her eyes and the snap from her tongue, was less to +her taste. Alwynne, very conscious of her shortcomings and of Clare's +irritation at them, grew daily more nervously propitiatory--ever a fatal +attitude to Clare. It roused the petty tyrant in her. There were +jarrings, misunderstandings, exhausting scenes and more exhausting +reconciliations. Yet the two were always together. Clare, viciously +adroit as she grew in those days in piercing the armour of Alwynne's +peace, exacted nevertheless her incessant service. And never had Alwynne +so strained every nerve to please her. + +Elsbeth, guessing at the situation, could give thanks when influenza, +sweeping over the school, claimed Alwynne as its earliest victim. Her +turn had come. She nursed Alwynne through the attack, prolonged her +convalescence, excluded all enquirers, censored messages and letters. +When Alwynne grew better, and talked, restless yet unwilling, of fixing +the date of her return, Elsbeth, lips firmly set, went out one afternoon +to pay a call upon Miss Marsham, and returning, sat down to write a +letter. She busied herself for the rest of that day and all the next +over Alwynne's wardrobe, mending and pressing and freshening. + +Alwynne protested. + +"Elsbeth dear, do leave my things alone. I'll mend them some +time--honestly. They're all right. I wish you wouldn't fuss." + +But Elsbeth fussed placidly on. + +In the evening came letters for them both. Alwynne read hers hurriedly. + +"Elsbeth, it's from Clare! She wants to know why I'm not coming back. +What does she mean? Of course I'm coming back. Mademoiselle Charette is +already, and she was ill after I was!" + +Elsbeth sniffed. + +"She was only in bed two days--Miss Marsham said so. You're not going +back this term, Alwynne. I've seen Miss Marsham myself. I told her what +the doctor said. I've arranged things. She agrees with me--you're not +fit to. It's only a month to end of term. They can manage. You've simply +got to have a change. So I wrote to Dene--to the Lumsdens, and Alicia's +answer has just come. They're delighted to have you. I knew they would +be, of course. They have asked us so often. Such a lovely place. Now, my +dear, be a sensible child and don't argue, because I've made up my mind. +It'll do you good to get away." + +For in Alwynne's face astonishment had been succeeded by indignation. +Elsbeth prepared herself resignedly to face a storm of protest, +if not a blank refusal. To be arranged for as if she were a +child--unconsulted--Clare--the school--the coaching--leaving Elsbeth +alone--Dene--utter strangers--perfectly well--simply ridiculous. Elsbeth +saw it all coming. + +"My dear Elsbeth! What a preposterous----" began Alwynne. Then the +weakness of convalescence swamped her. She sank back in her chair. + +"Perhaps it will," said Alwynne wearily. "All right, Elsbeth! I'll go if +you want me to. Anyway, I don't much care." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +A week later Alwynne was sitting in a diminutive go-cart drawn by a +large pony, and driven by a large lady with a wide smile and bulgy +knees, with which, as the little cart jolted over the stony road, she +unconsciously nudged Alwynne, imparting an air of sly familiarity to her +pleasant, formal talk. This, Alwynne supposed, was Alicia. She liked +her, liked her fat kind face, her comfortable rotundity, and her sweet +voice. She liked her cool disregard of her own comical appearance, +wedged in among portmanteaux and Alwynne and a basket of market produce, +with an old sun-hat tied bonnet-fashion to shade her eyes, and her scarf +ends fluttering madly, as she thwacked and tugged at the iron-mouthed +pony. + +She was more than middle-aged, a woman of flopping draperies and +haphazard hookings, and scatter-brained grey locks, that had been a +fringe in the days of fringes. She moved, as Alwynne noticed later, like +a hurried cow, and tripped continually over her long skirts. Yet, in +spite of her ramshackle exterior, she was not ridiculous. The good-men +and stray children they encountered greeted her with obvious respect. +Alwynne, comparing the keen eyes and their cheerful crowsfeet, with the +chin, firm enough in its cushion of fat, guessed her the ruling spirit +of the Dene household, and wondered why she had not married a vicar. + +But Alicia, though Alwynne listened politely to her flow of talk, and +answered prettily when she must, did not long occupy her attention. + +She was in her own country again. She loved the country--woods, fields, +hedges and lanes--as she loved no city or sea-town of them all. London, +Paris, Rome--Swiss mountains or Italian lakes--she would have given +them all for Kent and Hampshire and the Sussex Weald. But Clare would +never hear of a country holiday. Alwynne took deep breaths of the clean, +kindly air, and wondered to herself that she had taken the proposal of +her holiday so dully. She had not realised that she was going into the +country--she had not realised anything, except that she was tired, and +that Elsbeth would not leave her alone. She had shrunk painfully from +the idea of meeting strangers, from the exertion of accommodating +herself to them. But this good air made one feel alive again.... + +She stared over the pony's ears at the gay spring landscape. + +"Those are the Dene fields," said Alicia, following her glance. "There +are two Denes, you know--Dene Village and Dene Fields. There's a couple +of miles between them. We are in the hollow, where the road dips, at the +foot of Witch Hill." + +"Witch Hill?" + +Alicia flourished her whip at the sky-line. The fields were spread over +the hillside in sections of chocolate and magenta and silver-green, with +here and again a parti-coloured patch, where oats and dandelions, +pimpernel and sky-blue flax choked and strangled on an ash-heap. From +the slopes Witch Hill lifted a brow of blank white chalk, crowned and +draped in woodland, lying against pillows of cloud, for all the world +like a hag abed, knees hunched, and patchwork quilt drawn up to ragged +eyebrows. Round her neck the road wound like a silver riband; looped, +dipped, disappeared, for two unfenced miles--to flash into view but a +parrot's flight away, and swerve, with a steep little rush, round a +house with French windows thatched in yellow jessamine. + +Alwynne's eyes lit up. + +"What a good name! Who was she before she was turned into that?" She +stopped, flushing. Alicia would think her stupid. + +Alicia laughed pleasantly. + +"Do you like fairy tales? You've come to the right place--the +country-side's full of them. There's a fairy fort--Roman I suppose, +really, and a haunted barn out beyond Dene Compton, besides Witch Hill +and the Witch Wood just behind our house. There's a story, of course. I +don't know it--you must ask Roger. He's always picking up stories." + +"Roger?" + +"My nephew, Roger Lumsden. Hasn't Elsbeth----?" + +"Oh yes, of course." + +"He's away just now. Look, now you can see the house properly." + +"Behind the hill?" Alwynne had caught sight of a group of buildings +crowning a secondary slope. + +"No, no--that's the school, Dene Compton." + +"A school?" Alwynne screwed up her eyes to look at it. "What a big +place! Girls or boys?" + +"Both." + +"Oh! A board school!" Alwynne's interest flagged. + +"Scarcely!" Alicia laughed. "Haven't you heard of Dene Compton? And you +a school-mistress!" + +Alwynne was politely blank. + +"The thin end of the co-educational wedge. It's unique--or was, till a +few years ago. There are several now, dotted about England. You ladies' +seminaries should be trembling in your shoes." + +"Boys and girls! What a mad idea! Yes, I believe Clare--I believe I did +hear something about it. It's all cranks and simple lifers and +socialists though, isn't it?" + +"You'd better come up one day and see. I'll take you." + +"Why, do you know them?" + +"I teach there." + +"You? Oh--I beg your pardon," cried Alwynne strickenly. + +Alicia laughed. + +"I'm accustomed to it. Jean will be delighted with an ally. She +pretends to disapprove. But Roger and I are generally too much for her." + +"Is he a master, then?" + +"Good gracious, no! But he has a lot of friends at the school. He ought +to be interested--it's his land, you know. His people lived there for +generations--the Lumsdens of Dene Compton. The head master has the old +house, but the school itself is new--all those buildings you see. No, +not those--" Alwynne's eyes were caught by a glitter of glass +roofs--"those are Roger's houses. He's a gardener, you know. He lives +for his bulbs and his manures." + +The tiny cart rocked as the pony bucketed down the dip of the road and +whirled it through the gates and up the short drive. Alwynne clutched +the inadequate rail. + +"He will do it," said Alicia resignedly. "He wants his tea. There's +Jean. Mind the door." + +She pulled up the rocketing pony as the ridiculous little door burst +open and Alwynne and her baggage were precipitated on to the gravel. + +A little woman ran out from the porch. + +"Are you hurt? It always does that. I'm always asking Alicia to tell +Bryce to take it to be seen to. Alicia--I shall speak to Roger if you +don't. My dear, I hope you haven't hurt yourself. That pretty frock--but +it will all brush off. And how is Elsbeth, and why didn't you bring her +with you? Come in at once and have some tea. Alicia has driven round to +the stables. It's Bryce's afternoon off." + +Jean was a prim little red-haired woman, some years younger than Alicia, +with brisk ways, and a clacking tongue. She had Alwynne in a chair, had +given her tea, deplored her white looks, suggested three infallible +remedies, recounted their effect on her own constitution and Alicia's +and her nephew's, and, digressing easily, was beginning a detailed +history of Roger's health since, at the age of five or thereabouts, he +had come under her care, before Alwynne had had time to realise more +than that the room was very cheerful, Jean very talkative, and she +herself very, very tired. She could not help being relieved when Alicia +returned. Jean, with her neat dress and knowledgeable ways and little +air of apologising for her slap-dash elder, should, by all the rules, +have been the more reliable of the cousins. Yet Alwynne turned +instinctively to Alicia; and Alicia, spread upon a chair, fanning +herself cyclonically with her enormous hat, did not fail her. + +"Jean! The child's as white as a sheet. You can ask about Elsbeth +to-morrow, and Roger will keep. Take her up to her room, leave her to +unpack and lie down in peace and quiet, and come back and give me my +tea. Supper's at seven, Alwynne. Take my advice and have a good rest. +There are plenty of books--oh, yes, I know all about your likes and +dislikes. Elsbeth's a talker too--on paper! Jean--if you're not down in +five minutes, I'll come and fetch you." + +Alwynne, half an hour later, curled comfortably upon a sofa, in front of +a blazing fire, with a lazy hour before her and a Copperfield upon her +knee, thought that Alicia was a perfect dear. And Jean? Jean, pulling +out the sofa, poking the fire, pattering about her like a too +intelligent terrier--Jean was a dear too.... They were a couple of +comical dears. + +And "The Dears" was Alwynne's name for them from that day on. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Alwynne settled down with an ease that surprised herself. Much as she +loved the country, a country life would have bored her to death, Clare +had often assured her, as a permanent state; but for a few weeks it was +certainly delightful. She enjoyed pottering about the garden with Jean, +and jogging into the village on her own account behind the obstinate +pony, who, approving her taste in apples, allowed her to believe that +she more or less regulated his direction and pace. She enjoyed the +complicated smells of the village store, half post office, half +emporium, and the taste of its gargantuan bulls'-eyes. She sent, in the +first enthusiasm of discovery, a tinful heaped about with early +primroses to Clare; but Clare was not impressed. + +Clare disapproved strongly of Alwynne's holiday, needed her too much to +allow it necessary. Her first letters were a curious mixture--half +fretfulness over Alwynne's absence, half assurance of how perfectly well +she, Clare, got on without her. Alwynne would have been exquisitely +amazed could she have known how eagerly Clare awaited her bi-weekly +budget. Alwynne was afraid her letters were dull enough. She apologised +constantly-- + + _Of course, Clare, this will seem very small beer to you--but + little things are important down here. It's all so quiet, you see. + I've been perfectly happy this morning because I found a patch of + white violets in a clearing, and Jean and Alicia were just as + excited when I told them at lunch: and we went off with a + tea-basket afterwards, and dug violet roots for an hour, or more, + and then spread our mackintoshes over a felled trunk and made tea. + The ground was sopping, but it was fun. You'd love my cousins. + They're as old as Elsbeth but full of beans, and they've travelled + and are interesting--only they will talk incessantly about this + nephew they've got. It's "Roger" this and "Roger" that--he seems to + rule them with a rod of iron--can't do wrong! He comes back next + week. I rather wonder what he'll be like. The Dears make him out a + paragon; but I'm expecting a prig, myself! There are photographs of + him all over the place. He's quite good-looking._ + +But before Alwynne could tire of the lanes and village, of gardening +with Jean, and hints of how Roger stubbed up roots and handled bulbs, +Alicia had provided her with a new interest. She remembered her promise +one morning and took her up to Dene Compton. + +Alicia gave Italian lessons twice a week, and from her Alwynne had +gleaned many quaint details of the school and its workings. What she +heard interested her, though she was prepared to be merely, if +indulgently, amused. She looked forward to the visit if only to get copy +for a letter to Clare. Clare, too, liked to be amused. + +The gong was clanging for the mid-morning break when Alicia, Alwynne in +her wake, led the way into the main building, and waving her airily +towards a mound of biscuits, bade her help herself and look about her +for a while, because she, Alicia, had got to speak to--She dived into +the crowd. + +Alwynne, thus deserted, stood shyly enough in a roofed corner of the +great brick quadrangle, munching a fair imitation of a dog-biscuit, and +watching the boys and girls who swarmed past her as undisturbed by her +presence as if she were invisible. At the boys she smiled indulgently as +she would have smiled at a string of lively terriers, but of the girls +she was sharply critical. They wore curious, and as she thought hideous, +serge tunics: she jibbed at their utilitarian plaits: but she conceded a +good carriage to most of them and was impressed by a certain pleasant +fearlessness of manner. A couple of men, Alicia, and a bright, emphatic +woman in a nurse's uniform, wandered through the crowd, which made way +courteously enough, but seemed otherwise in no degree embarrassed by +their propinquity. Alwynne had a sudden memory of Clare's triumphal +processions; compared them uneasily with the fashion of these quiet +people. + +She watched a small girl dash panting to the loggia at the opposite side +of the quadrangle, where a slight man in disreputable tennis-shoes, +leaned against a shaft and observed the pleasant tumult. There was a +moment's earnest consultation, and the small girl darted away again and +disappeared down a corridor. The man resumed his former pose--head on +one side, smiling a little. + +Alwynne ventured out of her corner and caught at Alicia as she passed. + +"Cousin Alice! I like all this. I'm glad you brought me. Who's that?" +She nodded towards the man in tennis-shoes. + +"The Head." + +"The head-master?" + +"Why not?" + +"But--but--when Miss Marsham comes in--you can hear a pin drop----Is he +nice?" + +Alicia laughed. + +"I'll introduce you." + +She did. + +"Well," said Alicia with a twinkle as they walked home together later, +"what did you think of him?" + +Alwynne flushed, but she laughed too. + +"Cousin Alice--it was too bad of you. He just said 'How do you do?' and +smiled politely. Then he said nothing at all for five minutes, and then +he clutched at one of the girls and handed me over to her with another +smile--an immensely relieved one--and drifted away. I've never been so +snubbed in my life." + +"You're not the first one. So you didn't like him?" + +"Oh--I liked him," conceded Alwynne grudgingly. + +They walked on in silence for a while. + +"What's that?" Alwynne pointed to a large grey building half way down +the avenue. + +"The girls' house, Hill Dene. They sleep there; and have the needlework +classes, and housewifery, I believe." + +"Do they have everything else with the boys?" + +"Practically." + +"Does it answer?" + +"Why not? Girls with brothers and boys with sisters have an advantage +over the solitary specimens, everybody knows. This is only extending the +principle." + +Alwynne giggled suddenly. + +"You know that girl he dumped me on to--she was showing me round, and we +ran into some boys in the gym. I couldn't make out why, but she jolly +well sent them flying." + +"Out of hours, I expect." + +"But the coolness of it, Cousin Alice! She was a bit of a thing--the +boys were half as high again!" + +"But not prefects." + +"Oh, I see." Alwynne meditated. "Oh, Cousin Alicia, that girl asked +me to go with them next Saturday for a tramp. Over Witch Hill. +She and another girl and some boys. Imagine! they're going by +themselves--without a master or a mistress or anything!" + +"Why not?" + +"We don't. We crocodile. Two and two, and two and two, and two and two. +And I trot along at the side and see that they don't take arms. But of +course, you can't control the day-girls. One of them asked two of the +boarders out for the day one Sunday, at least her mother did, and we met +them after church on the promenade, arm in arm--all three! I tell you, +there was a row. They were locked up in their bedrooms for three days, +and nobody might speak to them for the rest of the term. Miss Marsham +said it was defiance and that they might remember they were ladies." + +"I don't think they want 'ladies' here," said Alicia. "They're quite +content if they produce gentlewomen. Your school must be peculiar." + +"Oh, no," said Alwynne, opening her eyes. "There are dozens of schools +like Utterbridge. I was at two myself when I was young. It's this place +that's peculiar. It's like nothing I've heard of. I want to explore. He +said I could. Yes, I forgot--he did say that--that I was to come up +whenever I liked." + +And for the next week Alwynne spent a good half of her days at Dene +Compton. She clung to Alicia's skirts at the first, afraid of appearing +to intrude. But she soon found that she might go where she would without +arousing curiosity or even notice, though boys and girls alike were +friendly enough when she spoke to them. Accustomed to her mistress-ship, +she was half-piqued, half-amused to find herself so entirely +unimportant. + +But the great school fascinated her. It was scarce a third larger than +her own in point of numbers, but the perfection of its proportions made +it impressive. The arrangements for the children's physical well-being +reflected the methods employed for their spiritual development. There +was an insistence on sunlight and fresh air and space--above all, space. +There was no calculation of the legal minimum of cubic feet: body and +mind alike were given room in which to turn, to stretch themselves, to +grow. + +Gradually she realised that she had been living for years in a rabbit +warren. + +With her discoveries she filled many sheets of notepaper. But Clare's +letters were nicely calculated to divert enthusiasm. Their tone was +changing; they allowed Alwynne to guess herself missed. There was in +them a hint of appeal: a suggestion of lonely evenings----Never a word +of Alwynne's doings. Yet, by implication, description of her new friends +and their outlook was dismissed as unnecessary. Clare, Alwynne was to +realise, would smile pleasantly as she read, and think it all rather +silly. + +Elsbeth--_so pleased that they are so kind to you at Alicia's +school_--was more genuinely uninterested. Dene Compton had been the home +of a certain John Lumsden for Elsbeth. She did not care for descriptions +of its metamorphosis. She wanted to hear about Dene, and her cousins, +and how Alwynne was eating and sleeping, and if Roger Lumsden had come +back yet. She asked twice if Roger Lumsden had come back yet. But +Alwynne had an annoying habit of leaving her questions unanswered +through eight closely written sheets. It was not only Clare who was very +tired of co-education and Dene Compton. + +But Elsbeth got her news at last, and was satisfied with it as +Macchiavellis usually are, whose plots are being developed by +unconscious and self-willed instruments. Alwynne, who in her spare time +had discovered what spring in the country could mean, tucked in the news +at the end of an epistle that was purely botanical---- + + _... and cuckoo-pint and primroses and violets! Have you ever seen + larches in bud? Oh, Elsbeth, why can't we live in the country? + Every collection of buildings bigger than Dene Village ought to be + razed by Act of Parliament. I expect the earth hates cities as I + hated warts on my hands when I was little. Well, I must stop. + Oh--the Lumsden man turned up a day or two ago. The Dears were in + ecstasies, and he let himself be fussed over in the calmest way, as + if he had a perfect right to it. I think he's conceited. I don't + think you'd like him. He's back for good, apparently, but he won't + worry me much. I'm only in at meals. The Dears are always busy and + let me do as I like, and I either go up to Compton, or prowl, or + take a rug and book into the garden. It's quite hot, although it's + barely April--so you needn't worry. The garden is jolly, big and + half wild: only "Roger" is beginning to trim it--the vandal! He's + by way of being a gardener, you know. Great on bulbs and roses, I + believe._ + + _By the way_ is _he a relation? Even The Dears are only very + distant cousins, aren't they? Because he will call me "Alwynne" as + if he were. I call it cheek. I was very stiff, but he's got a hide + like a rhinoceros. When I said "Mr. Lumsden," he just grinned. So + now I say "Roger" very markedly whenever he says "Alwynne." I can't + see what Jean and Alicia see in him; but of course I have to be + polite. They are dears, if you like--are giving me a lovely time._ + + _I hope you're not very dull, Elsbeth dear. You must try and get + out this lovely weather. Why not have Clare to tea one day? You'd + both enjoy it. I heard from her yesterday--such a jolly letter!_ + + _Heaps of love from Jean and Alicia--and you know what a lot from + me._ + + ALWYNNE. + + _P.S.--I found these violets to-day on a bank behind the church. + They'll be squashed when you get 'em, but they'll smell still._ + + _P.S.--The Lumsden man saw me writing, and said, would I send you + his love, and do you remember him? I told him I'd scarcely heard + you mention his name, so it wasn't probable--but he just smiled his + superior smile. He reminds me of Mr. Darcy in P. and P. I can't say + I like him._ + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +Roger Lumsden had been home a week. Alwynne, save at meals, had seen +little of him, and that little she did not intend to like. There was a +memory of a passage of arms at their first meeting which rankled. + +Roger had been inquiring when the Compton holidays began. Alicia +hesitated-- + +"Let me see--the play's Tuesday week----" + +"Wednesday week," put in Alwynne. + +"Tuesday----" + +"No, Wednesday," Alwynne persisted. "Because, you know, Mr. Bryant is so +afraid that Gertrude Clarke won't be out of the 'San.' He says he can +never coach up another Alkestis in the time. Besides, there isn't any +one. He's been tearing his hair." + +Alicia laughed. + +"She knows more about it than I do, Roger! She's been half living there, +haven't you, Alwynne?" + +Roger turned to her with a smile and the first touch of personal +interest that he had shown. + +"Jolly place, isn't it? You teach, don't you? I wonder how it strikes +you!" + +But he was a stranger and Alwynne was nervous. She answered flippantly, +as she always did when she was not at her ease-- + +"Oh, I can't get over their dresses! Appalling garments! Imagine that +poor girl trying to rehearse Alkestis in a pea-green potato sack! It +must be delicious. And their hair! Doesn't anybody ever teach them to do +their hair?" + +He eyed her thoughtfully, from her carefully dressed head to her +shining shoe-buckles, and shrugged his shoulders. + +"Is that all you see?" said Roger dispassionately, and withdrew +interest. + +Alwynne grew hot with annoyance. Idiot! All she saw.... As if she had +meant anything of the kind.... One said things like that.... One just +said them.... Especially when one was nervous.... Taking a remark like +that seriously.... Oh well, if he liked to think her a fool--let him! +Silly prig! + +She endeavoured to put him out of her mind. But his mere existence +disturbed her. She was not accustomed to tobacco, for instance ... and +it was disconcerting to find him in her favourite corner of the library +or occupying the writing-table that no one had seemed to use but +herself. He appeared to have forgotten that he had snubbed her and was +unquenchably friendly. She found herself being pleasanter than she +intended, but she made it a point of honour never to agree with him. +That, at least, she owed herself. + +She watched him furtively, alert for justification of her ill-humour. +She told herself that it would be easier to be nice to him if everybody +else did not fuss over him so.... It was ridiculous to see how Jean, +especially, brightened at the sight of him.... He was good to her, +certainly: she was argumentative, without being shrewd, but he never +lost patience, as Alwynne, in secret was inclined to do. Even Alicia, so +stoutly the head of her household, submitted every difficulty, from an +unexpected legacy to a dearth of eggs. And he would sit down solidly and +think the matter out. And his advice, from a flutter in rubber to pepper +in the chicken pail, would be followed literally, and generally, Alwynne +admitted, with success. + +But she jibbed furiously when the sisters began to consult him about her +personal affairs. + +"Roger, don't you think that Alwynne----?" + +But here Roger was invariably offhand and non-committal. Curiously, +however, this attitude, correct as it was, did not appease Alwynne. But +she was forced, at least, to admit that he could, on occasion, be +tactful. + +The last week of the term had begun. Alicia, at breakfast behind the +coffee urn, was making her plans. + +"It's a busy week. The Swains want us to go to lunch, Jean, only we +haven't a day before Sunday, have we? At least--there's Tuesday; it's +only the dress-rehearsal. I can get out of that. Alwynne can represent +me." She nodded benevolently. + +There was a slight pause. Roger, glancing up, stared openly. Alwynne had +turned as white as paper. Her words came stickily. + +"Cousin Alice, I can't. I mean--I'd rather--I don't want to go much, if +you don't mind." + +Alicia blessed herself. + +"But, my dear! Why not? I thought you'd be looking forward----Oh, I +suppose you've watched it so often, already." + +"No--I haven't seen it; I'm afraid rehearsals bore me----" Alwynne broke +off with an attempt at a light laugh. + +"But you've been up to Compton so much," Alicia's tone was reproachful. +"I should have thought you would have been sufficiently interested----" + +"Oh, I am! Only--you see I've got letters to write--to Elsbeth----" + +"Well, you've got all the week to write in! Are you so afraid of being +bored? Compton wouldn't be flattered. We rather pride ourselves on our +acting, you know! My dear, we're expected to go--must give the +performers some sort of an audience to get them into training for the +night. You ought to understand, of all people! Don't you ever give plays +at your school?" + +Alwynne was silent, but prompted by an instinct she could not have +explained, she turned to Roger, stolid behind his eggs and bacon. She +said nothing, but she looked at him desperately. He gave an +imperceptible nod. He had been watching her intently. + +"But, dear Alwynne----" Jean was chirruping her version of Alicia's +remarks when Roger's calm voice interrupted-- + +"I say, Alicia! I thought you and Jean were coming with me! I can't go +on the night itself. Of course you must come. Go to your lunch on +Sunday--I'll look after Alwynne. But I'm not going up to Compton without +you. Spoil all the fun." + +"Of course, if Roger wants us----" began Jean quickly. + +"Oh, I didn't want to miss it," retreated Alicia hastily. "I only +thought the Swains----But of course Sunday would do." + +"I met old Swain yesterday," said Roger, "travelled up to town with him. +He was very full of his daughter's engagement." + +"Engagement!" Alicia and Jean swooped to the news, like gulls to a +falling crust. It kept them busy till breakfast was over. + +And Roger returned to his eggs and bacon with never a glance at Alwynne. + +Alwynne, half an hour later in her own room, fighting certain memories, +arguing herself fiercely out of her weakness, had yet time to puzzle her +head over Roger Lumsden. How quick he had been--and how kind.... Or had +he noticed nothing? Had that adroit change of subject been accidental? +That was much more likely. + +She dismissed him from her mind. She wished she could dismiss all the +thoughts that filled her mind as easily. + +Alwynne was grateful enough to Roger, however, when Tuesday came and he +set out for Compton, an aunt on either arm: but on Sunday she had to pay +for her non-attendance. Hurrying down, a little late, to lunch, she was +half-way through her usual apologies before she realised that neither +Jean nor Alicia were in their places. Of course--they were going to the +Swain's.... Their nephew, however, waiting gravely behind his chair, +admitted her excuses with a little air of acknowledging them to be +necessary that ruffled her at once, though she had promised herself to +be pleasant. After all, she was staying, as she had told herself several +times already, with Jean and Alicia. Once more she applied herself, +quite unsuccessfully, to snubbing his air of host. Roger listened to her +in some amusement; her ungracious ways disturbed him no more than the +rufflings and peckings of an angry bird, and her charming manner to his +aunts and occasional whim of friendliness to himself, had prevented him +from pigeon-holing her definitely as a pretty young shrew. He was +inclined to like her, for Jean and Alicia had confessed themselves +absurdly taken with the girl, and he was accustomed to be influenced by +their judgment; but the touch of hostility that usually showed itself in +her manner to him puzzled as much as it amused him. + +He enjoyed baiting her, yet he thought, carelessly, that it was a pity +she should have inaugurated guerilla warfare. She looked as if she could +have been pleasant company for his spare time if she had chosen. +However, he would have little enough spare time, for the next few weeks, +anyhow ... he had promised Jean to set to work seriously at the +renovation of her garden.... He should be thankful for a visitor +requiring neither escort nor attention. + +Yet, naturally, her independence piqued him. He eyed her swiftly, as she +sat at his right hand. She was a curious girl, he thought, to be so +pretty and well-dressed, and yet so self-sufficing. Girls, apparently of +her type, (he thought of his American cousins) usually needed a good +deal of admiration to keep them contented. + +She did not look altogether contented, though ... there were lines and +puckers at the corners of her large eyes, that were surely out of +place ... nineteen, wasn't she? She had had a breakdown, of course ... +rather absurd, for such a child.... Jean had hinted a guess at some +trouble.... A love affair, he supposed. That would account for her +thorniness, her occasional air of absence and depression, that +contrasted with her usual cheerfulness.... Yet that curious whim the +other day--what had it meant? More than a whim, he imagined--her very +lips had grown white.... He was quite sure that he had helped her out of +a hole.... She might at least show a certain decent gratitude.... He +wondered what she was thinking about, sitting there so silently ... she +was generally talkative enough ... pretty quarrelsome, too. He supposed +she was having a fit of the blues.... He had better talk to her, +perhaps.... + +Alwynne, eating her wing of chicken, was merely and sheerly shy. She was +garrulous enough with women, but she did not in the least know how to +talk to men. Therefore and naturally she was full of theories. She had +vague ideas that they had to be amused as babies have to be amused, but +confronted with the prospect of a prolonged _tête-à-tête_, without +Alicia or Jean to retire upon, she had nothing whatever to say. Yet she +had been taught by Elsbeth to consider a lack of table-talk as a lack of +manners, and was irritated with herself for her silence, and still more +irritated with Roger for his. + +She met his belated attempts at a conversation none too graciously--was +bored by the boat-race, and would have nothing to say to the weather; +though she thawed to his catalogue of copses and plantations in the +neighbourhood, where certain wild flowers she had not yet discovered +might be found. + +But it was impossible for Alwynne to be silent long, and by the time +they had adjourned to the drawing-room, the pair were talking easily +enough. Roger did not find himself bored. He had, from the beginning, +recognised that she was no fool, that her remarks owed their comicality +to her phrasing of them, and that essentially they were shrewd, her +acrobatic intellect swinging easily across the gaps in her education. +The gaps were certainly there. He would marvel at her amazing ignorance, +only to be tripped up by her unexpected display of authoritative +knowledge. Gradually he began to analyse and discriminate, to see that +she was naturally observant. Her remarks on life as she knew it, were as +illuminating as original. She had humour and a nice sense of caricature. +But when she, as it were, hoisted herself on the shoulders of the women +about her, and from that level peered curiously at an outer, alien +world, her insight failed her, her views grew distorted and merely +grotesque. He thought he guessed the reason. She was no longer gazing, +critical and clear-eyed, at known surroundings, but, still supported by +the opinions of the women of her circle, was seeing what she had +expected to see, what she had been told by them that she would see. + +For all her air of modern girl, her independence, her store of book +experience, she was comically conventual in her curiosities and +intolerances, in her prim company manners and uncontrollable lapses into +unconventionality. She had an air of not being at her ease; yet he +guessed that it was merely the unaccustomed environment that disturbed +her poise. He could see her handling surely enough a crowd of +schoolgirls. He was equally certain that she ruled through sheer, easy +popularity. She had dignity in spite of her whimsies, but he could not +imagine her intimidating even a schoolgirl. + +But most of all her attitude to himself amused him. She had a certain +veiled antagonism of manner, that was allied to the antagonism of the +small child to any innovation. She talked to him readily enough (and he, +for that matter, to her) yet she was always on the defensive, +inquisitive yet wary. He felt that if she had been ten years younger, +she would have circled about him and poked. + +A stray phrase explained her to him. + +They had discussed the latest raid. At Alwynne's age and period all +conversational roads led to the suffrage question, and he had found her +re-hash of Mona Hamilton's arguments sufficiently entertaining. He +guessed a plagiarism of the matter, but the manner was obviously her +own. She was full of second-hand indignation over the conduct of a +certain Cabinet Minister. + +"He won't even see them!" she explained grievously. "Not even a +deputation from the constitutional section! Just because some women are +fools--and burn things----" The pause was eloquent. "It's so utterly +unreasonable," declaimed Alwynne. "But of course men are unreasonable," +said Alwynne, pensively reflective. + +"Are they?" + +"All I know are, anyhow." + +He considered her ingenuous countenance-- + +"If it's not a delicate question--how many do you know?" said Roger +softly. + +She looked at him, mildly surprised. + +"Hundreds! In books, that is." + +"Oh--books! I meant real life." + +"Surely a page of Shakespeare is more real than dozens of real people's +lives." + +"Side issue! I'm not to be deflected. How many men do you know, in real +life, well enough to discuss the suffrage with?" + +"I'm always kept at school the day the vicar comes to tea," she said +suggestively. + +"Who else?" + +She saw his drift, but defended herself, smiling. + +"The assistants are most intelligent at the circulating library." + +"Who else?" + +"There were music masters at school. I didn't mean _you_ were +unreasonable," she deprecated. + +He began to laugh, openly, mischievously, delighting in her +discomfiture. + +"Anyhow, I know a lot about women," said Alwynne heatedly. + +He eyed her respectfully. + +"I'm sure you do. But we were talking of men. And on the whole--you +make me a polite exception--as a result of your wide knowledge, your +complicated experience of Us--as a class--you consider that we are +unreasonable?" + +But he spoke into space. Alwynne had retired, pinkly, to a sofa and a +novel. But he thought, as he settled to his own reading, that he heard a +strangled chuckle. Alwynne, caught napping, always tickled Alwynne. + +Over the top of his book, he considered her bent head approvingly. He +liked her sense of fun. It was not every girl who could appreciate the +smut on her own nose ... quite a pretty nose too ... indeed the whole +profile was unexceptionable.... He noticed how well the patch of sky and +the slopes of Witch Hill framed it ... and her hair ... it regularly +mopped up the sunlight! He felt that he wanted to take the great heavy +rope and twist it like a wet cloth till the gold dropped out on to the +floor in shining pools. + +He supposed she would be called a beautiful woman.... He had always +looked upon a beautiful woman as an improbable possibility, like a +millionaire or an archbishop--whom you might meet any day, but somehow +never did.... Yet he was in the same house with one--and she his +semi-demi cousin.... Yes--she was certainly beautiful.... + +Here Alwynne, who had not been entirely absorbed, looked up and caught +his eye. Neither quite knew how to meet the other's unexpected scrutiny. +Roger, less agile than Alwynne, stared solemnly until she looked away. + +Alwynne gave a little inaudible sigh. She was boring him, of course.... +It was pretty obvious.... Yet he had been quite nice all through +lunch.... It was a pity.... She wondered if he wanted to read, or if she +ought to go on talking? She racked her brains for something to say to +him. It was not so easy to talk if he would not do his share.... She +supposed she had talked too much about the suffrage.... Men never liked +to be contradicted.... She glanced at him swiftly, and met his look once +more, and once more he stared, till her dropping lids released him. +Then he lit his pipe. + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +She thought it very rude of him to leave off talking.... Silence was +oppressive unless you knew people well.... It snubbed you.... Especially +when you had been, as Alwynne feared she had, holding forth a trifle.... +She supposed he had put her down as a talkative bore.... Elsbeth always +said that strangers thought her enthusiasms were pose ... as if it +mattered what strangers thought! She hated strangers.... She was always +fantastic with new acquaintances.... It was the form her shyness took. +If Roger chose to think she was posing.... It didn't affect her +anyway.... She was only too glad to be able to read in peace.... Hang +Roger! + +She settled herself to her reading. + +For five long minutes they both read steadily. But Alwynne's book was +not interesting; she began to flutter the pages, her thoughts once more +astray. + +It was rather a shame of The Dears to desert her ... to leave her to +entertain a strange man who didn't like her.... It made her look a +fool.... She hated boring people.... If she bored their precious nephew +as much as the book on her lap bored her!... She wondered why, with all +the library to choose from, she had pitched on it. Of course, it was +Roger's suggestion.... Well, she didn't think much of his taste.... Or +perhaps he imagined it was the sort of stuff to appeal to her? She flung +up her chin indignantly, to find his serious and critical eyes once more +concerned with her. She met them with a raising of eyebrows--a hint of +cool defiance. It was Roger's turn to retire into his book. + +He was an odd sort of a man.... She wondered what Clare would think of +him? As if Clare would bother her head.... But then he wasn't Clare's +cousin. But Clare would be out in the woods after the wild hyacinths.... +Somebody had said it was blue with them in the little wood behind the +house.... She must send Clare a boxful to-morrow ... or to-day? She +supposed there was an evening post.... It was a pity to waste such a +heavenly afternoon.... + +She stole yet another glance at Roger; he was evidently engrossed at +last. It would not be rude? After all, what did it matter? He wasn't too +polite himself! She drove her book viciously down the yielding side of +the Chesterfield, swished to the open French window, and so out. The +gravel crunched moistly beneath her thin shoes; she could feel every +pebble. She glanced back into the drawing-room. All quiet. But by the +time she had changed, the man might have come out.... She would change +afterwards.... The smooth lawn sloped invitingly--beyond lay the rose +walk and the wood, little Witch Wood that she had never yet explored, +just because it was always at hand. + +She picked up her silken skirts and took to her heels. + +It was exactly half an hour later that Roger's book also grew dull to +the point of imbecility. He shut it with a bang, stirred the sun-drowned +fire, and knocked out his pipe against the shining dogs. Then he too +walked out on to the terrace. + +He wondered where the girl had got to. Then he frowned. Little +half-moons dinted the wet yellow path and the stretch of grass beyond +it. It was very careless, cutting up the turf like that.... If there was +one thing he hated.... Of course she was town-bred ... could not be +expected to realise the sacredness of a lawn.... But he must certainly +tell her.... He might as well find her and tell her at once.... Then he +laughed. Alwynne's high heels had betrayed her. The tracks led straight +to the wood. So that was the lure.... He remembered saying that the +hyacinths would probably be out.... + +He wondered if she knew her way.... It wasn't a large wood.... Perhaps +he had better go and see ... and warn her off the lawn coming back? He +hesitated. His eyes fell on Jean's forgotten bodge, lying by the +border. If the hyacinths were out, she would need a basket.... She had +not taken one.... Trust her to forget such a detail.... She would be +glad of it though.... He tipped out the weeds into a neat pile and +jumping the narrow bed, ran down in his turn, towards the wood. + +Alicia and Jean, home to tea, were annoyed to find the fire out. + +The gardener, rolling the lawn next day, thought as ill of hobnailed +boots as of high French heels. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +Alwynne left the garden behind her and crossed the stretch of grass, +half lawn, half paddock, that lay between kitchen-garden and wood. It +was fenced with riotous hedges, demure for the moment in dove-grey +honeysuckle and star of Bethlehem, with no hint in their puritan apparel +of the brionies and eglantines that were to follow. About the hedge +borders the grass grew tall and rank, and, as she watched, the wind +would stir it into a sea of emerald and the parsley-blossoms sway above +it like snatches of drifting foam. Beyond the hedge shadow, "Nicholas +Nye," the one-eyed donkey, reposed Celestially among the buttercups, +which, making common cause with the afternoon sun, had turned his +grazing ground into a Field of the Cloth of Gold. + +For a moment she was minded to content herself with all the buttercups +on earth to gather, and to go no further that day; but staring down the +dazzling slope, her eyes rested once more upon the pleasant darkness of +the goal for which she had been bound. Among the nearer tree trunks were +stripes and chequerings of blue--the blue that is lovelier than the sea, +the one blue in the world to the flower-lover. At once, indifferently, +she left the buttercups to Nicholas Nye and hurried on and into the +wood. + +There were hyacinths everywhere, hyacinths by the million. It was as if +the winds had torn her robes from the faint, spring sky, and had flung +them to earth, and she now bent above them naked and shivering. + +Alwynne wandered from patch to patch in an ecstasy of delight. As usual, +her pleasure shaped itself into exclamations, phrases, whole sentences +of the letters she would write to Clare Hartill of her experiences. If +only she could have Clare with her, she thought, to see and hear and +touch and smell--to share the loveliness she was enjoying. Her thoughts +flew to Italy, to their crowded month of beautiful sights together. She +laughed--she would discard all those memories for love of this present +vision.... If only Clare could see it.... She could never describe it +properly ... adjectives welled up in her mind and dispersed again, like +bubbles in a glass of water. The stalks and the hoarse ring of the +hyacinth bells fascinated her. Clare was forgotten. She began to pick +for the sake of picking. + +The hot silence of early afternoon lay upon tree and bird and air. +Alwynne, moving from blue clump to blue clump, grew ashamed of the +rustle of her dress and the scrunch of twigs and soaked leaves beneath +her feet, and trod softly; even her own calm breathing sounded too +loudly for the perfect peace of the place and the hour. + +She picked steadily, greedily--she had never before had as many flowers +as she wanted, and there was inexpressible pleasure in filling her arms +till she could hold no more; yet, some twenty minutes later, as she +straightened herself at last, a little giddily, and looked about her +over the pile of azure bells, there was no sign of bareness, for all she +had gathered; she still stood to her knees in a lake of blue and green +and gold. + +She stretched herself lazily as she considered the flowers about her and +wondered at their luxuriance. They were thicker and longer-stemmed than +the mass of those she carried: the leaves were juicy and shining like +dark swords: the last dozen of her armful had flecked her hands and +dress with milky syrup. The ground, too, was black and boggy, and sucked +at her feet as she moved. Suddenly she realised that the trees grew +thick and close together--that the patches of sunlight were far +apart--and that she had wandered farther into the wood than she had +intended. She thought that she had picked enough, more than enough for +Elsbeth as well as Clare; that it was time to be getting home. She had +no idea of the hour.... It would not do to risk being late.... + +She moved forward uncertainly. + +She had had a blessed afternoon: she had surrendered herself to the +sounds and sights and smells of the spring, to the warmth of the sun and +the touch of the wind, till every sense was drunken with pleasure. But +her ecstasy had been impersonal and thoughtless: she had enjoyed too +completely to have had knowledge of her enjoyment. With the return to +realisation of place and time, her mood was changing. She was no longer +of the wood, but in it merely; wandering in the dark heart of it, no +dryad returned and welcome, but a stranger, one Alwynne Durand, in thin +shoes and an unsuitable dress, with the wood's flowers, not her own, in +her hands. Stolen flowers--their weight was suddenly a burden to her. +She felt guilty, and had an odd, sudden wish to put them down tenderly +at the foot of a tree, hide them with grasses and run for her life. She +laughed at the idea as she looked for the path--what were flowers for, +but picking? Yet she could not get rid of the feeling that she had been +doing wrong, and that even now she was being watched, and would, in due +time, be caught and punished, her stolen treasures still in her hands. + +But wild flowers are free to all--and the wood was Roger Lumsden's wood! +He had told her that he rented it. + +She moved backwards and forwards, turning hurriedly hither and thither, +trampling the hyacinths and stumbling on the uneven ground, unreasonably +flurried that she could not find any path. She could not even track her +own footsteps. + +It was very strange, she thought, when she had penetrated so easily the +depths of the wood, that the return should be so difficult. She had +thought it a mere copse. She put her free hand to her eyes, scanning the +wall of greenery in all directions. She fancied that at one point the +trees grew less densely, and set out, scrambling over rough ground +towards the faint light. + +But in spite of her hurry she advanced slowly. The thin switches of the +undergrowth whipped her as she pushed them aside, and the huge briars +twisted themselves about her like live things. Twice the slippery moss +brought her to her knees, and the faint light grew no stronger as she +pressed forward. She began to feel frightened, though she knew the +sensation to be absurd. It was impossible to be lost in a little wood, +half a mile across.... It was merely a question of walking straight on +till one emerged on open fields.... + +She told herself so, and tried to be amused at her adventure, and hummed +a confident little tune as she plodded on, very careful not to look +behind her. Her shoes, thudding and squelching in the wet mess of mould +and green stuff, made more noise than one would have thought possible +for one pair of feet, and woke the oddest echoes. + +Of course, it was impossible that any one could be following her.... But +the wood was so horribly silent that her own breathing and clumsy +footfalls (there could be nothing else) counterfeited the noises of +pursuit.... She could have sworn there was a presence at her elbow, in +her rear, moving as she moved, stumbling as she stumbled. Twice she +faced round abruptly, standing still--but she saw nothing but the wall +of vegetation, motionless, silent, yet insistently alive. She felt that +every tree, every leaf, every blade of grass, was watching her with +green, unwinking eyes. There was nothing more in the wood than there had +been a pleasant hour ago--less indeed, for she realised suddenly that +the sun had gone in and that it was cold; yet she owned to herself at +last that she was nervous, vaguely uneasy. Instantly, by that mere act +of recognition, fright was born in her--unreasonable and unreasoning +fright, that, in the length of a thought, pervaded her entire +personality, crisping her hair, catching at her throat, paralysing her +mind. The wood-panic had her in its grip--the age-old terror that still +lies in wait where trees are gathered together, though the god that +begot it be dead these nineteen hundred years. + +She began to run. + +It was impossible to pass quickly through the tangled undergrowth; but +sheer fright gave her skill to avoid real obstacles, strength to crash +over and through the mere wreckage of the wood. She turned and doubled +like a hare, yet desperately, with the hare's terror of the sudden turn +that might confront her with the presence at her heels. She could endure +its pursuit, but she knew that its revelation would be more than she +could bear. She was so far merely and indefinitely frightened, but to +face the unknown would be to confront fear itself. And she was more +frightened of fear than of any evil she knew. She could, she thought, +meet pain or sickness, or any mere misery, with sufficient calmness, but +the fear of fear was an obsession. She tore through the wood, shaken and +gasping with terror of the greater terror she every moment expected to +be forced to undergo; for almost the only clear thought remaining to +her, in that onrush of panic, was the realisation that there was, at her +elbow, in her heart, physical or metaphysical, she knew not which, some +as yet veiled fact waiting to be revealed, in view of which her present +agitation was trivial and meaningless. + +She ran on, blind and blundering; yet her feet were so clogged by the +weight of earth and wet, her thoughts by the sweat of the fear that was +on them, that neither seemed to move for all her willing. And all the +while, another part of her consciousness sat aloof, critical and +detached, laughing at her for an excitable fool, analysing, in Clare's +crispest accents, the illusions which were bewildering her, and +wondering coolly that any girl of her age could so let her imagination +run away with her. + +She pulled herself together with an immense effort of will. + +That was the truth.... It was her own imagination that was literally +and physically running away with her, whipping her tired body into +unnecessary exertion, flogging her into mad flight from this pleasant, +harmless place, with its hideous and horrible suggestion of evil at +hand.... But the evil was in her own mind.... There was nothing pursuing +her, no vague ghost at her elbow.... The horror was in herself, to be +faced, and fought, and trampled.... Running would not help her ... she +would only carry her terror with her.... For an instant she had a +lightning glimpse of the reasons of the Sadducean attitude to +personality, and its desperate denials of future existence. She was +suddenly appalled at the hideous possibility of existing eternally with +her own undying thoughts for company. She wondered if there were really +such a thing as soul suicide, and thought that, if so, many must have +chosen to commit it. + +Here her shifting, crowding thoughts blotted out the glimmer of +understanding, as flies clustering on a window-pane can blot out light; +yet the word _suicide_ remained in her mind, disturbing, vaguely +suggestive. It was connected with something terrible--she could not +remember what--that in its turn was one with the vague horror at her +elbow, that walked with the echo of her footsteps and panted with the +echoes of her breaths, and yet was not real at all, but only in her +mind. + +She did not believe she should ever find her way out of the wood.... The +hyacinths in her arms were so heavy--a queerly familiar weight: and the +sun had gone in, which had, somehow, something to do with the +trouble.... She felt the black depression of the winter months that she +had left Utterbridge to escape settling down on her once more. She +turned hopelessly to elude it, but it surrounded her like a fog, as +indeed she half believed it to be. She supposed they had sudden fogs in +the country, when the sun went in.... And the sun had gone in because +she had picked all the hyacinths.... She remembered the story clearly +enough now.... The sun had played at quoits with a child, and had +thrown amiss, and killed it, and the purple blood had trickled down from +the child's forehead.... So the sun had turned it into purple +hyacinths.... But she, Alwynne, had been gathering all the hyacinths, +and they were a heavy bunch, heavy as a dead child's body ... and in +another minute they would be disenchanted, and she would be carrying a +dead child's body in her arms.... + +She stood still, gazing down at the flowers, white and glassy-eyed with +terror, wondering that she was still alive and not yet mad. For she knew +that the fear she had feared was upon her at last. She dared not blink +lest in that second the change should take place, and she should find +Louise, long buried, in her arms. Because, of course, it was Louise who +had been following her all the while.... Louise--who had committed +suicide.... She was following Alwynne, because it was Alwynne's +fault.... Clare had said so.... Well--at least she could tell Louise +that she had meant no harm.... + +She waited, swayed back against a tree trunk, the flowers a dead weight +over her arm. She held them gently, lest a rough movement should wake +the horror they hid. With what was left of sanity she prayed. + +The trees encircled her, watching. From far away there came once more a +sound of footsteps. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Roger set out at a quick pace for the wood, the basket rattling lightly +on his arm; but the track of Alwynne's shoes was lost in the deep grass +of the paddock, and he hesitated, wondering where he should look for +her. Followed a cupboard-love scene with Nicholas Nye, who accompanied +him to the boundary of his kingdom, snuffling windily in the empty +bodge. He brayed disgustedly when Roger left him, his ancient lips +curling backward over yellow stumps, in a smile that was an insult. He +had the air of knowing exactly where Roger was going, and of being +leeringly amused. + +For ten minutes Roger wandered about, starting aside from the pathway +half a dozen times, deceived by a swaying branch, or the deceptive pink +and white of distant birch bark. He tramped on into the thickness of the +wood, till at last, through a thinning of trees, a hundred yards to his +left, he caught a glimpse of gold, that could only, he told himself, be +Alwynne's hair. He frowned. It was just like the girl to go floundering +into the only boggy bit of the wood, when two thirds were drained and +dry, and thick with flowers.... It was sheer spirit of contradiction! +She would catch cold of course; and he would, not to mince matters, be +stunk out with eucalyptus for the next ten days ... and The Dears would +fuss ... he knew them! His fastidiousness was always revolted by a +parade of handkerchiefs and bleared eyes. He was accustomed to insist +that disease was as disgraceful as dirt: and that there was not a pin to +choose between Dartmoor and the London Hospital as harbourage for +criminals. But he could always dismount from his hobby-horse for any +case of suffering that came his way. He could give his time, his money, +or his tenderness, with a matter-of-course promptitude that relieved all +but a tender-skinned few of any belief that they had reason to be +grateful to him. + +Roger, his eye on the distant halo, crashed through the undergrowth at a +great rate, emerging into a little natural clearing, to find Alwynne +facing him, a bare half-dozen yards away. + +The full sight of her pulled him up short. + +She was standing--lying upright, rather, for she seemed incapable of +self-support--flattened against a big grey oak. One arm, flung +backwards, clutched and scrabbled at the bark; the other, crooked +shelteringly, supported a mass of bluebells. Her face was grey, her +mouth half open, her eyes wide and pale. Very obviously she did not see +him. + +"Alwynne!" he exclaimed. + +She cowered. He exclaimed again, astonished and not a little alarmed---- + +"Alwynne! Are you ill? What on earth has happened?" + +She flung up her head, staring. + +"Roger?" she said incredulously. + +Then her face began to work. He never forgot the expression of relief +that flowed across it. It was like the breaking up of a frozen pool. + +"Why, it's you!" cried Alwynne. "It's you! It's only you!" The flowers +dropped lingeringly from her slack hands, and she swayed where she +stood. He crossed hastily to her and she clung helplessly to his arm. +She looked dazed and stupid. + +"Of course it is," he said. "Who did you think it was?" + +Alwynne looked at him. + +"Louise," she said, "I thought it was Louise. She's come before, but +never in the daytime. A ghost can't walk in the daytime. But this place +is so dark, she might think it was night here, don't you think?" + +He gave her arm a gentle shake. + +"Let's get out of this, Alwynne," he began persuasively. "I think you're +rather done for. There's been a hot sun to-day, and you've been stooping +till you're dizzy. Come on. What a lot of flowers you've picked! Come, +let's get out of this place." + +"Yes," she said; "let's get out of this place." + +"What about your bunch?" he questioned, glancing down at the hyacinths' +heaped disorder. "Don't you want it?" + +He felt her shiver. + +"No," she said, "no." She hesitated. "Could we hide it? Cover it up? It +ought to be buried. I can't leave it--just lying there----" There was a +catch in her voice. + +He concealed his astonishment and looked about him. + +"Of course not," he said cheerfully. "Here--what about this?" + +A huge tussock of bleached grass, its sodden leaves as long as a woman's +hair, caught his eye. He parted the heavy mass and showed her the little +cave of dry soil below. + +"What about this? They'll be all right here," he suggested gravely. + +Alwynne nodded. + +"Yes--put it in quickly," she said. + +Without a word, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he +did as she asked. Then, rising and slipping her arm through his own, he +pushed on quite silently, holding back the strong pollard shoots, +clearing aside the brambles, till they reached the uneven footpath once +more, that led them in less than five minutes to the further edge of the +wood. As they emerged into the open fields, he felt the weight on his +arm lessening. He glanced at his companion, and saw that there was once +more a tinge of colour in her cheek. + +She drew a deep breath and looked at him. + +"I thought I should never get out again," she said dispassionately, as +one stating a bald fact. + +"Get where?" + +"Out of that wood. You were just in time. I thought I was caught. I +should have been, if you hadn't come." + +Then she grew conscious of his expression, and answered it-- + +"I suppose you think I'm mad." + +"I do rather." + +"I don't wonder. It doesn't much matter----" Her voice flagged and +strained. + +They walked on in silence. + +She began again abruptly. + +"Of course you thought I was mad. I knew you would. I do myself, +sometimes. Any one would. Even Clare. That's why I never told any one. +But it never happened when I was awake before." + +"I wonder if you would tell me exactly what happened?" + +"I was frightened," she began irresolutely. + +"For a moment I wondered if a tramp----" + +She laughed shakily. + +"I'm a match for the average tramp, I think. I'm head of the games." + +He was amused. + +"You'd tell him what you thought of him, I'm sure." + +But already her smile had grown absent; she was relapsing into her +abstraction. + +They had crossed the field as they talked, and struck into the little +gravelled path that led to the monster glass-houses on the other side of +the hedge. A wide gate barred their progress. Roger manipulated the +rusty chain in silence for a moment, then, as the gate yawned open, +turned to her pleasantly---- + +"Won't you have a look round, as we've come so far? You're in my +territory now, and I've a houseful of daffodils just bursting." + +His calm matter-of-fact manner had its effect. Alwynne absorbed in her +sick thoughts, found herself listening to his account of his houses and +his experiments, as one listens subconsciously to the slur of a distant +water-course. She did not take in the meaning of his words, but his +even voice soothed her fretted nerves. + +Roger was perfectly aware of her inattention. He was not brilliant, but +he was equipped with experience and common-sense and kindness of heart; +and above all he was observant. The Alwynne of his acquaintance, pretty, +amusing, clever, had attracted him sufficiently, had even, as he +admitted to himself as he went in search of her, been able to entice him +from his Sunday comfort to wander quarrelling in wet fields. But the +Alwynne he had come upon half-an-hour later was a revelation; at a +glance every preconceived notion of her character was swept away. + +His first idea was that she had been frightened by roughs, but her +manner and expression speedily contradicted it. She was, he perceived, +struggling, and not for the first time, with some overwhelming trouble +of the mind. He had been appalled by the fear in her eyes. He remembered +Jean's account. Elsbeth had been worried about her for a long time: +ill-health and depression: she believed there had been some sort of a +shock--a child had died suddenly at the school.... + +Alwynne's gay and piquant presence had made him forget, till that +moment, such rudiments of her history as he had heard. But seeing her +distress, he was angry that he had been obtuse, and amazed at her skill +in concealing whatever trouble it might be that was oppressing her. All +the kindliness of his nature awoke at sight of her haunted, hunted air; +he bestirred himself to allay her agitation; he resolved then and there +to help her if he could. + +He had recognised at once that she was in no state for argument or +explanation, and had devoted himself to calming her, falling in with her +humour, and showing no surprise at the extravagance of her remarks. He +had her quieted, almost herself, by the time they had reached his +nursery and descended brick steps into a bath of sweet-smelling warmth. + +Alwynne exclaimed. + +The glass-house was very peaceful. Above a huge Lent lily the spring's +first butterfly hovered and was still awhile, then quivered again and +fluttered away, till his pale wings grew invisible against the aisles of +yellow bloom. The short, impatient barks of Roger's terrier outside the +door came to them, dulled and faint. The sun poured down upon the +already heated air. + +Alwynne walked down the long narrow middle way, hesitating, enjoying, +and moving on again, much, Roger thought, as the butterfly had done. She +said little, but her delight was evident. Roger was pleased; he liked +his flowers to be appreciated. But he, too, said little; he was +considering his course of action. + +At the end of the conservatory was a square of brick flooring on which +stood a table with a tobacco jar, and a litter of magazines; beside it +an ancient basket-chair. Roger pulled it forward. + +"This is my sanctum," he said. "Won't you sit down? I do a lot of work +here in the winter." + +Alwynne sank into the creaking wicker-work with a sigh of relief. + +"I shall never get up again," she said. "It's too comfortable. I'm +tired." + +"Of course." He smiled at her. "Don't you worry. You needn't budge till +you want to. I'll get some tea." + +"You mustn't bother. It'll be cold. It's miles to the house," said +Alwynne wearily. + +He made no answer, but began to clear away the rubbish on the table. He +moved deftly, light-footed, without clumsy or unnecessary noise; in +spite of his size, his movements were always silent and assured. + +She closed her eyes indifferently. She had said that she was tired; the +word was as good as another where none were adequate to express her +utter exhaustion. She felt that, in a sense, she was in luck to be so +tired that she could not think.... She knew that later she must brace +herself to an examination of the nightmare experience of the afternoon, +to renew her struggle against the devils of her imagination; but for the +moment her weakness was her safe-guard, and she could lie relaxed and +thoughtless, mesmerised by the flooding sunshine and the pulsing scents +and the quick movements of the man beside her. She wondered what he was +doing, but she was too tired to open her eyes, or to interpret to +herself the faint sounds she heard. She thought dreamily that he was as +kind as Elsbeth. She was grateful to him for not talking to her. He was +a wonderfully understanding person.... He might have known her for +years.... He made her feel safe ... that was a great gift.... If she, +Alwynne, had been like that, kind and reassuring, to poor little +Louise--if only she had understood--Louise would have come to her, then, +instead of brooding herself to death.... Poor Louise.... Poor unhappy +Louise.... And after all she had not been able to kill herself.... She +was still alive, lying in wait for her, though she knew that Alwynne +could not help her.... She would never go away, though they had left her +outside in the cold--in the cold of the wood--and were safe in this warm +summerland ... she would be waiting when they came out again.... She +shuddered as she thought of retracing her steps. She would ask Roger to +take her home another way.... She would not have to explain.... He had +not wanted explanation.... She was passionately grateful to him because +he had not overwhelmed her with questions at their meeting. She could +never explain, of course, because people would think her mad.... They +might even send her to an asylum, if she told them.... She longed for +the relief of confession, yet who would believe that she was merely a +sane woman rendered desperate by evil dreams? Not Clare, certainly--not +Elsbeth, though they loved her.... She would just have to go on fighting +her terrors as best she could, till she or they were crushed.... + +She sighed hopelessly and opened her eyes. + +"Had a doze? Good! Tea's ready! I expect you want it," said Roger +cheerfully. + +She was surprised into normality, and began to smile as she looked about +her. + +The rickety table had been covered by a gay, chequered cloth. There was +crockery, and a little green tea-pot, and a pile of short-bread at her +elbow. A spirit-lamp and kettle were shelved incongruously between trays +of daffodils. + +Roger sat upon an upturned flower-pot, and beamed at her. + +"Oh, how jolly!" cried Alwynne, the Alwynne once more of his former +acquaintance. "Where did it come from?" + +He showed her a cupboard against the wall, half hidden by a canopy of +smilax. + +"I always keep stores here," he confessed boyishly. "I used to when I +was a kid. This is the old glass-house, you know, on Great House land. +I've built all the others. I used to be Robinson Crusoe then, and now +it's useful, when I'm busy, not to have to go up to the house always. +Won't you pour out?" + +Alwynne flashed a look at him. + +"I don't believe it's that. You enjoy the--the marooning still. I +should. I think it's perfectly delightful here." + +"Well, Harris--my head-gardener--doesn't approve. Thinks it's _infra +dig_. He told me once that he knew ladies enjoyed making parlours of +their conservatories, and letting in draughts and killing the plants; +but he was a nursery-man himself. However, I've broken him in to it. Oh, +I say, there's no milk!" + +"I don't take it. Clare--a friend of mine--never does, so I've got +accustomed to it." She drank thirstily. "Oh, it's good! I didn't know I +wanted my tea so." + +"I did," he said significantly. + +She coloured painfully: she would not look at him. + +"I was very tired," she said lamely. + +"Were you?" he asked her. "You weren't gone half an hour. Do you know +it's only half-past three?" + +He was very gentle; but she felt herself accused. She played uneasily +with her rope of beads as she chose her words. Roger, for all his +intentness, could not help noticing how white and slender her hands +showed, stained though they were with hyacinth-milk, as they fingered +the blue, glancing chain. They were thin though; and following the +outline of her wrist and arm and bare neck, he thought her cheek, for +all its smooth youthfulness, was thin also, too thin--altogether too +austere, for her age and way of life. She had always been flushed in his +presence, delightfully flushed with laughter, or anger, or +embarrassment, and he had noticed nothing beyond her pretty colour. But +now, he saw uneasily that there were hollows round her eyes, as if she +slept little, and that there were hollows as well as dimples in her +cheeks. He was astonished to find himself not a little perturbed at his +discovery, so perturbed that he did not, for a moment, realise that she +was speaking to him. + +"I am very sorry," she was saying. "I'm afraid you thought--I'm afraid I +was rather silly--in the wood. I was disturbed when you found me." Her +words came jerkily. "I had not expected--that is--I did not expect----" +She broke off. Her eyes implored him to leave her alone. + +He would not understand their appeal. + +"Yes, you expected----" he prompted her. + +She controlled her voice with difficulty. + +"Heavens knows!" She laughed, with a pitiful little air of throwing him +off the scent. "One gets frightened for no reason sometimes." + +"Does one?" + +"In the country--I'm town-bred." She smiled at him. + +He made up his mind, though he felt brutal. + +"You were expecting--Louise?" + +There was a silence. Slowly she lifted shaking hands, warding him off. + +"No, no!" she said. "For pity's sake. You are calling her back." Then, +struck with a new idea, she grew, if possible, whiter still. "Unless," +she said, whispering, "you saw her--you too? Then there is no hope. I +thought it was in my mind--only in my mind--but if you saw her too----" +Her voice failed. + +He thrust in hastily, ready enough to comfort her, but knowing well that +the time had not come. Yet he felt like a surgeon at his first +operation. + +"No, you are mistaken. There was no one. I don't even know who Louise +is. Only you mentioned her--once or twice, you see." + +"Did I?" she said. Then, with an effort at a commonplace tone: "I was +stupidly upset. You must excuse----" + +He broke in. + +"Who is Louise?" he asked her bluntly. + +"A ghost," said Alwynne, white to the lips. + +Again they were blankly silent. + +Then she spoke, with extraordinary passion-- + +"If you laugh--it will be wicked if you laugh at me." + +"I'm not thinking of laughing," he said, with the petulance of extreme +anxiety. + +She met his look and shrugged her shoulders. + +"Then you think I'm crazy," she began defiantly. "I can't help it, what +you think." She changed the subject transparently. "Roger, it's nice +here. What are the names of all these flowers? Are those big ones +daffodils, or jonquils, or narcissi? I never know the difference. I +never remember----" Her voice trailed into silence. + +"But look here," he began, and stopped again abruptly, deep in thought. + +The flame of the spirit-lamp on the shelf between them flickered and +failed, and sputtered up again noisily. Mechanically he rose to +extinguish it, and, still absently, cleared the little table of its +china and eatables. + +Then he sat down once more, and leant forward, his arms on the table, +his expression determined, yet very friendly. + +"Alwynne," he said, in his most matter-of-fact voice, "hadn't you better +tell me all about it?" + +"You?" + +"Why not?" he said comfortably. "You'll feel ever so much better if you +get if off your chest." + +For an instant she hesitated: then she shook her head wearily. + +"I would like to tell some one. But I can't. I sound mad, even to +myself. I couldn't tell any one. I couldn't tell Elsbeth even." + +"Of course not," he agreed. "You can't worry your own people." + +"No, you can't, can you?" she said, grateful for his comprehension. + +"Of course not. But you see--I'm different. Whatever your trouble is, it +won't worry me--because I don't care for you like Elsbeth and your +friends. So you can just ease off on me--d'you see? If I do think you +mad, it just doesn't matter, does it? What does it matter telling some +one a secret when you'll never see them again? Don't you see?" he argued +reassuringly. + +She nodded dumbly. The cheerful, impersonal kindness of his voice and +air made her want to cry. She realised how she had been aching for +sympathy. + +"Don't you see?" he repeated. + +"You wouldn't make fun?" she asked him. "You wouldn't tell any one? You +wouldn't talk me over?" + +"No, Alwynne," he said gravely. + +For a moment her eyes searched his face wistfully; then with sudden +decision, she began to speak. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +Alwynne's words, after the months of silence, came rushing out, breaking +down all barriers, sweeping on in unnatural fluency. Yet she was simple +and direct, entirely sincere; accepting him at his own valuation, +impersonally, as confessor and comforter, without a side glance at the +impression she might make, or its effect on their after relations. + +She told him the story of Louise; and he felt sick as he listened. +Unintentionally, for she was obviously absorbed in her school and +uncritical in her attitude to it, she gave him a vivid enough impression +of the system in force, of the deliberate encouragement of much that he +considered unhealthy, if not unnatural. He detected an hysterical +tendency in the emulations and enthusiasms to which she referred. The +gardener in him revolted at the thought of such congestion of minds and +bodies. He felt as indignant as if he had discovered a tray of unthinned +seedlings. Alwynne conveyed to him, more clearly than she knew, an idea +of the forcing-house atmosphere that she, and those still younger than +she, had been breathing. The friend she so constantly mentioned, +repelled him; he thought of her with distaste, as of an unscrupulous and +unskilful hireling; he was amazed at the affection of Alwynne's +references to her. Only in connection with the dead child was there a +hint of uncertainty in her attitude. There perhaps, she admitted, had +"Clare" been, not unkind--never and impossibly unkind--but perhaps, with +the best of motives, mistaken. She had not understood Louise. Roger +agreed silently and grimly enough. She had not understood Louise, whom +she had killed, nor this loyal and affectionate child, whom she was +driving into melancholia, nor any one it appeared, nor anything, but the +needs of her own barrenly emotional nature.... He was horrified at the +idea of such a woman, such a type of woman, in undisputed authority, +moulding the mothers of the next generation.... He had never considered +the matter seriously, but he supposed she was but one of many.... There +must be something poisonous in a system that could render possible the +placing of such women in such positions.... + +"Then what happened, after that poor child's death?" he asked. "She +left, of course?" + +"Who?" + +"Your friend--'Clare'--Miss----?" + +"Hartill. Oh, no! Why should she?" + +"I should have thought--suicide--bad for the school's reputation?" + +"Then you think it was--that--too? It was supposed to be an accident." + +"How do you mean, 'supposed'?" + +"There was an inquest, you see. I had to go. I was so frightened all the +time, of what I might slip into saying. But they all agreed that it was +an accident. She was fond of curling up in the window-seats with her +books. Oh, she was a queer little thing! When you came on her suddenly, +she used to look up like a startled baby colt. She always looked as if +she wanted some one to run to. Well, there was no guard, you see, only +an inch of ledge--she had not been well--she must have felt faint--and +fallen. They all said it was that. I was so thankful--for Clare's sake. +She could not reproach herself--after such a verdict. It was 'Accidental +Death.' Only--I--of course--I knew. Some of them guessed--Clare--and I +believe Elsbeth, though we never discussed it--and I knew. But nobody +said anything--nobody has, ever since, except once Clare told me--what +she feared. I never managed to persuade her that it was an accident, but +at least she doesn't know for certain, and at least she knows she +couldn't help it. And now we never speak of it. But _I_ know----" + +"What do you know?" he said. "You found out something?" + +"She did--she did kill herself," said Alwynne. "Oh, Roger, she did. I've +known it all along--I should have guessed anyway, I think, because I +knew how unhappy she was. I knew how awfully she cared about Clare. +Clare was very good to her sometimes. Clare was fond of her, you know. +Clare takes violent fancies like that, to clever people. And Louise was +brilliant, of course. Clare was charmed with her. Only Louise--this is +how I've thought it out; oh, I've had time to think it out--she just got +drunk on it, the happiness, I mean, of being cared for. She hadn't much +of a home. She was rather an ugly duckling to her people, I think. Then +Clare made a fuss of her, and you see, she was so little, she couldn't +see that--it didn't mean much to Clare. And I don't think grown-up +people understand how girls are--they have to worship some one, at that +age. Clare doesn't quite understand, I think. She is too sensible +herself to realise how girls can be silly. She is awfully good to them, +but, of course, she never dreams how miserable they get when she gets +bored with them. She can't help it." + +Roger's face was expressive--but Alwynne was staring at the uneasy +butterfly. + +"It doesn't matter, as a rule. Only Louise had no one else--and it just +broke her heart. If she had been grown-up it would have been like being +in love." + +Roger made an inarticulate remark. + +"Don't you see?" said Alwynne innocently. + +"I see." He was carefully expressionless. + +"And then she was run down and did her work badly. And Clare hates +illness--besides--she thought Louise was slacking. I tried to make her +see----Oh," she cried passionately, "why didn't I try harder? It's +haunting me, Roger, that I didn't try hard enough. I ought to have +known how she felt--I was near her age. Clare couldn't be expected +to--but Louise talked to me sometimes--I ought to have seen. I did see. +All that summer she went about so white and miserable--and Clare was +angry with her--and I hadn't the pluck to tackle either of them. I was +afraid of being a busybody--I was afraid of upsetting Clare. You +see--I'm awfully fond of Clare. She makes you forget everything but +herself. And, of course, she never realised what was wrong with Louise. +I didn't altogether, either--you do believe that?" She broke off, +questioning pitifully, as if he were her judge. + +He nodded. + +"Right till the day of the play, I never really saw how crazily +miserable she was growing. She was crazy--don't you think?" + +"You want to think so?" He considered her curiously. + +"It mitigates it." + +"That she killed herself?" + +"It's deadly sin? Or don't you believe----?" + +"No," he said. "There's such a thing as the right of exit--but go on." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I'll tell you what I think presently. I want all your thoughts +now----There were signs----?" + +"Of insanity? No. But she was--exaggerated--too intelligent--too +babyish--too brilliant--too everything. She felt things too much. She +failed in an exam.--sheer overwork--just before." + +"I see. Was she ambitious?" + +"Only to please Clare. Clare didn't like her failing." + +"Did she tell the child so?" His tone was stern. + +"Oh, no!" + +"You're sure?" + +"Clare would have told me if they had had a row. She tells me +everything." + +He smiled a little. + +"How old is your friend?" + +She looked surprised. + +"Oh--thirty-three--thirty-four--thirty-five. I don't really know. She +never talks about ages and looks and that sort of thing. She rather +despises all that. She laughs at me for--for liking clothes...." Her +little blush made her look natural again. "But why?" + +"I wondered. Then there was nothing to upset the child?" + +"Only the failing. And then the play. I told you. She was awfully +strange afterwards. That's where I blame myself. I ought to have seen +that she was overwrought. But she drank the tea, and cheered up so when +I told her Clare was pleased with her acting----" + +"Was she?" He was frowning interestedly. + +"I'm sure she must have been--it was brilliant, you know." + +"She said so?" + +"Oh, not actually--but I could tell. And it cheered the child up. I was +quite easy about her--and then ten minutes later----" She shuddered. + +"Then it might have been an accident," he suggested soothingly. + +"It wasn't," she said, with despairing conviction. + +"My dear girl! Either you're indulging in morbid imaginings--or you've +something to go on?" + +She shook her head with a frightened look at him. + +"No!" she said hurriedly. "No!" + +"Then why," he said quietly, meeting her eyes, "were you frightened at +the inquest?" + +She averted her eyes. + +"I wasn't--I mean--I was nervous, of course." + +"You were frightened of what you might slip into saying. You told me so +ten minutes ago." + +"Oh, if you're trying to trap me?" she flashed out wrathfully. + +He rejoiced at the tone. It was the impetuous Alwynne of his daily +intercourse again. The mere relief of discussion was, as he had +guessed, having a tonic effect on her nerves. + +He smiled at her pleasantly. + +"Don't tell me anything more, if you'd rather not." + +She subsided at this. + +"I didn't mean to be angry," she faltered. "Only I've guarded myself so +from telling. You see, I lied at the inquest. It was perjury, I +suppose." There was a little touch of importance in her tone. "But I'll +tell you." + +She hesitated, her older self once more supervening. + +"Afterwards--when the doctor had come, and they took Louise away--after +that ghastly afternoon was over----" She whitened. "It was ghastly, you +know--so many people--crowding and gaping--I dream of all those crowded +faces----" + +"Well?" he urged her forward. + +"I went up to the room where she had changed, to see that the children +had gone----" + +"She fell from that room?" + +"She must have. After she had changed. She'd locked the door--to change. +I broke it open. I thought she had fainted--a baby told me something +about Louise falling--lisping so, I couldn't make out what she +meant--and I'd run up to see. It turned out afterwards that little Joan +had been in a lower room, and had seen her body as it fell past the +window." + +"How beastly!" he said, with an involuntary shudder. + +"And when I got the door open--an empty room. Something made me look out +of the window. She was down below--right under me--on the steps." + +She was silent. + +"But afterwards?" he urged her. "You went up again?" + +"I had to. I was afraid already--recollecting little things. I looked +about, in case she'd left a message. And on the window-ledge--there were +great scratches. Then I knew." + +She was forgetting him, staring into space, peopled as it was with her +memories. + +"I don't understand," he said. + +She did not answer. + +"Alwynne!" he said urgently. + +She looked at him absently. + +"Scratches? What are you driving at?" + +"Oh," she said dully, "there was a nail in her shoe. She had tried to +hammer it in at the morning school. It had made scratches all over the +rostrum. I was rather cross about it." + +"But I don't see," he began, and stopped, realising suddenly her +meaning. + +"You mean--she must have stood on the ledge--to make those marks?" + +"Yes," said Alwynne. Then, fiercely, "Well?" + +"Yes, that's conclusive," he admitted. He looked at her pityingly. "You +poor child! And you never told?" + +"I got a paint-box," she said defiantly, "and painted them brown--like +the paintwork. It would have broken up Clare to know--and all the +questions and comments. What would you have done?" + +He ignored the challenge, answered only the misery in the tone. + +"It can't have been easy for you--that week," he said gently. + +"Easy?" She began to laugh harshly. "And yet I don't know," she +reflected. "I don't think I felt anything much at the time. It was like +being in a play. Almost interesting. Entirely unreal. At the inquest--I +lied as easily as saying grace. I wasn't a bit worried. What did worry +me was a bit of sticking-plaster on the coroner's chin. One end was +uncurled, and I was longing for him to stick it down again. It seemed +more important than anything else that he should stick it down. It would +have been a real relief to me. I'm not trying to be funny." + +"I know," he said. + +"And when it was over--I was quite cheerful. And at the funeral--I know +they thought I was callous. But I didn't feel sad. Only cold--icy +cold--in my hands and my feet and my heart. And I felt desperately +irritated with them all for crying. People look appalling when they +cry." She paused. "So they banked up Louise with wreaths and we left +her." She paused again. + +"Well?" he prompted. + +"I went home at the end of that week. Elsbeth sent me to bed early. I +was log-tired all of a sudden. Oh, I was tired! I had hardly slept at +all since she died. I'd stayed at Clare's, you know. She's a bad +sleeper, too, and it always infects me--and we used to sit up till +daylight, forgetting the time, talking. We've always heaps to talk +about. Clare's a night-bird. She's always most brilliant about +midnight." She smiled reminiscently. "We picnic, you know, in our +dressing-gowns. She has a great white bearskin on the hearth. Her fires +are piled up, and never go out all night. And I brew coffee--and we +talk. It's jolly. I wish you knew Clare. She's an absorbing person." + +"You're giving me quite a good idea of her," he said. Then carelessly: +"But she must have realised that after such a shock--and the strain----" + +"Oh, it was much worse for Clare," she broke in quickly. "Think--her +special pupil! She had had such hopes of Louise. And Clare's so terribly +sensitive--she was getting it on her mind. Do you know, she almost began +to think it was her fault, not to have seen what was going on? Once, she +was absolutely frantic with depression, poor darling, until I made her +understand that, if it was any one's, it must be mine. Of course, when I +told her everything, how I'd guessed Louise was pretty miserable, and +tried to tell her again and then funked it--well, then she saw. As she +said, if I'd only spoken out.... She was very kind--but, of course, I +soon felt that she thought I was responsible--indirectly--for the whole +thing----" Her voice quavered. + +Roger, watching her simple face, wanted to do something vigorous. At +that moment it would have given him great satisfaction to have +interviewed Miss Hartill. Failing that, he wanted to take Alwynne by the +shoulders and shake the nonsense out of her. He repressed himself, +however. He was in his way, as simple as Alwynne, but where she was +merely direct, he was shrewd. He knew that she must show him all the +weeds that were choking her before he could set about uprooting them and +planting good seed in their stead. + +She went on. + +"But even then, though I had been neglectful--oh, Roger, what made +Louise do it? Just then? She looked happier! It couldn't have been +anything I'd said! I know I cheered her up. It's inconceivable! She was +smiling, contented--and she went straight upstairs and killed herself!" + +He shook his head. + +"Inconceivable, as you say. You're sure--of your facts!" + +"How?" + +"I mean--you were the last person to see her?" + +"Oh, yes, Roger! every one was at tea." + +"Miss Hartill?" + +"Clare would have said----" + +"Of course," he said, "she tells you everything." + +She nodded, in all good faith-- + +"Besides, Clare was in the mistresses' room." + +"Impossible for her to have spoken with Louise?" + +"Quite. Clare would have told me----" + +"Yet there remains the fact that Louise was, as you say, happier after +seeing you. Within fifteen minutes, she is dead. Either she went +mad--which I don't believe, do you?" + +"I want to----" + +"But you don't--knowing the child. Neither do I, from what you tell me. +She seems to have been horribly sane. Sane enough, anyhow, to throw off +a burden. So if, as we agree, she didn't suddenly go mad--something +occurred to change her mood of comparative happiness to actual despair. +I think, if you ask me, that she did see Miss Hartill after she left +you." + +"But Clare would have told me," repeated Alwynne stubbornly. + +"I'm not so sure." + +"But she said nothing at the inquest, either." + +"Did you?" he retorted. "If she had had a row with the child it would +have sounded pretty bad." + +"But Clare's incapable of deceit." + +"She might say the same of you." + +"But--if your guess were true, it would be Clare's fault--all Clare's +fault--not mine at all!" she deducted slowly. + +"It's not your fault, anyway," he assured her. + +"But it would have been too utterly cruel of Clare not to have told me. +She knew what I felt at the time--why not have told me?" + +"She might have been afraid--you might have shrunk----" + +"From Clare?" She smiled securely. Then, with a change of tone: "No, +Roger. All this is guessing, far-fetched guessing." + +"Anyhow, Alwynne," he said sharply, "there was gross cruelty in her +treatment of that child. You can't excuse it. Directly or indirectly, +she is responsible for her death." + +She flushed. + +"You have not the shadow of right to say that." + +"I do say it." + +She put out her hand to him with a touch of appeal. + +"Please--won't you leave Clare out of it? You are utterly wrong. You +see, you don't know her. If you did you would understand. I am so +grateful to you for being kind. I don't want to be angry. But I must, if +you talk like that. Please--if you can, make me sure it wasn't my fault. +But if it involves Clare--I'd rather go on being--not not quite happy. +Yet I hoped, perhaps, you would help me." + +"Of course I'm helping you," he said, quick to catch and adopt her tone. +He had no wish to intimidate her. He liked her pathetic little dignities +and loyalties. He was, so far, content; he had, he knew, in spite of her +protestations, sown a seed of distrust in her mind. Time would ripen it. +He felt no compunction in enlightening her blind devotion. He had quick +antipathies, and he had conceived an idea of Clare Hartill that would +have appalled Alwynne, and which justified to himself any measure that +he might see fit to take. In his own mind he referred to her as "that +poisonous female." There were no half-measures with Roger. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +Alwynne leant back in her chair and regarded Roger with some intentness. + +"Well?" he said politely. + +"I was thinking----" she said lamely. + +"Obviously." + +"That it was rather queer--that I should tell you all this, when I +couldn't even tell Elsbeth." + +"Don't you think it's often easier to talk to strangers? One's +personality can make its own impression--it has no preconception to +fight against." + +"Yes. But I hate strangers, till they've stopped being strange. And, you +know"--she hesitated--"I haven't really liked you. Have you noticed it?" + +"In streaks," he admitted. "But why?" + +"You patronise so!" she flared. "You make me feel a fool. This +afternoon----Of course, it's quite true that I don't know much about +men. I suppose you knew I was--inexperienced; but you needn't have +rubbed it in. And you've always talked down to me." + +"I don't think I did," he considered the matter unsmiling. "I think it's +rather the other way--the tilt of your nose disturbs my complacence. You +listen to me at meals like Disapproval incarnate. You make me nervous." + +"Do I?" she asked delightedly. + +"Yes." He laughed. "I hide it under a superior air, of course." + +"Yes, of course," she sympathised. "That's what I do always." + +"It is useful," he agreed. + +"People may think you disagreeable, but at least you're dignified. _You +have chosen your fault well, I really cannot laugh at it._ Do you +remember? I told Elsbeth that you were like Mr. Darcy." + +"And that you don't like me?" + +"Well--I didn't. That's why it's so queer--that I can talk to you so +easily. I am grateful. It has helped, just talking." + +"I knew it would." + +"I feel better." She stirred in her seat. "Is it late? Ought we to be +going home?" + +He chose his words, his eyes on her, though he spoke casually enough. + +"No hurry. We can always take a cut through the wood, you know." + +She flinched at that, as he expected; spoke uneasily, furtive-eyed. + +"I think I'd rather go at once--round by the road. Isn't there a road?" +She rose and looked about her, taking farewell of the daffodils. + +"Yes, there's a road. Wouldn't you like a bunch?" He took a pair of +scissors from the wall, and began to select his blooms. Alwynne followed +him delightedly. She thought she would have a surprise for Clare, after +all. And Elsbeth! Elsbeth was an after-thought. But she hoped there +would be enough for Elsbeth. + +"Why won't you go back through the wood?" he said quietly, as, hands +full, he at last replaced the scissors on their particular nail, and +twitched a strand from the horse-tail of bass that hung beside them. +"Tell me." Then, calmly, "Here--put your finger here, will you?" + +Mechanically she obeyed and he tied the knot that secured the great +yellow sheaf and gave it to her. + +"Now tell me. What frightened you in the wood? What was wrong?" He spoke +quietly, but his tone compelled her. + +"If you dreamed a dream----" she began unwillingly, "night after +night--month after month--something ghastly----" + +"Yes--" he encouraged her. + +"Ah, well--at least you've the comfort of knowing it's a dream. But +suppose, one day--you dreamt it while you were awake----?" + +"Dreamt what?" He guessed her meaning, but he was deliberately forcing +her to reduce her terrors into words--the more they crystallised, the +easier she would find it to face and destroy them. + +"Do you believe in hell?" she flung at him. + +"I should jolly well think so." + +"For children?" Her tone implored comfort. + +"I'm afraid so." + +"But how can it be fair? They're so little. They don't know right from +wrong." + +"I knew a kid," he said meditatively, an eye on her tormented face, +"only eight--used to act, if you please. Hung about London stage-doors, +and bearded managers in their dens for a living. Quick little chap! +Father drunk or ill; incapable, anyhow. The child supported them both. +I've seen that child kept hanging about three or four hours on end. And +what he knew! It made you sick and sorry. He must be twelve by +now--getting on, I believe, poor kid! And a cheerful monkey! He's +certainly had his hell, though." + +She had hardly listened, she was absorbed in her thoughts; but she +caught at his last words---- + +"In this life? Oh, yes! That's cruel enough. But not afterwards? Not +eternal damnation! I don't mind it for myself so much--but for a baby +that can't understand why----It isn't possible, is it?" + +He began to laugh jollily. + +"Alwynne--you utter fool! Don't you believe in God?" + +"I suppose so," she admitted. + +"Of course, if you didn't----" + +"Yes," she thrust in. "Then it would be all right. I could be sure she +was asleep--dead--like last year's leaves----" + +"But why should God complicate matters?" + +"Well--heaven follows--and hell--don't they? _Their worm dieth not_--and +all the rest." + +"Oh, I follow." + +"Miss Marsham--the head mistress, you know--of course she's very +old--but she believes--terribly. It's an awfully religious school. It +scares some of the children. I used to laugh, but now, since Louise +died, it scares me, though I am grown up. I've no convictions--and she +is certain--and then I get these nightmares. I hear her calling--for +water." + +The flat matter-of-fact tone alarmed him more than emotion would have +done. + +"Water?" + +"_For I am tormented in this flame._ I hear her every night--wailing." +Her eyes strained after something that he could not see. + +He found no words. + +She returned with an effort. + +"Of course, when it's over--I know it's imagination. My sense tells me +so--in the daytime. Only I can't be sure. If only I could be sure! If +some one would tell me to be sure. It's the reasoning it out for +myself--all day--and going back to the dreams all night." + +"How long has this been going on?" he asked curtly. + +"Ever since--when I came home from Clare's--that night. I'd slept like a +log. Then I woke up suddenly. I thought I heard Louise calling. I'd +forgotten she was dead. Every night it happens--as soon as I go to +sleep, she comes. Always trying to speak to me. I hear her screaming +with pain--wanting help. Never any words. Do you think I'm mad? I know +it's only a dream--but every night, you know----" + +"You're not going to dream any more," he said, with a determination that +belied his inward sense of dismay. "But go on--let's have the rest of +it." + +"There isn't much. Just dreams. It's been a miserable year. I couldn't +be cheerful always, you know--and I used to dread going to bed so. It +made me stupid all day. And Clare--Clare didn't quite understand. Oh--I +did want to tell her so. But you can't worry people. I'm afraid Elsbeth +got worried--she hates it if you don't eat and have a colour. She packed +me off here at last." + +She drew a long breath. + +"This blessed place! You don't know how I love it. I feel a different +girl. All this space and air and freedom. What is it that the country +does to one's mind? I've slept. No dreaming. Sleep that's like a hot +bath. Can you imagine what that is after these months? Oh, Roger! I +thought I'd stopped dreaming for good--I was forgetting----" + +"Go on forgetting," he said. "You can. I'll help you. You had a shock. +It made you ill. You're getting well again. That's all." + +"I'm not," she said. "I'm going mad. To-day, in that wood.... Louise +came running after me--and I was awake...." + +Suddenly she gave a little ripple of high-pitched laughter. + +"Oh, Mr. Lumsden! Isn't this a ridiculous conversation? And your +face--you're so absurd when you frown.... You make me laugh.... You make +me laugh...." + +She broke off. Roger, with a swift movement, had turned and was standing +over her. + +"Now shut up!" he said sharply. "Shut up! D'you hear? Shut up this +instant, and sit down." He put his hand on her shoulder and jerked her +back into the chair. + +The shock of his roughness checked her hysterics, as he had intended it +should. She sat limply, her head in her hand, trying not to cry. He +watched her. + +"Pull yourself together, Alwynne," he said more gently. + +Her lips quivered, but she nodded valiantly. + +"I will. Just wait a minute. I don't want to make a fool of myself." +Then, with a quavering laugh, "Oh, Roger, this is pleasant for you!" + +He laughed. + +"You needn't mind me," he said calmly. "Any more than I mind you. Except +when you threaten hysterics. I bar hysterics. I wouldn't mind if they +did any good. But we've got lots to do. No time at all for them. We've +got to work this thing out. Ready?" + +Alwynne waited, her attention caught. + +"Now listen," he said. "First of all, get it into your head that I know +all about it, and that I'm going to see you through. Next--whenever you +get scared--though you won't again, I hope--that you are just to come +and talk it over. You won't even have to tell me--I shall see by your +face, you know. Do you understand? You're not alone any more. I'm here. +Always ready to lay your ghosts for you. Will you remember?" + +He spoke clearly and patiently--very cheerful and reassuring. + +"You've got to go home well, Alwynne. Because, you know, though you're +as sane as I am, you've been ill. This last year has been one long +illness. You had a shock--a ghastly shock--and, of course, it skinned +your nerves raw. My dear, I wonder it didn't send you really mad, +instead of merely making you afraid of going mad. If you hadn't put up +such a fight----Honestly, Alwynne! I think you've been jolly plucky." + +The sincere admiration in his voice was wonderfully pleasant to hear. + +Alwynne opened her eyes widely. + +"I don't know what you mean," she began shyly. + +"I'm not imaginative," he said, "but if I'd been hag-ridden as you +have----" He broke off abruptly. "But, at least, you've fought yourself +free," he continued cheerfully. "Yes, in spite of to-day." And his +complete assurance of voice and manner had its effect on Alwynne, +though she did not realise it. + +"You're better already. You say yourself you're a different girl since +you got away from--since you came here. And when you're quite well, +it'll be your own work, not mine. I'm just tugging you up the bank, so +to speak. But you've done the real fighting with the elements. I think +you can be jolly proud of yourself." + +Alwynne looked at him, half smiling, half bewildered. + +"What do you mean? You talk as if it were all over. Shall I never be +frightened again? Think of to-day?" + +"Of course it's all over," he assured her truculently. "To-day? To-day +was the last revolt of your imagination. You've let it run riot too +long. Of course it hasn't been easy to call it to heel." + +"You think it's all silly imaginings, then?" + +"Alwynne," he said. "You've got to listen to this, just this. You +say I'm not to talk about your friend, that I don't know her--that +I'm unjust. But listen, at least, to this. I won't be unfair. I'll +grant you that she was fond of the little girl, and meant no harm, +no more than you did. But you say yourself that she was miserable +till you relieved her mind by taking all the blame on yourself. Can't +you conceive that in so doing you did assume a burden, a very real +one? Don't you think that her fears, her terrors, may have haunted you +as well as your own? I believe in the powers of thought. I believe +that fear--remorse--regret--may materialise into a very ghost at your +elbow. Do you remember Macbeth and Banquo? Do you believe that a something +really physical sat that night in the king's seat? Do you think it was +the man from his grave? I think it was Macbeth's thoughts incarnate. He +thought too much, that man. But let's leave all that. Let's argue it out +from a common-sense point of view. You said you believed in God?" + +"Yes," she said. + +"And the devil?" + +"I suppose so." + +"Well--I'm not so sure that I do," he remarked meditatively. "But if I +do--I must say I cannot see the point of a God who wouldn't be more than +a match for him: and a God who'd leave a baby in his clutches to expiate +in fire and brimstone and all the rest of the beastliness----Well, is +it common sense?" he appealed to her. + +"If you put it like that----" she admitted. + +"My dear, would you let Louise frizzle if it were in your hands? Why, +you've driven yourself half crazy with fear for her, as it is. Can't you +give God credit for a little common humanity? I'm not much of a Bible +reader, but I seem to remember something about a sparrow falling to the +ground----Now follow it up," he went on urgently. "If Louise's life was +so little worth living that she threw it away--doesn't it prove she had +her hell down here? If you insist on a hell. And when she was dead, poor +baby, can't you trust God to have taken charge of her? And if He has--as +He must have--do you think that child--that happy child, Alwynne, for if +God exists at all, He must exist as the very source and essence of peace +and love--that that child would or could wrench itself apart from God, +from its happiness, in order to return to torment you? Is it possible? +Is it probable? In any way feasible?" + +Alwynne caught her breath. + +"How you believe in God! I wish I could!" + +Roger flushed suddenly like an embarrassed boy. + +"You know, it's queer," he confided, subsiding naïvely, "till I began to +talk to you, I didn't know I did. I never bother about church and +things. You know----" + +But Alwynne was not attending. + +"Of course--I see what you mean," she murmured. "It applies to Louise +too. Why, Roger, she was really fond of me--not as she was of Clare--of +course--but quite fond of me. She never would have hurt me. Hurt? Poor +mite! She never hurt any one in all her life." + +"I wonder you didn't think of that before," remarked Roger severely. "I +hope you see what an idiot you've been?" + +"Yes," said Alwynne meekly. She did not flash out at him as he had hoped +she would: but her manner had grown calm, and her eyes were peaceful. + +"Poor little Louise!" said Alwynne slowly. "So we needn't think about +her any more? She's to be dead, and buried, and forgotten. It sounds +harsh, doesn't it? But she is dead--and I've only been keeping her alive +in my mind all this year. Is that what you mean?" + +"Yes," he said. "And if it were not as I think it is, sheer +imagination--if your grieving and fear really kept a fraction of her +personality with you, to torment you both--let her go now, Alwynne. Say +good-bye to her kindly, and let her go home." + +She looked at him gravely for a moment. Then she turned from him to the +empty house of flowers. + +"Good-bye, Louise!" said Alwynne, simply as a child. + +About them was the evening silence. The sun, sinking over the edge of +the world, was a blinding glory. + +Out of the flowers rose the butterfly, found an open pane and fluttered +out on the evening air, straight into the heart of the sunlight. + +They watched it with dazzled eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +Alwynne had gone to bed early. She confessed to being tired, as she bade +her cousins good-night, and, indeed, she had dark rings about her eyes; +but her colour was brilliant as she waited at the foot of the stairs for +her candle. Roger had followed her into the hall and was lighting it. +The thin flame flickered between them, kindling odd lights in their +eyes. + +"Good-night," said Alwynne, and went up a shallow step or two. + +"Good-night," said Roger, without moving. + +She turned suddenly and bent down to him over the poppy-head of the +balustrade. + +"Good-night," said Alwynne once more, and put out her hand. + +"You're to sleep well, you know," he said authoritatively. + +She nodded. Then, with a rush-- + +"Roger, I do thank you. I do thank you very much." + +"That's all right," said Roger awkwardly. + +Alwynne went upstairs. + +He watched her disappear in the shadows of the landing, and took a +meditative turn up and down the long hall before he returned to the +drawing-room. + +He felt oddly responsible for the girl; wished that he had some one to +consult about her.... His aunts? Dears, of course, but ... Alicia, +possibly.... Certainly not Jean.... Nothing against them ... dearest +women alive ... but hardly capable of understanding Alwynne, were they? +Without at all realising it he had already arrived at the conviction +that no one understood Alwynne but himself. + +He caught her name as he re-entered the room. + +"Ever so much better! A different creature! Don't you think so, Roger?" + +"Think what?" + +"That Alwynne's a new girl? It's the air. Nothing like Dene air. But, of +course, you didn't see her when she first came. A poor white thing! +She'd worked herself to a shadow. How Elsbeth allowed it----" + +Jean caught her up. + +"Overwork! Fiddlesticks! It wasn't that. I'm convinced in my own mind +that there's something behind it. A girl doesn't go to pieces like that +from a little extra work. Look at your Compton women at the end of a +term. Bursting with energy still, I will say that for them. No--I'm +inclined to agree with Parker. I told you what she said to me? 'She must +have been crossed in love, poor young lady, the way she fiddle-faddles +with her food!'" + +Alicia laughed. + +"When you and Parker get together there's not a reputation safe in the +three Denes. If there had been anything of the kind, Elsbeth would have +given me a hint." + +"I should have thought Elsbeth would be the last person----" Jean broke +off significantly. + +Roger glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. + +"What's she driving at, Aunt Alice?" + +"Lord knows!" said Alicia shortly. + +Jean grew huffed. + +"It's all very well, Alicia, to take that tone. You know what I mean +perfectly well. Considering how reticent Elsbeth was over her own +affairs to us--she wouldn't be likely to confide anything about Alwynne. +But Elsbeth always imagined no one had any eyes." + +Alicia moved uneasily in her chair. + +"Jean, will you never let that foolish gossip be? It wasn't your +business thirty years ago--at least let it alone now." + +Jean flushed. + +"It's all very well to be superior, Alicia, but you know you agreed with +me at the time." + +Roger chuckled. + +"What are you two driving at? Let's have it." + +Alicia answered him. + +"My dear boy, you know what Jean is. Elsbeth stayed with us a good deal +when we were all girls together--and because she and your dear father +were very good friends----" + +"Inseparable!" snapped Jean. She was annoyed that the telling of the +story was taken from her. + +"Oh, they had tastes in common. But we all liked him. I'm quite certain +Elsbeth was perfectly heart-whole. Only Jean has the servant-girl habit +of pairing off all her friends and acquaintances. I don't say, of +course, that if John had never met your dear mother--but she came home +from her French school--she'd been away two years, you know--and turned +everybody's head. Ravishing she was. I remember her coming-out dance. +She wore the first short dress we'd seen--every one wore trains in those +days--white gauze and forget-me-nots. She looked like a fairy. All the +gentlemen wanted to dance with her, she was so light-footed. Your father +fell head over ears! They were engaged in a fortnight. And nobody, in +her quiet way, was more pleased than Elsbeth, I'm sure. Why, she was one +of the bridesmaids!" + +"She never came to stay with them afterwards," said Jean obstinately, +"always had an excuse." + +"Considering she had to nurse her father, with her mother an invalid +already----" Alicia was indignant. "Ten years of sick-nursing that poor +girl had!" + +"Anyhow, she never came to Dene again till after John died. Then she +came, once. When she heard we were all going out to Italy. Stayed a +week." + +"I remember," said Roger unexpectedly. + +"You! You were only five," cried Jean. The clock struck as she spoke. +She jumped up. "Alicia! It's ten o'clock! Where's Parker? Why hasn't +Parker brought the biscuits? You really might speak to her! She's always +late!" + +She flurried out of the room. + +Roger drew in his chair. + +"Aunt Alice, I say--how much of that is just--Aunt Jean?" + +Alicia sighed. + +"My dear boy! How should I know? It's all such a long while ago. Jean's +no respecter of privacy. I never noticed anything--hate prying--always +did." + +"She never married?" + +"She was over thirty before her mother died. She aged quickly--faded +somehow. At that visit Jean spoke of--I shall never forget the change in +her. She was only twenty-six, two years older than your mother, but +Rosemary was a girl beside her, in spite of you and her widow's weeds. +And then Alwynne was left on her hands and she absorbed herself in her. +She's one of those self-effacing women--But there--she's quite +contented, I think. She adores Alwynne. Her letters are cheerful enough. +I always kept up with her. I'd like to see her again." + +"Why didn't you ask her with Alwynne?" + +"I did. She wouldn't come. Spring-cleaning, and one of her whimsies. +Wanted the child to have a change from her. That's Elsbeth all over. She +was always painfully humble. I imagine she'd sell her immortal soul for +Alwynne." + +"Well--and so would you for me," said Roger, with a twinkle. + +"Don't you flatter yourself," retorted Alicia with spirit. Then she +laughed and kissed him, and lumbered off to scold Jean up to bed. + +Roger sat late, staring into the fire, and reviewing the day's +happenings. + +There was Alwynne to be considered.... Alwynne in the wood.... Alwynne +in the daffodil house.... Alwynne hanging over the bannisters, a candle +in her hand.... And Elsbeth.... Elsbeth had become something more than a +name.... Elsbeth had known his mother--had been "pals" with his +father.... He chuckled at the recollection of Jean's speculations.... +Poor old Jean! She hadn't altered much.... He remembered her first +horror at Compton and its boys and girls.... But Elsbeth was evidently a +good sort ... appreciated Alwynne.... He would like to have a talk with +Elsbeth.... He would like to have her version of that disastrous summer; +have her views on Alwynne and this school of hers ... and that woman ... +what was her name?... Hartill! Clare Hartill! Yes, he must certainly get +to know Alwynne's Elsbeth.... In the meantime.... + +He hesitated, fidgeting at his desk; spoiled a sheet or two; shrugged +his shoulders; began again; and finally, with a laugh at his own +uncertainty, settled down to the writing of a long letter to his second +cousin Elsbeth. + +Elsbeth, opening a boot-boxful of daffodils on the following evening, +had no leisure for any other letter till Alwynne's was read. + + _I hope they'll arrive fresh. Roger packed them for me himself. + He's frightfully clever with flowers, you know; you should just see + his greenhouses! But he goes in chiefly for roses; he's going to + teach me pruning and all that, he says, later on. The Dears were + out all day, but he looked after me. He's really awfully nice when + you get to know him. One of those sensible people. I'm sure you + would like him_, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. + +Elsbeth smiled over her daffodils. She had to put them in water, and +arrange them, and re-arrange them, and admire them for a full half-hour +before she had time for the rest of her post, for her two circulars and +the letter in the unfamiliar handwriting. + +But when, at last, it was opened, she had no more eyes for daffodils; +and though she spent her evening letter-writing, Alwynne got no thanks +for them next day. + +"Not even a note!" declaimed Alwynne indignantly. "She might at least +have sent me a note! It isn't as if she had any one else to write to!" + +Roger was most sympathetic. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +Alwynne's visit had been prolonged in turn by Alicia, Jean and Roger; +and Elsbeth had acquiesced--her sedate letters never betrayed how +eagerly--in each delay. + +Alicia was flatteringly in need of her help for the Easter church +decorations, and how could Alwynne refuse? Jean was in the thick of +preparations for the bazaar: Alwynne's quick wits and clever fingers +were not to be dispensed with. Alwynne wondered what Clare would say to +her interest in a bazaar and a mothers' meeting, and was a little +nervous that it would be considered anything but a reasonable excuse for +yet another delay. Clare's letters were getting impatient--Clare was +wanting her back. Clare was finding her holidays dull. Yet Alwynne, +longing to return to her, was persuaded to linger--for a bazaar--a +village bazaar! That a bazaar of all things should tempt Alwynne from +Clare! She felt the absurdity of it as fully as ever Clare could do. Yet +she stayed. After all, The Dears had been very good to her.... She +should be glad to make some small return by being useful when she +could.... + +And Alwynne was pleasantly conscious that she was uncommonly useful. A +fair is a many-sided gaiety. There are tableaux--Alwynne's suggestions +were invaluable. Side-shows--Alwynne, in a witch's hat, told the +entire village its fortunes with precision and point. Alwynne's +well-drilled school-babies were pretty enough in their country +dances and nursery rhymes; and the stall draperies were a credit +to Alwynne's taste. Alwynne's posters lined the walls; and her lightning +portraits--fourpence each, married couples sixpence--were the success +of the evening. The village notabilities were congratulatory: The Dears +beamed: it was all very pleasant. + +Her pleasure in her own popularity was innocent enough. Nevertheless she +glanced uneasily in the direction of Roger Lumsden more than once during +the evening. He was very big and busy in his corner helping his aunts, +but she felt herself under observation. She had an odd idea that he was +amused at her. She thought he might have enquired if she needed help +during the long evening, when the little Parish Hall was grown crowded. +Once, indeed, she signed to him across the room to come and talk to her, +but he laughed and shook his head, and turned again to an old mother, +absorbed in a pile of flannel petticoats. Alwynne was not pleased. + +But when the sale had come to its triumphant end, and the stall-holders +stood about in little groups, counting coppers and comparing gains--it +was Roger who discovered Alwynne, laughing a trifle mechanically at the +jokes of the ancient rector, and came to her rescue. + +She found herself in the cool outer air, hat and scarf miraculously in +place. + +"Jean and Alicia are driving, they won't be long after us. I thought +you'd rather walk. That room was a furnace," said Roger, with +solicitude. + +She drew a deep breath. + +"It was worth it to get this. Isn't it cool and quiet? I like this black +and white road. Doesn't the night smell delicious?" + +"It's the cottage gardens," he said. + +"Wallflowers and briar and old man. Better than all your acres of glass, +after all," she insinuated mischievously. Then, with a change of tone, +"Oh, dear, I am tired." + +"You'd better hang on to my arm," said Roger promptly. "That's better. +Of course you're tired. If you insist on running the entire show----" + +"Then you did think that?" Alwynne gave instant battle. "I knew you +did. I saw you laugh. I can walk by myself, thank you." + +But her dignity edged her into a cart-rut, for Roger did not deviate +from the middle of the lane. + +He laughed. + +"You're a consistent young woman--I'm as sure of a rise----You'd better +take my arm. Alwynne! You're not to say 'Damn.'" A puddle shone blackly, +and Alwynne, nose in air, had stepped squarely into it. + +She ignored his comments. + +"I wasn't interfering. I had to help where I could. They asked me to. +Besides--I liked it." + +"Of course you did." + +She looked up quickly. + +"Did I really do anything wrong? Did I push myself forward?" + +"You made the whole thing go," he said seriously. "A triumph, Alwynne. +The rector's your friend for life." + +"Then why do you grudge it?" She was hurt. + +"Do I?" + +"You laugh at me." + +"Because I was pleased." + +"With me?" + +"With my thoughts. You've enjoyed yourself, haven't you?" + +She nodded. + +"I never dreamed it would be such fun." She laughed shyly. "I like +people to like me." + +"Now, come," he said. "Wasn't it quite as amusing as a prize-giving?" + +She looked up at him, puzzled. He was switching with his stick at the +parsley-blooms, white against the shadows of the hedge. + +"I suppose your goal is a head mistress-ship?" he suggested +off-handedly. + +"Why?" began Alwynne, wondering. Then, taking the bait: "Not for +myself--I couldn't. I haven't been to college, you know. But if Clare +got one--I could be her secretary, and run things for her, like Miss +Vigers did for Miss Marsham. We've often planned it." + +"Ah, that's a prospect indeed," he remarked. "I suppose it would be more +attractive, for instance, than to be Lady Bountiful to a village?" + +"Oh, yes," said Alwynne, with conviction. "More scope, you know. And, +besides, Clare hates the country." + +"Ah!" said Roger. + +They walked awhile in silence. + +But before they reached home, Roger had grown talkative again. He had +heard from his aunts that she was planning to go back to Utterbridge on +the following Saturday--a bare three days ahead. Roger thought that a +pity. The bazaar was barely over--had Alwynne any idea of the clearing +up there would be to do? Accounts--calls--congratulations. Surely +Alwynne would not desert his aunts till peace reigned once more. And the +first of his roses would be out in another week; Alwynne ought to see +them; they were a sight. Surely Alwynne could spare another week. + +Alwynne had a lot to say about Elsbeth. And Clare. Especially Clare. +Alwynne did not think it would be kind to either of them to stay away +any longer. It would look at last as if she didn't want to go home. +Elsbeth would be hurt. And Clare. Especially Clare. + +But the lane had been dark and the hedges had been high, high enough to +shut out all the world save Roger and his plausibilities. By the time +they reached the garden gate Alwynne's hand was on Roger's arm--Alwynne +was tired--and Alwynne had promised to stay yet another week at Dene. On +the following day, labouring over her letters of explanation, she +wondered what had possessed her. Wondered, between a chuckle of mischief +and a genuine shiver, what on earth Clare would say. + +But if Roger had gained his point, he gained little beside it. The week +passed pleasantly, but some obscure instinct tied Alwynne to his aunts' +apron-strings. He saw less of her in those last days than in all the +weeks of her visit. He had assured her that The Dears would need help, +and she took him at his word. She absorbed herself in their concerns, +and in seven long days found time but twice to visit Roger's roses. + +Yet who so pleasant as Alwynne when she was with him? Roger should have +appreciated her whim of civility. It is on record that she agreed with +him one dinner-time, on five consecutive subjects. On record, too, that +in that last week there arose between them no quarrel worthy of the +name. Yet Roger was not in the easiest of moods, as his gardeners knew, +and his coachman, and his aunts. The gardeners grumbled. The coachman +went so far as to think of talking of giving notice. Alicia said it was +the spring. Jean thought he needed a tonic--or a change. Roger, +cautiously consulted, surprised her by agreeing. He said it was a good +idea. He might very well take a few days off, say in a fortnight, or +three weeks.... + +Only Alwynne, very busy over the finishing touches of Clare's birthday +present, paid no attention to the state of Roger's temper. She was +entirely content. The anticipation of her reunion with Clare accentuated +the delights of her protracted absence. Indeed, it was not until the +last morning of her visit that she noticed any change in him. That last +morning, she thought resentfully, as later she considered matters in the +train, he had certainly managed to spoil. Roger, her even-minded, +tranquil Roger--Roger, prime sympathiser and confederate--Roger, the +entirely dependable--had failed her. She did not know what had come over +him. + +For Roger had been in a bad temper, a rotten bad temper, and heaven knew +why.... Alwynne didn't.... She had been in such a jolly frame of mind +herself.... She had got her packing done early, and had dashed down to +breakfast, beautifully punctual--and then it all began.... She re-lived +it indignantly, as the telegraph poles shot by. + +The bacon had sizzled pleasantly in the chafing-dish. She was standing +at the window, crumbling bread to the birds. + +"Hulloa! You're early!" remarked Roger, entering. + +"Done all my packing already! Isn't that virtue?" Alwynne was intent on +her pensioners. "Oh, Roger--look! There's a cuckoo. I'm sure it's a +cuckoo. Jean says they come right on to the lawn sometimes. I've always +wanted to see one. Look! The big dark blue one." + +"Starling," said Roger shortly, and sat himself down. "First day I've +known you punctual," he continued sourly. + +"I'm going home," cried Alwynne. "I'm going home! Do you know I've been +away seven weeks? It's queer that I haven't been homesick, isn't it?" + +"Is it?" said Roger blankly. + +"So, of course, I'm awfully excited," she continued, coming to the +table. "Oh, Roger! In six hours I shall see Clare!" + +"Congratulations!" He gulped down some coffee. + +Alwynne looked at him, mildly surprised at his taciturnity. + +"I've had a lovely time," she remarked wistfully. "You've all been so +good to me." + +Roger brightened. + +"The Dears are such dears," continued Alwynne with enthusiasm. "I've +never had such a glorious time. It only wanted Clare to make it quite +perfect. And Elsbeth, of course." + +"Of course," said Roger. + +"So often I've thought," she went on: "'Now if only Clare and Elsbeth +could be coming down the road to meet us----'" she paused effectively. +"I do so like my friends to know each other, don't you?" + +Roger was cutting bread--stale bread, to judge by his efforts. His face +was growing red. + +"Because then I can talk about them to them," concluded Alwynne lucidly. + +"Jolly for them!" he commented indistinctly. + +Alwynne looked up. + +"What, Roger?" + +"I said, 'Jolly for them!'" + +"Oh!" Alwynne glanced at him in some uncertainty. Then, with a frown-- + +"Have you finished--already?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +"I haven't," remarked Alwynne, with sufficient point. Roger rose. + +"You'll excuse me, won't you? I've a busy morning ahead of me." + +He got up. But in spite of his protestations of haste he still stood at +the table, fidgeting over his pile of circulars and seed catalogues, +while he coughed the preliminary cough of a man who has something to +say, and no idea of how to say it. + +Alwynne, meanwhile, had discovered the two letters that her napkin had +hidden, and had neither ears nor eyes for him and his hesitations. + +Roger watched her gloomily as she opened the envelopes. The first +enclosure was read and tossed aside quickly enough, but the other was +evidently absorbing. He shrugged his shoulders at last, and, crossing +the room, took his warmed boots from the hearth. The supporting tongs +fell with a crash. + +Alwynne jumped. + +"Oh, Roger, you are noisy!" + +"Sorry," said Roger, but without conviction. + +She looked across at him with a hint of perturbation in her manner. She +distrusted laconics. + +"I say--is anything the matter?" + +"Nothing whatever!" he assured her. "Why?" He bent over his boots. + +"I don't know. You're rather glum to-day, aren't you?" + +"Not at all," said Roger, with a dignity that was marred by the sudden +bursting of his over-tugged bootlace. His ensuing exclamation was +vigorous and not inaudible. Alwynne giggled. It is not easy to tie a +knot in four-sided leather laces. She watched his struggles without +excessive sympathy. Presently a neat twist of twine flicked through +space and fell beside him. + +"'Just a little bit of string,'" murmured Alwynne flippantly. But +getting no thanks, she returned to her letter. Roger fumbled in silence. + +"The Dears are late," remarked Alwynne at last, as she folded her +sheets. + +"No--it's we who are early. I got down early on purpose. I thought you +might be, too. I wanted----" he broke off abruptly. + +"Yes, I always wake up at daybreak when I'm excited," she said joyously. +"Oh, Roger! How I'm looking forward to getting home! Clare says she may +meet me--if she feels like it," she beamed. + +"Oh!" said Roger. + +Alwynne tapped her foot angrily. + +"What's the matter with you?" she demanded. "Why on earth do you sit +there and grunt at me like that? Why won't you talk? You're an absolute +wet blanket--on my last morning. I wish The Dears would come down." + +"I think I hear them moving," he said, and stared at the ceiling. + +"I hope you do." Alwynne flounced from the table and picked up a paper. + +He stood looking at her--between vexation and amusement, and another +sensation less easily defined. + +"Well, I must be off," he said at last. + +He got no answer. + +"Good-bye, Alwynne. Pleasant journey." + +Alwynne turned in a flash. + +"Good-bye? Aren't you coming to see me off?" she demanded blankly. + +He hesitated, looking back at her from the open window, one foot already +on the terrace. + +"I'm awfully busy. It's market-day, you know--and the new stuff's coming +in. The Dears will see you off." + +"Oh, all right." Alwynne was suddenly subdued. She held out a limp hand. + +He disregarded it. + +"Do you want me to come?" He spoke more cheerfully. + +"One always likes one's friends to see one off," she remarked sedately. + +"And meet one?" He glanced at the letter in her hand. + +"And meet one. Certainly." Her chin went up. "I hadn't to ask Clare. But +you needn't come. Good-bye!" + +"Oh, I'm coming--now," he assured her, smiling. + +Alwynne's eyebrows went up. + +"But it's market-day, you know----" + +"Yes." + +"You're awfully busy." + +"Yes." + +"The new stuff's coming in." + +"Yes." + +"Are you coming, Roger?" + +"Yes, Alwynne." + +"Then, Roger dear--if you are coming, and it's no bother, and you can +spare them, would you bring me a tiny bunch of your roses? Not for +me--for Clare. She does love them so. Do, Roger!" + +"I'm hanged if I do," cried Roger, and went his wrathful way. + +But he did. A big bunch. More than enough for Clare. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +Alwynne was out of the train a dangerous quarter minute before it came +to a standstill, and making for the bunch of violets that bloomed +perennially in Elsbeth's bonnet. There followed a sufficiency of +kissing. It was like a holiday home-coming, thought Alwynne, of not so +very long ago. But not so long ago she would have been exclusively +occupied with Elsbeth, and her luggage, and her forgotten compartment; +would not have turned impatiently from her aunt to scan the length of +the platform. Not a sign of Clare? And Clare had promised to meet +her.... + +She prolonged as long as she might her business with porters and ticket +collectors and outside-men, but Clare did not appear; and she left the +station at last, at her aunt's side, sedately enough, with the edge off +the pleasure of her home-coming. + +A telegram on the hall stand, however, contented her. Clare was sorry; +Clare was delayed; would be away another four days; was writing. Alwynne +shook off her black dog, and the meeting with Clare still delightfully +ahead of her, was able to devote herself altogether to Elsbeth. Elsbeth +spent a gay four days with an Alwynne grown rosy and cheerful, +affectionate and satisfyingly garrulous again; found it very pleasant to +have Alwynne to herself, her own property, even for four days. Elsbeth +might know that she was second fiddle still, but though it cost her +something to realise that she could never be first fiddle again, she +could be content to give place to Roger Lumsden. She shook her head over +her inconsistency. She could school herself, rather than lose the girl's +confidence, to accept Clare Hartill as the main theme of Alwynne's +conversation, till she was weary of the name, but she could not hear +enough of Roger. All that Alwynne let fall of incident, description, or +approval--Roger, Elsbeth discovered, had, in common with Clare, no +faults whatever--she stored up to compare, when Alwynne had gone to bed, +with letters, half-a-dozen by this time, that she kept locked up, with +certain other, older letters, in the absurd little secret drawer of her +desk. And she would patter across into Alwynne's room at last, to tuck +in a sheet or twitch back a coverlet or merely to pretend to herself +that Alwynne was a baby still, and so, with a smile and a sigh, to her +own room, to make her plain toilet and to say her selfless prayers to +God and her counterpane. Happy days and nights--four happy days and +nights for Elsbeth. + +Then Clare came back. + +It was natural that Alwynne should meet her and go home with her, +portmanteau in hand, to spend a night or two.... Elsbeth agreed that it +was natural.... Three nights or even four.... But when a week passed, +with no sign from Alwynne but a meagre, apologetic postcard, Elsbeth +thought that she had good cause for anger. Not, of course, with +Alwynne ... never, be it understood, with Alwynne ... but most certainly +with Clare Hartill. Alwynne was so fatally good-natured.... Clare, she +supposed, had kept the child by a great show of needing her help.... +Of course, school was beginning, had begun already.... Clare would +find Alwynne useful enough.... No doubt it was pleasant to have some +one at her beck and call again in these busy first days of term.... +Possibly--probably--oh, she conceded the "probably"--Clare had missed +Alwynne badly.... Had not Elsbeth, too, missed Alwynne? + +But she answered Alwynne's postcard affectionately as usual. If Alwynne +were happier with Clare, Elsbeth would given no hint of loneliness. A +hint, she knew, would suffice. Alwynne had a sense of duty. But she +wanted free-will offering from Alwynne, not tribute. + +In spite of herself, however, something of bitterness crept into her +next note to Roger Lumsden, who had inveigled her, she hardly knew how, +into regular correspondence. Her remark that _Alwynne has been away ten +days now_, was set down baldly, with no veiling sub-sentences of +explanation or excuse. + +Had she but known it, however, she was not altogether just to Alwynne. +The first hours of reunion did certainly drive her aunt out of Alwynne's +mind, but after a couple of days she was ready to remind herself and +Clare that Elsbeth, too, had some claim on her time. It is possible, +however, that had she been happier, she would have been less readily +scrupulous. Clare had certainly been glad to see her, had, for an hour +or two, been entirely delightful. But with the resumption of their +mutual life Clare was not long in falling back into her old bad ways, +and in revenge for her two months' boredom, in sheer teasing high +spirits at Alwynne's return, as well as in unreasoning, petulant +jealousy, led Alwynne a pretty enough dance. For Clare was jealous, +jealous of these eight weeks of Alwynne's youth that did not belong to +her, and between her jealousy and her own contempt for her jealousy, was +in one of the moods that she and Alwynne alike dreaded. + +The mornings at the school came as a relief to them both, but no sooner +were they together again than Clare's pricking devil must out. Scenes +were incessant--wanton, childish scenes. Yet Alwynne, sore and +bewildered as she was by Clare's waxing unreasonableness, was yet not +proof against the sudden surrenders that always contrived to put her in +the wrong. She would repeat to herself that it must be she who was +unreasonable, that she should be flattered rather than distressed, for +instance, that Clare would not let her go home.... She would rather be +with Clare than Elsbeth, wouldn't she? Of course! well, then!... +Nevertheless she could not help wondering if any letters had come for +her; if Elsbeth, expecting her daily, would bother to send them on.... +Roger had promised to write.... She thought that really she ought to go +home. + +But Clare would not hear of her leaving. Elsbeth wanted Alwynne? So did +she. Didn't Elsbeth always have Alwynne? Surely Alwynne was old enough +to be away from Elsbeth for a fortnight, without leave granted! Really, +with all due respect to her, Alwynne's aunt was a regular Old Man of the +Sea. + +"Clare!" Alwynne's tone had a hint of remonstrance. + +"Oh, I said 'with all respect.' But if she were not your aunt I should +really be tempted to get rid of her--have you here altogether. You would +like that, Alwynne, eh?" + +Alwynne refused to nod, but she laughed. + +"'Get rid'? Clare, don't be absurd." + +Clare looked at her, smiling, eyes narrowed in the old way. + +"Do you think I couldn't get rid of her if I wanted to? I always do what +I set out to do. Look at Henrietta Vigers." + +Alwynne sat bolt upright. + +"Miss Vigers? But she resigned! She had been meaning to leave! She told +us so! Do you mean that she didn't want to leave? Do you mean that she +had to?" + +"Have you ever seen a liner launched? You press an electric button, you +know--just a touch--it's awfully simple----" She paused, eyes dancing. + +But Alwynne had no answering twinkle. + +"I wouldn't have believed it," she said slowly. Then, distractedly, "But +why, Clare, why? What possessed you?" + +"She got in my way," said Clare indolently. + +Alwynne turned on her, eyes blazing. + +"You mean to say--you deliberately did that poor old thing out of her +job? If you did----But I don't believe it. If you did----Clare, excuse +me--but I think it was beastly." + +"_Demon! With the highest respect to you_----" quoted Clare, tongue in +cheek. + +But Alwynne was not to be pacified. + +"Clare--you didn't, did you?" + +"My dear, she was in the way. She worried you and you worried me. I +don't like being worried." + +Alwynne shivered. + +"Don't, Clare! I hate you to talk like that--even in fun. It's--it's so +cold-blooded." + +"In fun!" Clare laughed lightly. Alwynne's youthful severity amused her. +But she had gone, she perceived, a trifle too far. "Well, then, in +earnest--joking apart----" + +Alwynne's face relaxed. Of course, she had known all along that Clare +was in fun.... + +"Joking apart--it was time for Miss Vigers to go. I admit saying what I +thought to Miss Marsham. I am quite ready to take responsibility. She +was too old--too fussy--too intolerant--I can't stand intolerance. She +had to go." + +Alwynne looked wicked. + +"Clare, you remind me of a man I met, down at Compton. You ought to get +on together. He's great on tolerance too. So tolerant that five hundred +years ago he'd have burned every one who wasn't as tolerant as he. As it +is, he shrugs them out of existence, _à la_ Podsnap. Just as you did +Miss Vigers just now." + +"Who was he?" + +"Don't know--only met him once. But he tickled me awfully. He hadn't the +faintest idea how funny he was." + +"Did he shrug you out of existence?" + +"My dear Clare--could any one snub me? You might as well snub a rubber +ball." + +"Yes, you're pretty thick-skinned." Clare paid her back reflectively. + +Alwynne winced. + +"Am I? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be. How, just now?" + +Clare yawned. + +"Well, for one thing, you needn't flavour your conversation exclusively +with Denes. They bore me worse than if they had an 'a' in them." + +"I'm sorry." Alwynne paused. Then she plucked up courage. "Clare, I +stayed there two months. The Dene people are my friends, my great +friends. I don't think you need sneer at them." + +Clare yawned again. + +"I wonder you ever came back, if they're so absorbing. What is the +particular attraction there, by the way? The old women or the young +men?" + +Alwynne's lips quivered. + +"Clare, what has happened? What is the matter with you nowadays? Why are +you grown so different? Why are you always saying unkind things?" + +Clare shrugged her shoulders. + +"Really, Alwynne, I am not accustomed to be cross-examined. Such a bore, +giving reasons. Besides, I haven't got any. Oh, don't look such a +martyr." + +"I think I'll go home," said Alwynne in a low voice. "I don't think you +want me." + +"But Elsbeth does, doesn't she?" + +Clare settled herself more comfortably in the comfortable Chesterfield +as she watched Alwynne out of the room. She lay like a sleepy cat, +listening to the muffled sounds of Alwynne's packing; let her get ready +to her hat and her gloves and the lacing of her boots, before she called +her back, and played with her, and forgave her at the last. Yet she +found Alwynne less pliable than usual: convicted of sin, she was yet +resolved on departure, if not to-day--no, of course she would not go +to-day, after behaving so ill to her Clare--then, the day following. +That would be Friday--a completed fortnight--and Saturday was Clare's +birthday--had Clare forgotten? Alwynne hadn't, anyhow. Oh, she must come +for Saturday, and what would Elsbeth say to that? There must be one +evening, at least, given to Elsbeth in between. After all, it was jolly +dull for Elsbeth all by herself. + +Clare, good-tempered for the first time that afternoon, supposed it was, +rather. + +But on that particular day, Alwynne's qualms of conscience were +unnecessary. Elsbeth was not at all dull. Elsbeth, on the contrary, was +tremendously excited. And Elsbeth had forgotten all about Alwynne, was +not missing her in the least. Elsbeth had received a letter from Dene +that morning, and was expecting Roger Lumsden to supper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +Elsbeth spent her day in that meticulous and unnecessary arrangement and +re-arrangement of her house and person, with which woman, since time +was, has delighted to honour man, and which he, the unaccountable, has +as inevitably failed to notice. The clean cretonnes had arrived in time +and were tied and smoothed into place; the vases new-filled; and the +fire, though spring-cleaning had been, sprawled opulently in a brickless +grate. The matches, with the fifty cigarettes Elsbeth had bought that +forenoon, hesitating and all too reliant upon the bored tobacconist, +lay, aliens unmistakable, near Roger's probable seat, and the knowledge +of the supper laid out in the next room fortified Elsbeth as, years ago, +a new frock might have done. Alwynne, in every age and stage, dotted the +piano and occasional tables, and a photograph that even Alwynne had +never seen was placed on the mantelshelf, that Roger, greeting Elsbeth, +might see it and forget to be shy. + +But it was Elsbeth that was shy, when Roger, very punctual, arrived amid +the chimes of the evening service. Yet Elsbeth had been ready since +five. They greeted each other in dumb show and sat a moment, smiling and +taking stock, while the clamour swelled, insisted, ebbed and died away. + +Roger, still silent, began to fumble at a case he carried, while Elsbeth +found herself apologetically and for the thousandth time wondering to +her guest why she had taken root so near a church, while within herself +a hard voice cried exultantly, "He's his father, his father over again! +Nothing of Rosemary there!" and she tasted a little strange flash of +triumph over the dead woman she had been too gentle to hate. + +But suddenly her lap was filled with roses, bunch upon tight masculine +bunch, and the formal sentences broke up into incoherence as Roger +stooped and kissed his second cousin Elsbeth. + +They soon made friends. Roger, who had never quite forgotten her, found +the pleasant-faced spinster as attractive as the pretty lady of his +childhood. He examined her as he ate his supper. A spare figure, soft +grey hair, and square, capable hands; a kind mouth, not a strong one, +set in lines firmer than were natural to it; gentle eyes, no longer +beautiful, and a cheerful, tired smile; a sweet face, thought Roger, not +a happy one. Yet she had Alwynne! She fluttered a little over the meal, +and was anxious about his coffee, and full of little enquiries and +attentions that were never irritating. There was a faint scent of +verbena as she moved about him, and her silk gown did not crackle like +younger women's dresses. She listened well, but he guessed her no +talker, and later in the evening, gauged her affection for Alwynne by +her breathless fluency. He thought her charming and a little pathetic, +and wondered why nobody had ever insisted on marrying her. + +Elsbeth's shyness soon dwindled; she slipped quickly into the informal +"aunt and nephew" attitude that he evidently expected, and found his +friendliness and obvious pleasure in her as delightful as it was +astonishing. She supposed, with a wistful little shrug, that she was +near the rose! Nevertheless she enjoyed herself. + +They talked in narrowing circles: of his father a little; more of his +mother; of Dene, and Elsbeth's former visits. He described Compton and +The Dears, and his gardens and his roses. Then, with a chuckle, an +unauthorised attempt of Alwynne at pruning that had ended in disaster; +and so plunged into confidences. + +"I expect you've guessed that I intend--that I want to marry +Alwynne,--with her permission," he added hastily, smiling down at her. + +Elsbeth envied him his inches. For Alwynne's sake she did not intend to +be dominated; but she found his mere masculinity a little overpowering, +and did not guess that her frail dignity had made its own impression. + +She smiled back at him. + +"I'm glad you put that in. You should respect grey hairs." + +"But I do." + +"No. You imply that I'm a very blind and foolish guardian! My dear boy," +her pretty voice shook a little, "I've hoped and prayed for this. You, +John's boy, and--and dear Rosemary's, of course--and Alwynne, who's +dearer to me than a daughter! Why, that's why I sent her down to Dene!" +She blushed the rare blush of later middle age. "Oh, my dear--it was +shameless! I was matchmaking! I was! And I've always considered it so +indelicate. But I wished so strongly that you two might come together. +When Alwynne wrote of you so often, I hoped: and then your letters made +me sure. You had got on so well without me these twenty-five years--and +then to feel the ties of kinship so very strongly all of a sudden--it +was transparent, Roger." + +He laughed. + +"I hadn't forgotten really--though it's the vaguest memory. You gave me +a rabbit in a green cabbage that opened. And one Sunday we shared Prayer +Books. You had a blue dress--a pale blue that one never sees nowadays, +and very pink cheeks." + +"Ah! the _crêpe de Chine_," said Elsbeth absently. + +"I always remembered--though I'd forgotten I did. Alwynne brought it +back. She's like you in some ways, you know. She made me awfully curious +to see you again. From the way she talked I knew you'd be decent to me." +He smiled. "Elsbeth--I'm tremendously in love." + +"Have you told her so?" + +"Alwynne's rather difficult to get hold of. She doesn't understand +anything but black and white." + +"Clare Hartill--I suppose you've heard of Clare Hartill?" + +"Have I not!" + +"Clare Hartill says she has an uncanny ear for nuances." + +"Also that she's thick-skinned! The woman's a fool." + +"Oh, she's quite right, Roger, though I expect she was in a temper when +she said it. But it only means that Alwynne has been trained to listen +to women. She can't follow men yet. She has been advised that they are +grown-up children and that her rôle is to be superior but tactful." + +He chuckled. + +"Yes. When Alwynne's tactful--she's tactful! You can't mistake it, can +you? Have you ever seen her sidling out of a room when she thought she +wasn't wanted? Still, she can hold her own, on occasion. She simply +walked through my hints. But--how does she talk of me, Elsbeth, if she +does at all, that is?" + +"She likes you, in the 'good old Roger' fashion." + +"But you do think I have a chance?" + +"That's why I wanted to see you. Frankly, at present I don't think you +have." + +He looked at her coolly, not at all depressed. + +"Why not?" + +"Clare Hartill." + +"Ah!" He sat down at the table again, his chin in his fist. "You think +her the obstacle?" + +"I taught her once. Alwynne has been absorbed in her for two years. +Alwynne talks----" they both smiled. "I could compare. I ought to know +her pretty well." + +"Yes. But how can she affect Alwynne and me? Of course I know what a lot +Alwynne thinks of her. She's rather delightful on the subject. Thinks +her perfection, and so on. Alwynne is naïve; conveys more than she knows +or intends, sometimes. And she never looks at her god's feet, does she? +'Clare' and 'Clare' and 'Clare.' Personally, I imagine her a bit of a +brute." + +"I try to be fair. She is fond of Alwynne." + +"Why not? But what's that got to do with Alwynne's caring for me, if I +am lucky enough to make her? And I'm--conceitedly sure--that it's only a +question of waking Alwynne up." + +"You don't know Clare. If once she knows, she'll never let the child +go." + +"But if Alwynne were engaged to me?" + +"She'll never allow it. She'll play on Alwynne's affection for her." + +"But why? I shouldn't interfere with their friendship." + +"My dear Roger--marriage ends friendship automatically. Clare would be +shrewd enough to see that. And even--otherwise--she would never share. +You don't guess how jealous women are." + +Roger leant back in his chair with a gesture of bewilderment. + +"My dearest cousin! The age of sorcery is over. You talk as if Alwynne +were under a spell." + +"Practically she is. Of course Clare would put it on the highest +grounds--unsuitability--a waste of talents. She pretends to despise +domesticity. Alwynne would be hypnotised into repeating her arguments as +her own opinion." + +"Hypnotism?" + +"Oh, not literally. But she really does influence some women, and young +girls especially, in the most uncanny way. I've watched it so often." + +"She's not married?" + +"She hardly ever speaks to a man. I've seen her at gaieties, when she +was younger. She was always rather stranded. Men left her alone. +Something in her seems to repel them. I think she fully realised it. And +she's a proud woman. There's tragedy in it." + +"Does she repel you?" + +"Not in that way. I dislike her. I think her dangerous. I'm intensely +sorry for her. And I do understand something of the attraction she +exercises, better than you can, though it has never affected me. You +see--eccentricity--abnormality--does not affect women as it does men. +And she's brilliantly clever." + +"So is Alwynne--you wouldn't call her abnormal?" + +"Alwynne? Never! She's as sound and sweet as an apple. But--and it means +a good deal at her age--she's in abnormal hands. Clare Hartill is +abnormal, spiritually perverse--and she's fastened on the child. They +adore each other. It's terribly bad for Alwynne. As it is, it will take +her months to shake off Clare's influence, even with you to help her. +That is, if you succeed in detaching her. I'm useless, of course. +Loving--just loving--is no good. You can only influence if you are +strong enough to wound. I merely irritate. I'm weak. But you could do as +you like, I believe. Take her away from that selfish woman, Roger! It's +blighting her." + +"You think," he said, "that she would be content with me--with marriage +as a career? Of course, Miss Hartill's right about her talents." + +"Alwynne? I don't think--I know. All her gifts are so much surface show; +she's a very simple child underneath. Content? Can't you see her, +Roger--with children? Her own babies?" + +Roger beamed. + +"It's rather a jolly prospect. Well, I must take my chance." + +"Of course, you must wait; it's too soon yet. Even later, if Clare +really wants her--wants her enough to suppress her own perverse +impulses--I'm afraid you've little chance. But it's possible that she +will not want her as much as that." + +"I don't follow." + +"I mean that Clare, with that impish nature of hers, may hurt Alwynne." + +"I should think she has already, often enough." + +"Yes--but Alwynne has never realised it, never realised that it was +deliberate. She is always so sure that it was her fault somehow. If +once she found out that Clare was hurting her for--for the fun of it, +you know--for the pleasure of watching her suffer--as I'm sure she +does--it might end everything. Alwynne hates cruelty. That poor child's +death shook her. A little more, and she will be disillusioned." + +"But loyal still?" + +"Probably. But the glamour would be gone. She would be extremely +unhappy. There your chance would come. Though I don't think Clare will +give it you--for I believe Alwynne does mean more to her than most +things. But she's an unaccountable person: there is the chance." + +"I see," Roger rose and straightened himself. "Practically I'm not to +depend on my own--attractions--at all." He laughed a little. "I am to +watch the whims of this--this unpleasant school-marm, and be grateful to +her for forcing Alwynne to prefer my deep sea to her devil. The +situation is hardly dignified." + +Elsbeth laughed too. + +"Love is always undignified, Roger. What does it matter if you want +her?" But she watched him anxiously as he walked to the window, and +stood staring out. + +There was a silence. At last he turned-- + +"Elsbeth, dear, it's a beautiful scheme, and a woman could carry it +through, I daresay--but it's no good to me. It's too--too tortuous, too +feminine. I don't mean anything rude. It's merely that I'm not--subtle +enough, or patient. At least, I haven't got that cat-and-mouse kind of +patience. I can wait, you know. That's different. I can wait all right. +But I can't intrigue." + +Elsbeth flushed. + +"There is no intrigue. It's a question of understanding Alwynne and of +using the opportunity when it comes." + +"To trick and surprise and over-persuade her into caring for me! It's no +good, Elsbeth. It isn't possession I want--it's Alwynne. Can't you see? +We should neither of us be happy. She would always distrust me and +remember that I'd taken an advantage. I should end by hating her, I +believe. Can't you see?" + +Elsbeth was shaken by her own thoughts. + +"I see," she said finally. "And I see that you don't love her--or you'd +take her on any terms." + +"Would you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I wouldn't. And I do love her. But I want Alwynne on my terms. Do +I sound an awful prig? Cousin Elsbeth, hear my way! I'm going to have it +out with Alwynne." + +"At once?" + +"At once. As soon as I see her--no beating about the bush." + +"Roger--she may be utterly out of the mood." + +"Hang moods! I beg your pardon, Elsbeth. But I'm going to tell +her--certain things. If she doesn't like it I'm going back to Dene. +She'll know where to find me when she changes her mind. Elsbeth, don't +look so hopeless." + +"You don't understand Alwynne." + +"I don't want to understand her--I want to marry her. I must stick to my +own way. Can't you conceive that all this consideration, all this +deference to moods and dissection of motives, this horribly feminine +atmosphere that she seems to have lived in, of subtleties, and +reservations, and simulations--may be bad for her? It seems to me that +she's always being thought about. You, with your anxious affection--that +unholy woman with her lancet and probe--you neither of you leave her +alone for a second. She's always being touched. Well, I'm going to leave +her alone. It gives her a chance." + +"I've never spoiled her." Elsbeth was off at a tangent. + +"I'm sure of it. I can remember Father holding you up to Mother once. He +said you were the most judicious woman with children that he knew." + +"Did he?" said Elsbeth. + +"Mother was awfully annoyed." Roger chuckled. "I'd been bawling for my +fourth doughnut--and got it." + +"I've never spoiled Alwynne," repeated Elsbeth tonelessly. + +"No one could," remarked Roger with conviction. + +Elsbeth looked up and laughed at him. + +"So you are human!" she said. "I was beginning to doubt it." + +"When I get on the subject of Alwynne's adorableness----" he laughed +back at her, "we're obviously cousins, aren't we? But, really, I've been +trying to be detached, and critical, and analytical, and all the things +you feel are important. I wanted to see what you meant, Cousin Elsbeth; +and I do see that we both want the same thing. But as to the means--I +believe I must go my own way." + +She eyed him doubtfully. But he looked very big and solid in the little +room, comfortingly sure of himself. + +"You think me a frantic old clucking hen, don't you? And are just a +little sorry for the duckling." + +"I think you're a perfect dear," said Roger. + +"You'll come to-morrow? Alwynne will be back, I hope." + +"What time is she likely to turn up?" + +"About four, if she comes. She would lunch with Clare, I expect." + +He nodded whimsically. + +"Very well. To-morrow, at four precisely, there will be a row royal. +To-morrow I am calling on Miss Hartill to fetch Alwynne home. Good-bye, +Cousin Elsbeth." + +He turned again in the doorway. + +"Elsbeth, there's a house at Dene I've got my eye on. There's a turret +room. My best roses will clamber right into it. That's to be yours. And +Elsbeth! Nobody but you shall run the nursery." + +He had shut the door before she could answer, and she heard him laugh as +he ran, two at a time, down the shallow steps. + +She went to the window and watched till his strong figure had +disappeared in the dusk. + +"He is very like his father," said Elsbeth wistfully, glancing across at +the faded likeness. + +The dusk deepened and the stars began to twinkle. + +"He will never be the man his father was," cried Elsbeth, suddenly and +defiantly. + +Her hands shook as she cleared away the remnants of the meal. She swept +up the hearth, picked the coals carefully apart, and tidied the tidy +room. Roger's roses still lay in a heap in the basket chair. She +gathered them up and carried them into the tiny bathroom, that they +might drink their fill all night. Their scent was strong and sweet. Then +she lit her candle and prepared for bed. + +The sheets were very cold. She tried not to think of Roger's father +lying in the grave she had never seen. The old, cruel longing was upon +her for the sound of his voice and the sight of his face and the +sweetness of his smile. She broke into painful weeping. + +The hours wore past. + +Of course he would marry Alwynne.... Alwynne would be happy ... there +was comfort in that.... Roger would be kind to her.... A good boy ... a +dear boy.... + +"And he might have been my son," cried out Elsbeth to the uncaring +night. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +Roger never fought his battle-royal with Clare, for at the turn of +Friar's Lane he met Alwynne herself, dragging wearily along the +cobblestones, weighed down by paper parcels and the heavy folds of the +waterproof hanging on her arm. Her hair was roughened by the wind that +tugged and strained at her loosened hat; her face was drawn and shadowy; +she had an air of exhaustion, of indefinable demoralisation that Roger +recognised angrily. He had seen it in the first weeks of her visit to +Dene. Her thoughts were evidently far away, and she would have passed +him without a look if he had not stopped her. She started violently as +he spoke--it was like rousing a nightmare-ridden sleeper--then her face +grew radiant. + +"Roger!" she cried, and beamed at him like a delighted child. + +He possessed himself of her parcels and they walked on, Alwynne's +questions and exclamations tumbling over each other. Roger at +Utterbridge! Why had he come? How long was he staying? How were The +Dears and how did Dene spare him? When had he arrived? + +Roger dropped his bomb. + +"Yesterday. I went to supper with Elsbeth. We had a long talk." + +His tone conveyed much. The brightness died out of Alwynne's face. She +looked surprised and excessively annoyed. + +"She knew you were coming?" + +"She did." + +"Why on earth didn't she let me know? Why, she doesn't know you! She +hasn't seen you since you were a kid! It's extraordinary of Elsbeth." + +"I wouldn't let her." + +"Wouldn't let her?" Alwynne looked at him blankly. "Roger--I think +you're cracked." + +"Terse and to the point! Don't you worry. Elsbeth and I understand each +other. Besides, we've been corresponding." + +"You and Elsbeth?" + +"Yes. That's partly why I came. I wanted to get to know her. You see, +your description and her letters didn't tally. So I came. We got on +jolly well. I burst in on her again at breakfast this morning. She +didn't fuss--took it like a lamb. I fancy you underrate our cousin--in +more ways than one. She knows it too; she's no fool! I found that out +when we talked about you." + +"Elsbeth discussed me?--with you?" Alwynne's tone foreboded a bad +half-hour to Elsbeth. + +"Why not? You're not sacred, are you?" Roger chuckled. + +Alwynne felt inclined to box his ears. Here was a new Roger. Roger--her +own property--to take such an attitude--to ally himself with Elsbeth--to +leave her in the dark! Roger! It was unthinkable.... And she had been so +awfully glad to see him ... absurdly glad to see him ... he had made her +forget even Clare.... Clare.... She began to occupy her mind once more +with the scene of the previous day, recalling what she had said; +contrasting it with what she had intended to say; stabbed afresh by +Clare's manner; writhing at her own helplessness; when Roger's slow +voice brought her thoughts back to the present. + +"You've been away from Elsbeth a fortnight," he said accusingly, as they +entered the Town Gardens. + +She flared anew at his tone. + +"Certainly. I've been staying with friends. Have you any objection?" + +"A friend," he corrected. + +She flushed. + +"Clare Hartill is my best friend----" + +"Your worst, you mean." + +She turned on him. + +"How dare you say that? How dare you speak of my friends like that? How +dare you speak to me at all?" + +He continued, quite unmoved-- + +"Don't be silly, Alwynne. Your best friend is your Aunt Elsbeth--you +ought to know that. You don't treat her well, I think. You've been away +a fortnight with that--friend of yours; you stayed on without consulting +her----" + +"I telephoned," cried Alwynne, in spite of herself. + +"Since then you've sent her one post card. She isn't even sure that +you're coming back to-day; she's just had to sit tight and wait until +it's your--no, I'll give you your due--until it's your friend's pleasure +to send you back to her, fagged out, miserable--just like my dog after a +thrashing. And Elsbeth's to comfort you, and cosset you, and put you to +rights--and then you'll go back to that woman again, to have the +strength and the spirit drained out of you afresh--and you walk along +talking of your best friend. I call it hard luck on Elsbeth." + +Alwynne's careful dignity was forgotten in her anger. She turned on him +like a furious schoolgirl. + +"Will you stop, please? How dare you speak of Clare? If Elsbeth chooses +to complain----What affair is it of yours anyhow? I'll never speak to +you again--never--or Elsbeth either." Her voice broke--she was on the +verge of tears. + +Roger took her by the arm, and drew her to a seat. + +"You'd better sit down," he said. "We've heaps to talk over yet, more +than you've a notion of. And if we're to have a row, let's get it over +in the open--far less dangerous. Never get to cover in a thunderstorm. I +know what you want." He had watched her fumbling unavailingly in the bag +and pocket and had chuckled. He knew his Alwynne. He produced a clean +silk handkerchief and dangled it before her. She clutched at it with +undignified haste. + +"'Thank you,' first," he said, holding it firmly. A moment victory hung +in the balance. Then-- + +"Oh! Oh, thank you," said Alwynne, with fine unconcern, and secured it. +Their eyes met. It was impossible not to smile. + +"At the same time," remarked Alwynne, a little later, "you've no right +to talk to me like that, Roger, whatever you choose to think. You're not +my cousin." + +"I'm Elsbeth's. It strikes me she needs defending." + +Alwynne laughed. + +"You know I'm awfully fond of Elsbeth. You know I am. I am a beast +sometimes to her, you're quite right--but she doesn't really need +defending. Honestly." + +"Not from you, I know. But frankly, without wanting to be rude to your +friend--I think she makes you careless of Elsbeth's feelings. Elsbeth +was awfully hurt this week, and she's the sort of dear one hates to see +hurt." + +Alwynne looked at him wistfully. + +"Roger," she said hesitatingly, "suppose some one were unkind to +me--hurt me--hurt me badly, very often, almost on purpose--would you +defend me? Would you care at all?" + +"I shouldn't let 'em," he grunted. + +"If you couldn't help it?" + +"I shouldn't let 'em," he repeated doggedly. + +"But should you care?" + +"Of course I should. What rot you talk. Of course I should. But I +shouldn't let them." + +"Oh, Roger," she cried, suddenly and pitifully, "they do hurt me +sometimes--they do, they do." + +Roger looked around him with unusual caution. The Gardens were empty. +There was not even a loafer in sight. He put his arm round her, and drew +her clumsily to him. She yielded like a tired child, and lay quietly, +staring with brimming eyes at the gaudy tulip-bed on the further side +of the walk. + +"I believe you're about fed up with that school of yours," he said, +after a time, as if he had not followed the allusion to Clare. + +She nodded. + +"I'm not lazy, Roger; you know it's not that. It's just the atmosphere, +and the awful crowding. Such a lot of women at close quarters, all +enthusiasm and fussing and importance. They're all hard-working, and all +unselfish and keen--more than a crowd of men would be, I believe. But +that's just it--they're dears when you get them alone, but somehow, all +together, they stifle you. And they all have high voices, that squeak +when they're keenest. D'you know, that was what first made me like you, +Roger--your voice? It's slow, and deep, and restful--such a reasonable +voice. You mustn't think me disloyal to the school. The girls are all +frightfully interesting, and the women are dears, and there's always +Clare--only we do get on each other's nerves." + +"A boys' school is just the same." + +"Is it? I've only seen Compton. I don't know how co-education affects +the boys, but I'm sure it's good for the girls, and the mistresses too. +Of course, they're not really different to my lot, but they seemed so. +They had room to move. They weren't always rubbing up against each other +like apples in a basket. It all seemed so natural and jolly. Fresh air +everywhere. And since I've been back, I've felt I couldn't breathe. I +believe it's altered me, just seeing it all; and I can't make Clare +understand. She thinks I liked Dene because I wanted to flirt." + +"That type would." + +"Yes, I know you think that," she answered uneasily, "but she +isn't--that horrid type. That's why it hurts so that she can't +understand. As if I ever thought of such a thing until she talked of it! +Only I like talking to men, you know, Roger; because they've often got +quite interesting minds, and it's easier to find out what they really +think than with women. But they bore Clare." + +"Do they?" Roger had his own opinion on the question. But he found that +it was difficult to refrain from kissing Alwynne when she looked at him +with innocent eyes and made preposterous statements; so he stared at the +tulips. + +"You see, she thinks--we both think, that if you've got a--a really real +woman friend, it's just as good as falling in love and getting married +and all that--and far less commonplace. Besides the trouble--smoking, +you know--and children. Clare hates children." + +"Do you?" Roger looked at her gravely. + +"Me? I love them. That's the worst of it. When I grew old, I'd meant to +adopt some--only Clare wouldn't let me, I'm sure. Of course, as long as +Clare wanted me, I shouldn't mind. To live with Clare all my life--oh, +you know how I'd love it. I just--I love her dearly, Roger, you know I +do--in spite of things I've told you. Only--oh, Roger, suppose she got +tired of me. And, since I've been back, sometimes I believe she is." + +"Poor old girl!" + +"It's a shame to grizzle to you; it can't be interesting; and, of +course, I don't mean for one moment to attack Clare; only everything I +do seems wrong. When she sneers, I get nervous; and the more nervous I +get, the more I do things wrong--you know, silly things, like spilling +tea and knocking into furniture. And she gets furious and then we have a +scene. It's simply miserable. We had one yesterday, and again this +morning. It's my fault, of course--I get on her nerves." + +"You never get on my nerves," said Roger suggestively. + +"Not when I chop up your best pink roses?" She looked at him sideways, +dimpling a little. + +"As long as you don't chop up your own pink fingers--you've got pretty +fingers, Alwynne----" + +"Roger, you're a comforting person. I wish--I wish Clare would treat me +as you do, sometimes. You pull me up too, but you never make me +nervous. I'm sure I shouldn't disappoint her so often, if she did." + +"Alwynne," he returned with a twinkle, "stop talking. I've made a +discovery." + +"Well?" + +"You're ten times fonder of me than you are of that good lady. Now, own +up." + +"Roger!" Alwynne was outraged. She made efforts to sit upright, but +Roger's arm did not move. It was a strong arm and it held her, if +anything, a trifle more firmly. "You're talking rot. Please let me sit +up." + +"You're all right. It's quite true, my child, and you know it. Ah, +yes--they're a lovely colour, aren't they?" + +For Alwynne was gazing at the tulips with elaborate indifference. +Secretly she was a little excited. Here was a new Roger.... He was quite +mad, of course, but rather a dear.... She wondered what he would say +next.... + +"To examine our evidence. You were very glad to see me--now weren't +you?" + +"I'm always pleased," remarked Alwynne sedately to the tulips, "to see +old friends." + +"Yes--but we're not old friends exactly, if you refer to length of +acquaintanceship. If to age--I was thirty last March. I'm not doddering +yet." + +"I wasn't speaking of ages. Thirty is perfectly young. Clare's +thirty-five. You do fish, Roger." + +"Yes. I'm going to have a haul some day soon, I hope. But to resume. +Firstly, you were jolly glad to see me. Secondly, you took your lecture +very fairly meekly--for you! and you've already had one talking-to +to-day during which, I gather, you were anything but meek." + +"I never told you----" + +"But there was a glint in your eye----You've no idea how invariably +your face gives you away, Alwynne. Thirdly, you've hinted quite +half-a-dozen times that Miss Hartill would be all the better for a few +of my virtues. Tenth, and finally, you've made my coat collar +thoroughly damp--you needn't try to move--and I don't exactly see you +spoiling your Clare's Sunday blouse that way, often, eh?" + +Alwynne was obliged to agree with the tulips. + +"I thought so. Therefore I say, after considering all the evidence--in +your heart of hearts you are ten times fonder of me than of Miss Clare +Hartill." + +The trap was attractively baited. Impossible for an Alwynne to resist +analysis of her own emotions. She walked into it. + +"I don't know--I wonder if you're right? Perhaps I am _fonder_ of you. I +love Clare--that's quite a different thing. One couldn't be fond of +Clare. That would be commonplace. She's the sort of wonderful person you +just worship. She's like a cathedral--a sort of mystery. Now you're like +a country cottage, Roger. Of course, one couldn't be fond of a +cathedral." + +"A cottage," remarked Roger to the tulips in his turn, "can be made a +very comfortable place. Especially if it's a good-sized one--Holt +Meadows, for instance. My tenants leave in June, did you know? There's a +south wall and a croquet ground." + +"Tennis?" + +Roger was afraid the tulips would find it too small for tennis. + +"But a court could be made in Nicholas Nye's paddock," Alwynne reminded +them. + +Roger thought it would be rather fun to live there, tennis or no +tennis--didn't the tulips think so? + +The tulips did, rather. + +"One could buy Witch Wood for a song, I believe; you know it runs along +the paddock. Think of it, all Witch Wood for a wild garden." + +"And no trespassers! No trampled hyacinths any more! Or ginger-beer +bottles! Oh, Roger!" A delighted, delightful Alwynne was forgetting all +about the tulips; but they nodded very pleasantly for all that. + +"A footpath through to The Dears' garden, and my glass-houses. And +chickens in a corner of the paddock. You'd have to undertake those." + +"All white ones!" + +"Better have Buff Orpingtons. Lay better. Remember Jean's troubles: +'Really, the Amount of Eggs----'" + +"Dear Jean. And besides, I shall want some for clutches. I adore them +when they're all fluff and squeak; and ducklings too, Roger. We won't +have incubators, will we?" + +"Rather not. Lord, it will be sport. You're to wear print dresses at +breakfast, Alwynne--lilac, with spots." + +"You're very particular----" + +"Like that one you wore at the Fair----you know." + +"Oh, that one! Do you mean to say----All right. But I shall wear +tea-gowns every afternoon--with lace and frillies. Elsbeth says they're +theatrical." + +"All right! We'll eat muffins----" + +"And read acres of books----" + +"May I smoke?" + +"It'll get into the curtains----" + +"I'll get you a new lot once a week----" + +"And we won't ever be at home to callers----" + +"Just us two." + +Alwynne sighed contentedly. + +"Oh, Roger, it would be rather nice. You can invent beautifully." + +He laughed. + +"Then we'll consider that settled." + +He bent his head and kissed her. + +A very light kiss--a very airy and fugitive attempt at a kiss--a kiss +that suited the moment better than his mood; but Roger could be Fabian +in his methods. Alwynne rather thought that it was a curl brushing her +forehead: the tulips rather thought it wasn't. Roger could have settled +the matter, but they did not like to appeal to him. They were all a +little disturbed--more than a little uncertain how to act. The tulips' +attitude was frankly alarming to Alwynne, who (if the kiss had really +happened) was prepared to be dignified and indignant. The tulips, +however, appeared to think a kiss a pleasant enough indiscretion. "To +some one, at any rate, we are worth the kissing," quoth the tulips +defiantly, with irreverent eyes on a vision of Clare's horrified face. +Then, veering smartly, they reminded Alwynne, that from a patient, +protective Roger it was the most brotherly and natural of sequels to +their make-believe. Alwynne was not so sure; Roger was developing +characteristics of which the kiss (had it taken place) was not the least +exciting and alarming symptom. He was no longer the Roger of Dene days, +not a month dead; or rather, the Dene Roger was proving himself but a +facet of a many-sided personality--big, too--that was more than a match +for a many-sided Alwynne, with moods that met and enveloped hers, as a +woman's hands will catch and cover a baby's aimless fist. More than his +strength, his gentleness disturbed her. So long a prisoner to Clare, +ever bruising herself against the narrow walls of that labyrinthine +mind--she would have been indifferent to any harshness from him; but his +kindliness, his simplicity, unnerved her. He had been right--she had her +pride. Clare did not often guess when her self-control was undermined. +But with Roger--what was the use of pretending to Roger? It had been +comforting to have a good cry. His kiss had been comforting too. She +remembered the first of Clare's rare kisses--the thin fingers that +gripped her shoulders; the long, fierce pressure, mouth to mouth; the +rough gesture that released her, flung her aside. + +But Roger--if, indeed, she had not dreamed--had been comforting. Here +the tulips broke in whimsically with the brazen suggestion that it would +be delightful to put one's arms round Roger's neck and return that +supposititious kiss. A remark, of course, of which no flower but a +flaunting scarlet tulip could be capable. Alwynne was horrified at the +tulips. Horrified by the tulips, worried by her own uncertainties, +puzzled by the imperturbable face smiling down at her. Certainly not a +conscience-stricken face. Probably the entire incident was a wild +imagining of the tulips. She had watched those nodding spring devils +long enough. Time to go home: at any rate it was time to go home. + +It puzzled her anew that Roger's arm was no longer about her, that he +should make no effort to detain her, or to reopen the conversation; that +he should walk at her side in his usual fashion, originating nothing. +Once or twice, glancing up at him, she surprised a smile of inscrutable +satisfaction, but he did not speak; he merely met her eyes steadily, +still smiling, till she dropped her own once more. A month ago she would +have challenged that smile, cavilled and cross-examined. To-day she was +quaintly intimidated by it. Indeed a new Roger! She never dreamed of a +new Alwynne. + +Yet for all her perplexity and very real physical fatigue, Alwynne +walked with a light step and a light heart. As usually she was absurdly +touched by his unconscious protective movements--the touch on her arm at +crossings--the juggle of places on the fresh pathway--the little +courtesies which the woman-bred girl had practised, without receiving, +appealed to her enormously. She felt like a tall school-child, +"gentleman" perforce at all her dancing lessons, who, at her first ball, +comes delightedly into her own. + +She gave Roger little friendly glances as they walked home, but no +words; though she could have talked had he invited. But Roger was +resolutely silent, and for some obscure reason this embarrassed her more +than his previous loquacity. Gradually she grew conscious of her +crumpled dress and loosened hair; that a button was missing on her +glove! trifles not often wont to trouble her. She wondered if Roger had +noticed the button's absence; she hoped fervently that he had not. She +glanced obscurely at shop-windows, whose blurred reflections could not +help her to the conviction that her hat was straight. Also it dawned +upon her that Roger was weighed down by preposterous parcels; that the +parcels were her own. She was sure the string was cutting his fingers. +She was penitent, knowing that she would not be allowed to relieve him, +and hugely annoyed with herself. She had been scolded often enough for +her parcel habit, and had laughed at Elsbeth; and here was Elsbeth +proved entirely right. Weighing down Roger like this! What would he +think of her? He had not spoken for ten minutes.... Of course--he was +annoyed.... They had better get home as quickly as might be.... + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +Elsbeth, sitting at the window, had seen them come down the street, and +was at the door to welcome them. Alwynne was kissed, rather gravely, but +Elsbeth and Roger greeted each other like the oldest of trusted friends. +Alwynne's eyebrows lifted, but Elsbeth ignored her. She scolded Roger +for being late, showed him his roses, revived and fragrant in their blue +bowls; and when Alwynne turned to go and dress, declared that he looked +starved, that supper was long overdue, and must be eaten at once. Roger +seconded her, and to supper they went. + +Alwynne raged silently. What was the matter with Elsbeth? She had barely +greeted her.... And now to be so inconsiderate.... To insist on sitting +down to supper then and there, without giving her time to make herself +decent! Couldn't she see how tired Alwynne was, how badly in need of +soap and water and a brush and comb, let alone a prettier frock? It +wasn't fair! Elsbeth might know she would want to look nice--with Roger +there.... She did not choose to look a frump, however Elsbeth dressed +herself.... + +It dawned on her, however, as Elsbeth, resigning the joint to Roger, +began to mix a salad under his eye, after some particular recipe of his +imparting, that Elsbeth, on this occasion, was looking anything but a +frump. She wore her best dress of soft, dark purple stuff, and the scarf +of fine old lace, that, as Alwynne very well knew, saw the light on high +and holy days only; and a bunch of Roger's roses were tucked in her +belt. Her hair was piled high in a fashion new to Alwynne: a tiny black +velvet bow set off its silvery grey; it was waved, too, and clustered +becomingly at the temples. Alwynne, gasping, realised that Elsbeth must +have paid a visit to the local coiffeur. She realised also, for the +first time, how pretty, in delicate, pink-may fashion, her aunt must +once have been. + +At any other time Alwynne would have been delighted at the improvement, +for she was proud of Elsbeth, in daughterly fashion, and had wrestled +untiringly with her indifference to dress. She knew she should have +hailed the change, but, to her own annoyance, she found it irritating. +It displeased her that she herself should be dishevelled and day-worn, +while Elsbeth faced her, cool and dainty and dignified. Roger was +obviously impressed.... Roger, to whom Elsbeth had been so carefully, +deprecatingly explained.... It made Alwynne look such a fool.... How was +she to know that Elsbeth would have this whim? She had never guessed +that Elsbeth could make herself look so charming.... And she to be in +her street clothes ... with her hair like a mouse's nest! It was too +bad! However, it didn't seem to matter.... Roger, it was clear enough, +had no eyes for her.... + +Her resentment grew. She attempted to join in the conversation, but +though Roger listened gravely, and answered politely--she never caught +the twinkle in his eye--he invariably flung back the ball to Elsbeth as +quickly as might be. She mentioned Dene; made intimate allusions to +their walks and adventures; and he turned to explain them, to include +Elsbeth, with a pointedness that made Alwynne pink with vexation. She +began to long to get him to herself ... to quarrel or make peace, as he +pleased ... but anyhow to get him to herself.... Couldn't one have a +moment's conversation without dragging Elsbeth into it? So absurd of +Roger.... + +Slowly she realised that neither Roger nor Elsbeth were finding her +indispensable, and her surprise was only rivalled by her indignation. +Elsbeth particularly--it was simply beastly of Elsbeth--was being, in +her impalpable way, unapproachable.... She was angry about +something.... Alwynne knew the signs.... She, Alwynne, supposed that +she ought to have written.... But she did write a postcard.... One +couldn't be everlastingly writing letters.... Any one but Elsbeth would +have waived the matter, with a visitor present, but Elsbeth was so +vindictive.... Here Alwynne's rebellious conscience allied itself with +her sense of humour, to protest against the picture of a vindictive +Elsbeth. They bubbled with tender laughter at the idea. Alwynne must +needs laugh with them, a trifle remorsefully, and admit that the idea +was fantastic; that Elsbeth, in all the years she had known her, had +been the most meek and forgiving of guardians; and that she, Alwynne, +had been undeniably negligent. Nevertheless, why must Elsbeth show Roger +the kitchen? What was he saying to her out there? And why were they both +laughing like that? + +"Cackle, cackle, cackle," muttered Alwynne viciously; "awfully funny, +isn't it?" + +She continued her reflections. + +Fussing over clearing the supper still! One of Elsbeth's absurd ideas, +just because it was the maid's evening out.... Let her do it when she +came back! Such a fuss and excitement always! What would Roger think of +them? What a long time they were! She might take the opportunity of +going to change her frock.... She hesitated. What was that? What was +Roger saying? She caught the murmur of his deep voice and her aunt's +staccato in answer, but the words were blurred. + +After all--why should she bother to change? Elsbeth would be sure to +make unnecessary remarks.... And Roger wouldn't care--he was too +occupied with Elsbeth.... Nobody cared--nobody wanted her.... She would +go back to Clare to-morrow.... But if Clare were in to-day's humour +still? + +What a wretched week it had been.... Even if Clare had not been so +moody, Alwynne would have felt ill at ease ... she had known perfectly +well that she owed the first weeks of her return to her aunt ... but at +a hint from Clare she had stifled her conscience and stayed.... And now +Elsbeth, she could tell, was deeply hurt.... Once away from Clare, +Alwynne could reflect and be sorry.... She wouldn't have believed that +she could be so careless of Elsbeth's feelings.... She was suddenly and +generously furious with herself. How selfish, how abominably selfish she +had been.... No wonder Roger had been shocked! Of course neither he nor +Elsbeth could ever understand how difficult it was to withstand +Clare.... It had been possible once.... Her thought strayed to that +early Christmas when she had resisted all Clare's arguments.... But now +she had no choice.... However determined one might be beforehand--and +she had intended to return that first day--one's will was beaten aside, +blown about like a straw in a strong wind.... If only Roger would +understand that.... She hated him to think her so selfish.... Elsbeth +needn't have told him, she thought resentfully ... it was not like +Elsbeth to give her away.... She supposed she had hurt Elsbeth's +feelings pretty badly.... Why, oh why, hadn't she been firmer with +Clare? She had only to say, quite quietly, that she must do what she +felt to be right.... Clare couldn't have eaten her.... + +She began to rehearse the conversation; it soothed her to compose the +telling phrases she might have uttered. They sounded all right ... but, +of course, face to face with Clare she could never have said them.... +Clare, in indifference, displeasure or appeal, would have conquered +without battle given ... in her heart she knew that. + +She moved uneasily about the room, deep in thought. For the first time +her attitude to Clare struck her as contemptible.... What had Roger +said? "Like a dog after a thrashing." Intolerable! She flung up her +head, her pride writhing under the phrase. So that was how it struck +outsiders! Outsiders? She didn't care a dead leaf for outsiders.... Let +them think what they chose! But Roger? And Elsbeth? Did they really +think her weak and enslaved? It stung her that Roger should think so +meanly of her. She told herself that the loss of his opinion in no way +affected her--and instantly began to revolve within herself phrases, +explanations, actions, wherewith to regain it. And there was Elsbeth.... +He had thought her unkind to Elsbeth.... He was right there! She saw, +remorsefully, with her usual thoroughness, that she had been, for many a +long year, as the plagues of Egypt to her Elsbeth. + +She flung herself on the prim little sofa, and stared at the closed door +uncertainly. She was too proud to do what she wanted to do--invade the +kitchen, and regardless of Roger's eyes and presence, confess to +Elsbeth, and receive absolution. A word, she knew, would be enough.... +If Elsbeth felt as miserable as she did--a word would be more than +enough.... + +Elsbeth and Roger, returning to the sitting-room, ended her indecision. +Their manner had changed--Roger was quieter--less talkative--but Elsbeth +was so radiant that Alwynne decided that contrition could wait. More +than ever she realised that two were company.... + +Her anger grew again as she watched and listened. + +Elsbeth had produced cards, and suggested three-handed bridge. Alwynne +excused herself, and Roger, who had been her partner on occasion at +Dene, was obviously relieved. His Alwynne was the One Woman--but she +could not play bridge! + +He settled down to double-dummy with Elsbeth. The conversation became a +rapt and technical duet, punctuated with interminable pauses. + +Alwynne fumed. + +So this was Elsbeth's idea of a really pleasant evening! Cards! Beastly, +idiotic cards! Roger, her Roger, had come up all the way from Dene to +play cards with Elsbeth! Had he just? All right then! He should have all +the cards he wanted--and more! As for Elsbeth--catch Alwynne telling her +she was sorry now! + +The striking of the clock gave her her opportunity. She rose, yawning +elaborately. + +"I'm going to bed," she remarked to the card-table. + +"Are you, dear?" said Elsbeth. + +"Oh! Oh, good-night," said Roger casually rising, and sitting down +again. "Your shout, Elsbeth." + +Elsbeth went "no trumps." + +Alwynne lingered. + +"Of course the kitchen fire's out?" she said, with sour suggestiveness. + +"Do you want a bath? Yes, of course. Do you know, my dear, you're +looking rather grubby?" Elsbeth paid her sweetly. "I expect the water +will still be hot, if you're quick. Don't forget to turn the light off, +will you, when you've finished?" + +Alwynne made no answer, but she still lingered. Elsbeth, finishing her +hand, spoke over her shoulder-- + +"Alwynne, dear, either go out, or come in and sit down. There's such a +draught." + +There was a swish of skirts, and all the innumerable ornaments rattled +on their shelves. Alwynne had permitted herself the luxury of banging +the door. + +Roger laughed like a schoolboy. + +"'All is not well!'" he quoted. + +Elsbeth laughed too, yet half against her will. + +"My poor Alwynne! She hates me to be annoyed with her. It infuriates +her. She'll be awfully penitent to-morrow. It's really rather comical, +you know. She'll take criticism from any one else--but I must approve +implicitly! And you being here didn't improve matters. She was longing +to be nice, and I didn't help her. She was quite aware that she was +showing you her worst side, and quite unable to get out of the mood. I +knew, bless her heart!" + +She looked at him with a quick little gesture of appeal. + +"Roger--you do understand? That--tantrum--meant nothing. She's such an +impulsive child." + +He smiled. + +"I know. Don't you worry. Besides, it was my fault. I was teasing her +all the evening. It was not what she expected. Oh, I'm growing subtle +enough to please even you, Elsbeth. You know, she's had rather a full +day. Evidently a scorching afternoon with that delightful friend of +hers, to start with----" + +"Ah?" said Elsbeth, her eyes brightening. + +"Oh, yes; she was distinctly chastened. I improved the occasion, and +you've about finished her off, the poor old girl! I was expecting that +little exhibition." + +"I believe--I believe you enjoy upsetting her," began Elsbeth, rather +indignantly. + +"Of course I do. It's as good as a play!" + +Elsbeth sighed. + +"Well--I suppose it's all right. You'll have to manage her for the +future, not I." + +"Oh, she'll do all the managing," said Roger ruefully. "I foresee that +this is my last stand. She's just a trifle in awe of me, at present, you +know, though she doesn't know it. But it won't last. And then--heaven +help me! But, you know, Cousin Elsbeth--to be henpecked by +Alwynne--don't you think it will be quite pleasant?" + +"It is. She's bullied me since she was three. Oh, Roger, I shall miss +her." She blinked rapidly. + +Roger stared away from her in awkward sympathy. + +"You shan't, not very much," he said. "We'll fix things. You'll have to +come and settle with us." + +Elsbeth fidgeted. + +"You know, you took my breath away in the kitchen just now," she said. +"Are you quite sure it's all right? Does Alwynne _know_ she's engaged to +you?" + +He perpended. + +"Well, frankly--I don't think she did quite take it in." + +"Roger!" + +"But I'm buying the engagement ring to-morrow," he added hastily. +"That'll clear things up." + +Elsbeth looked at him helplessly. + +"Roger, either you're a genius or a lunatic. I'm not sure which--but, I +think, a lunatic." + +"Oh, well! We shall know to-morrow," he observed consolingly. "I shall +turn up about eleven. Keep Alwynne for me, won't you?" + +Elsbeth struck her hands together. + +"It's Clare Hartill's birthday! I'd almost forgotten her! Alwynne will +be engrossed. Oh, Roger! You've been telling me fairy tales. We've +forgotten Clare Hartill!" + +Roger picked up the scattered cards. With immense caution he poised a +couple, tent fashion, and builded about them, till a house was complete. +He added storey after storey, frowning and absorbed. At the sixth, the +structure collapsed. He looked up and met Elsbeth's eyes. + +"People in card-houses shouldn't raise Cain. It's an expensive habit," +he remarked sententiously. "Elsbeth, don't worry! But keep Alwynne till +I come to-morrow, won't you?" + +"I'll try." + +"Of course, if she's still in a temper----Hulloa!" + +The door had been softly opened. Alwynne, in her gay dressing-gown stood +on the threshold. Her hair was knotted on the top of her head, and small +damp curls strayed about her forehead. The folds of her wrapper, humped +across her arm, with elaborate care, hinted at the towels and sponges +concealed beneath. She looked, in spite of her bigness, like an +extremely small child masquerading as a grown-up person. + +Her eyes sought her aunt's appealingly. Roger, she ignored. + +"Elsbeth," she said meekly, "please won't you come and tuck me up?" + +She disappeared again. + +Elsbeth laughed as she rose. + +"I knew she wouldn't be content. Isn't she a dear, Roger, for all her +little ways?" + +"She's all right," said Roger, with immense conviction. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +Alwynne was spending a contented morning. She had made her peace with +Elsbeth over-night, and at the ensuing breakfast had been something of a +feasted prodigal. Elsbeth had made no objection to her plans for the +afternoon, but had suggested that, as Roger was coming to lunch, Alwynne +might take him for a walk in the morning. He was sure to arrive by +twelve. Alwynne, her head full of Clare's birthday and Clare's birthday +present, acquiesced graciously. Indeed, she was herself anxious to talk +to him again, to show him how completely she and Elsbeth were in accord, +to prove to him, once and for all, though with kindly firmness, how +uncalled for his comments had been. She believed that they had not +parted the best of friends last night.... A pity--Roger could be such a +dear when he chose.... Yesterday afternoon, for instance.... She found +herself blushing hotly, as she recalled the details of yesterday +afternoon. + +Her thoughts were divided evenly between Roger and Clare as she sat at +her work-table, running the last ribbon through the foamy laces and +embroideries. She was proud of her work, and thrilled with pleasurable +anticipations of Clare's comments. Clare would be pleased, wouldn't she? + +Elsbeth, helping her to fold the dainty garment, and wondering wistfully +if Alwynne would ever be found spending a tenth of the time and trouble +on her own trousseau that she lavished on presents for people who did +not appreciate them, was quite sure that Clare would be more than +pleased. She could not cloud Alwynne's happy face; but she hoped to +goodness that Roger would come soon.... She was sick of the word Clare. + +Alwynne despatched her parcel by messenger-boy. She would not trust it +to the post--yet it must arrive before she did. Clare hated to be +confronted with you and your gift together. She hoped that Clare would +not be in a mood when gifts were anathema. You never knew with Clare. + +She paid the boy with a bright shilling and a slice of inviolate company +cake, and was guiltily endeavouring so to squeeze and compress its +girth, that Elsbeth would not notice the enlarged gap at tea-time, when +Roger arrived. + +She slid the tin hastily back into the cupboard. + +"I won't shake hands," she said. "But it's stickiness, not ill-feeling." + +Roger frowned aside the remark. He was looking excited, extremely +pleased with himself, yet a trifle worried. He had the air of a man who +had been priding himself on doing the right thing, and is suddenly +stricken with doubt as to whether, after all, he had not made a mess of +the business. He confronted her. + +"I expect I've got it wrong," he remarked, with gloomy triumph. "I hate +coloured stones myself." + +"What are you talking about?" demanded Alwynne. + +"Which is it, anyhow?" + +"Which is what?" + +"Which is your favourite stone?" + +Alwynne gazed at him blankly. + +"What on earth----?" she began. + +Roger frowned anew. + +"Don't argue with me. Which is your favourite stone?" + +"I don't know--emeralds, I think." + +He gave a sigh of relief, not entirely make-believe. + +"Of course! I knew I was right. Elsbeth swore to pearls." + +"Oh, I've always coveted her string. She's going to give it to me when +I'm forty. I'd like to know what you're talking about, Roger, if you +don't mind?" + +"Why forty?" + +"Years of discretion! You are tidy and never lose anything once you're +forty. But why? Were you having a bet?" + +"Not exactly." Roger searched his pockets. "Here, catch hold!" + +He had produced a small package, gay with sealing-wax and coloured +string. He handed it to her awkwardly, with immense detachment. + +She opened it curiously. + +In a little white kid case lay an emerald, round and shining like a +safety signal. It was set in silver, quaintly carven. + +Alwynne exclaimed. + +"Oh, Roger! How gorgeous! How perfectly ripping! Where did you pick it +up? Was it awfully expensive?" + +Roger had been beaming in a gratified fashion, but at her question his +jaw dropped. + +"Well," he began. "Well--I----" + +His expression struck her. + +"Do you mind my asking? It's only because it is so exactly what I've +always longed to give Clare. I'm saving. I'm going to, some day. Clare +loves emeralds." + +"Perhaps," said Roger, with elaborate irony, "you'd like to give her +this? Don't mind me." + +She glanced up at him, startled, puzzled. + +"This?" + +"It happens to be your engagement ring," he remarked offendedly. + +Alwynne began to laugh, but a trifle uncertainly. To laugh without +accompaniment or encouragement is uneasy work, and Roger's face was +entirely expressionless. She felt that her laughter was sounding +affected, and ceased abruptly, her foot tapping the floor, a glint of +annoyance in her eye. + +"What are you talking about?" she attacked him. + +"Your engagement ring, wasn't it?" he said. + +"Are you by any chance serious?" + +"Perfectly." Roger's schoolboy awkwardness, due to his encounter with +an unexpectedly facetious jeweller, was wearing off. + +"_My_ engagement ring?" + +"We'll change it, of course," he said, with maddening politeness, "if +you really prefer pearls." + +"Presupposing an engagement?" Alwynne was on her high horse. + +"To me. That was the idea, I think. Elsbeth is delighted." + +Alwynne dismounted hastily again, though she kept a hand on the bridle. + +"Roger--this is beyond a joke. What have you been saying to Elsbeth?" + +"Why, my dear," he said gently, "very much what I told you yesterday +afternoon." + +Alwynne grew scarlet. + +"Roger--we were in fun yesterday. We were joking. I forget what it was +all about. There was nothing to tell Elsbeth." + +"Yes, you do forget," he said. + +"Yes. I have. I want to," she answered unsteadily. "You know you weren't +serious. Why, you were laughing at me--you know you were." + +"Do you never laugh when you're serious?" + +"Never!" said Alwynne earnestly. + +"Well, then, we're like the Cheshire cat and dog. But I laugh when I'm +most amazingly serious sometimes, Alwynne. I was yesterday, and I think +you knew it." + +"I didn't," said Alwynne stubbornly. "We only just talked nonsense. All +about Holt Meadows--you know it was nonsense." + +"I didn't," said Roger, with equal stubbornness. + +"You did," said Alwynne. + +"I didn't," said Roger. + +"Oh, of course, if you're going to lose your temper----" cried Alwynne. + +Roger shrugged his shoulders. It was deadlock. + +Alwynne looked at him. He was grave enough now. + +"I didn't mean to be rude," she said unhappily. + +"Didn't you?" He was all polite surprise. + +"I expect I was----" she ventured. + +"It all depends on what one's used to," he returned philosophically. + +"Yes, I know I was. But you are so horrid to-day." + +"Sorry," said Roger stiffly. + +She turned to him impulsively. + +"Roger--I've missed you awfully since I came back. It was quite absurd, +when I'd got Clare all to myself. But I did. It was so nice seeing you. +I was simply miserable yesterday, and then you turned up and were +perfectly sweet. It cheered me up. And then you turned horrid. All the +evening you were horrid. And now you're horrid, quarrelling and arguing. +Why can't you be nice to me always?" + +She was very close to him. Her hand was on the arm of his chair. Her +skirts swished against his knee. + +"Alwynne, you're too illogical for a school-marm. Haven't you been +bullying me since I came on account of yesterday?" + +"Roger," she said unsteadily, "don't tease me. I do so want to be +friends with you." + +He put his arms about her as she stood beside him, and looked up at her, +with laughing, tender eyes. + +"And I do so want to marry you. Why not, Miss Le Creevy? _Let's be a +comfortable couple._" + +She struggled away from him. + +"No, Roger! No. No. I don't want to get married. Why aren't you content +to be friends, as we were at Dene? Friendship's a lot. If I can see you +very often, and write to you twice a week, and tell you everything--I +should be awfully content. Wouldn't you?" + +He looked at her with amusement. + +"Your idea of friendship is pretty comprehensive. What's wrong with +getting married, Alwynne?" + +"Oh--I don't know." + +"What's wrong with getting married, Alwynne?" + +"How can I get married," cried Alwynne, in sudden exasperation, "when +I'm not in love with you? You're silly sometimes, Roger." + +"I suppose you're quite sure about it," he ventured cautiously. + +"Oh, yes." + +He looked utterly unconvinced. + +"Why, I've hardly ever even dreamed about you," she remonstrated. "And I +know all your faults." + +"Oh, you do, do you? Out with the list." + +"It would take too long." Alwynne dimpled. + +"Love must be blind--is that the idea? Couldn't that be got over? One +uses blinkers, you know, in double harness. I never dream, Alwynne, +normally. Must I eat lobster salad every night?" + +"There--you see!" Alwynne waved her hand complacently. "You're just as +bad. You couldn't talk like that if----" + +"If what?" + +"Nothing!" + +"If what?" + +Alwynne looked at him. + +"If what, Alwynne?" Roger's tone was a little stern. + +She had taken a rose from the bowl at her elbow, and was slowly pulling +off the petals. Her eyes were on her work. + +He waited. + +Her hands cupped the little pile of rose-leaves. She buried her face in +them--watching him an instant, through her fingers. + +"They are very sweet, Roger--are they from home--from Dene, I mean? +Smell!" + +She held out her hands to him. + +He caught them in his own. The red petals fluttered noiselessly to the +ground. + +"If what, Alwynne?" he insisted. + +"Oh, Roger! Do you really care--so much?" + +"Yes, dear," he said soberly, "so much." + +Alwynne looked up at him anxiously. She was very conscious of the big +warm hands that held hers so firmly. She wished that he would not look +so intent and grave; he made her feel frightened and unhappy. No--not +frightened, exactly. There was something strong and serene about him, +that upheld her, even when she opposed him; but certainly, unhappy. She +realised suddenly how immensely she liked him--how entirely his nature +satisfied hers. + +"Oh, Roger!" she said wistfully. "I do like you. It isn't that I +wouldn't like to marry you." + +His face lit up. + +"Would--liking awfully--do, Roger? Would it be fair? Must one be in love +like a book?" + +His face relaxed. + +"I shall be content," he said. Then, impetuously, "Alwynne, I'll make +you so happy. You shall do--nearly everything--you want to. Alwynne, if +you only knew----" + +She stopped him hurriedly, pulling away her hands. + +"Don't, Roger! Don't! I didn't mean that. I only meant I'd like to. But +I can't, of course. Of course, I can't. There's Clare." + +"Clare!" His tone abolished Clare. + +Alwynne flushed. + +"Why do you sneer at Clare? You always sneer. I won't have it." + +Her tone, in spite of her sudden anger, was unconsciously and comically +proprietary. He repressed a smile as he answered her. + +"All right, dear. But I wasn't sneering--not at Clare." + +"At me, then?" + +"Not sneering--chuckling. My dear, what has Clare--oh, yes, she's your +dearest friend--but what has any friend, any woman, got to say to us +two? We're going to get married." + +"We're not. It's no good, Roger." Alwynne spoke slowly and emphatically, +as one explaining things to a foreigner. "Why won't you understand? +Clare wants me. We've been friends for years." + +"Two years!" he interjected contemptuously. + +"Well! You needn't talk! I've known you two months," she flashed out. +"Do you think I'm going to desert Clare for you, even if--even if----" +She stopped suddenly. + +He beamed. + +"You do. Don't you, darling?" he said. + +"I don't. I don't. I don't want to. I mustn't. I don't know why I'm even +talking to you like this. It's ridiculous. Of course, there can never be +any one but Clare." + +"Yes, it is ridiculous," he said impatiently. + +She faced him angrily. + +"Yes, very ridiculous, isn't it? Not to leave a person in the lurch--a +person whom you love dearly, and who loves you. You can laugh. It's easy +to laugh at women being friends. Men always do. They think it funny, to +pretend women are always catty, and spiteful, and disloyal to each +other." + +"I've never said so or thought so," said Roger. + +"You have! You do! Look at the way you've talked about Clare. That looks +as if you thought me loyal and a good friend, doesn't it? What would +Clare think of me--when I've let her be sure she can have me +always--when I've promised her----" + +"At nineteen! Miss Hartill's generous to allow you to sacrifice +yourself----" + +"It's no sacrifice! Can't you understand that I care for her--awfully. +Why--I owe her everything. I was a silly, ignorant schoolgirl, and she +took me, and taught me--pictures, books, everything. She made me +understand. Of course, I love my dear old Elsbeth--but Clare woke me +up, Roger. You don't know how good she's been to me. I owe her--all my +mind----" + +"And your peace?" he asked significantly. + +She softened. + +"You know I'm grateful. I don't forget. But she's such a dreadfully +lonely person. You've got The Dears, at least. She's queer. She can't +help it. She doesn't make friends, though every one adores her. She's +only got me. She wants me. How could I go when she wants me--when she's +so good to me?" + +"Is she?" he said. "Yesterday----" + +"I was a fool yesterday," said Alwynne quickly. "Of course, I get on her +nerves sometimes. But it's always my fault--honestly. You don't know +what she's like, Roger, or you wouldn't say such things. I hate you to +misunderstand her. How could I care for her so, if she were what you and +Elsbeth think?" + +He looked at her innocent, anxious face, and sighed. + +"All right, my dear. Stick to your Clare. As long as you're happy, I +suppose it's all right. Well, I'd better be off. Where's Elsbeth?" + +"Be off? Where?" Alwynne looked startled. + +"To pack my traps. I'm going home." + +"Oh, Roger, you're not angry with me?" + +"I am, rather," he said. "But you needn't mind me. You don't, do you?" + +She looked at him piteously. + +"Good-bye," he said. He shook hands perfunctorily and turned away. + +"You're angry--oh, you are!" cried Alwynne, following him. + +He laughed. + +"You can't pay Clare without robbing Roger. Don't worry, Alwynne." + +"Are you really going?" she said wistfully. + +"Yes. Any message?" + +"You'll write to me, won't you?" + +"Good Lord, no!" said Roger, with immense decision. + +Alwynne jumped. It was not the answer she had expected. + +"But--but you must write to me," she stammered. "How shall I know about +you, if you don't write to me?" + +He was silent. + +A new idea struck Alwynne. + +"D'you mean--you don't want to hear from me either?" she asked +incredulously. + +"I think it would be better," he said. + +"Oh, Roger--why? Aren't you going to be friends?" + +Alwynne was looking alarmed. + +"I wonder," he began, with elaborate patience, "if you could contrive, +without straining yourself, to look at things from my point of view--for +a moment--only a moment?" + +"That's mean. You make me feel a beast." + +"That won't hurt you----" + +"Roger!" + +"Alwynne?" + +"You're being very rude." + +"You kick at the privileges of friendship already? I knew you would. +Let's drop it, Alwynne. You've got your good lady: you're quite +satisfied. I've not got you: I'm not. So the best thing I can do is to +go back to Dene and forget about you." + +"If you can," said Alwynne's widening, indignant eyes. + +"After all," he said meditatively, "you're a dear, but you aren't the +only woman in the world, are you?" + +"Oh, no," said Alwynne. + +"I might go back to America," he said, "for a time. I've heaps of +friends out there." + +"Oh?" said Alwynne. + +"Yes, I shall get over it," he concluded comfortably. "You mustn't +worry, my child. Well, good-bye again--wish me good luck, Alwynne." + +"Good luck," said Alwynne. + +He took up his hat--looked at her--smiled a little, and walked to the +door. + +But before he could open it, he felt a touch on his arm. + +"Roger," said a soft and wheedling voice, "wouldn't you _like_ to write +to me? Now and then, Roger?" + +He dissented with admirable gravity. + +"All right! Don't then!" cried Alwynne wrathfully. She turned her back +on him and sat down. + +The luncheon-bell tinkled across the ensuing pause, like a peal of +puckish laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +Elsbeth's voice, raised tactfully at the further end of the passage, +warned them of her approach. + +Said Alwynne over her shoulder-- + +"Anyhow, you must stay to lunch now, Elsbeth would be furious if you +went. She'll say I've driven you away or something. Unless you want to +get me into another row?" + +She spoke ungraciously enough, for she disliked having to ask a favour +of him at such a juncture; but she disliked even more the notion of a +_tête-à-tête_ lunch with Elsbeth. Elsbeth, by right of aunthood, would +ask questions, demand confession.... Elsbeth, she knew instinctively, +would be on Roger's side.... She told herself that she did not mind +being bullied by Roger, because, after all, it was Roger's affair; but +she would not be otherwise interfered with.... Elsbeth had a way of +putting you in the wrong.... She would rather not talk with Elsbeth +until she had seen Clare.... Clare would fortify her.... If only Roger +would keep Elsbeth occupied till she got away to Clare.... + +"You must stay, you know," she repeated uneasily. + +"You made me forget about lunch," he said cheerfully. "Of course I must! +You know, you're a terror, Alwynne. I never know which makes me +hungrier, a football match or an argument with you. I'm ravenous." + +Alwynne was speechless. + +"Is no one coming in to lunch?" asked Elsbeth, entering. She looked +quickly from one to the other. Alwynne was at the glass, tidying her +hair, and Roger seemed cheerful. Elsbeth smiled a significant smile: +her eyebrows were question-marks. + +Roger shook his head, but not before Elsbeth had caught sight of the +scattered rose and disarranged vases. She was instantly engaged in +restoring order, and missed the movement. + +Suddenly she exclaimed, and pounced on a small object lying on the +floor, half hidden in petals. + +"Oh! Oh, how lovely! What an exquisite ring! Why, Roger--why, +Alwynne--look! I might have trodden on it. How careless of you both." + +But she beamed on them with immense satisfaction, as she held out the +emerald ring. + +"It's not mine," said Alwynne icily. + +"Nothing to do with me," Roger assured her. + +Elsbeth looked bewildered. + +"One of you must have dropped it," she began. + +"No!" said Alwynne. + +"Oh, no!" said Roger. + +But there was a glimmer of fun in his eye, that enlightened Elsbeth, or +she thought, at least, that it did. + +"In my young days," she remarked severely, "young people didn't leave a +valuable engagement ring lying about on the floor." + +"A disengaged engagement ring," he corrected her sadly. "At least, it's +disengaged at present." + +"I think, Elsbeth," said Alwynne firmly, "that the lunch must be getting +cold." And preceded them in all dignity to the dining-room. + +Alwynne found the meal a trying one. Roger was talkative, and Elsbeth, +though obviously puzzled, was too much occupied with him, to be critical +of her niece. Alwynne was divided between gratitude to Roger for +relieving the situation, and pique that he could be equal to so doing. A +man in his position should be far too crushed by disappointment for +social amenities. She would have been genuinely distressed, yet +undeniably gratified, if his appetite had failed him; but she noticed +that he was able to eat a hearty meal. He could laugh, too, with +Elsbeth, and make ridiculous jokes, and draw Alwynne, silent and +unwilling, into the conversation. He seemed to have no objection to +catching her eye, though she found it difficult to meet his. He was a +queer man.... She supposed he wasn't very much in love with her, really, +that was the truth of it.... She found the idea depressing. She wondered +if he were really going back to Dene at once, and was relieved to hear +her aunt challenging his decision. Elsbeth was expostulating. She had +plans for the next day ... there was a concert that evening.... Roger +appeared to waver. Alwynne, contemptuous that he could be so easily +turned, annoyed that Elsbeth should sway him where she herself had +failed, was yet conscious of a feeling of relief. At least she should +see him again, if only to quarrel with him.... She was due to supper +with Clare as well as tea, though she had not told Elsbeth so.... It +would be quite simple--she would run round to Clare at once, and spend a +long afternoon, and get back for another peep at Roger in the +evening.... Clare wouldn't mind.... + +She hesitated. Clare would be rather surprised if she didn't stay.... +She had never been known to curtail a visit to Clare before.... But she +would explain things to her.... Clare would be as sorry for Roger as she +herself ... for, of course, she must tell Clare all about it.... She +hoped Clare would not say she had been flirting.... But she must make +her at least understand what a dear Roger was.... She should like Clare +to appreciate Roger ... she was afraid she would never be able to make +Roger appreciate Clare.... It was a great pity!... If it had not been +for Roger's unlucky prejudice, she might have introduced them to each +other, and it would have all been so jolly.... She would have loved to +show Clare to Roger, if Clare had been in a good mood, and had worn her +new peacock-coloured frock and had looked and been as adorable as she +sometimes could be. They might have gone to-day--and now Roger had +spoiled everything.... But at least he was not going till to-morrow.... +She would slip away at once while he and Elsbeth were talking--she would +be back all the sooner.... + +She left the pair at their coffee, and hurried to her room to put on her +new coat and skirt and her prettiest hat. It was Clare's birthday ... +and Clare liked her to be fine.... She wondered, with a little skip of +excitement, if Clare had got her parcel yet? + +She was no sooner gone than Roger turned to Elsbeth, his laughing manner +dropped from him like a mask. + +"It's all off, Elsbeth," he said. "You were right. It's that woman. +She's infatuated." + +The pleasure died out of Elsbeth's face. + +"I was afraid so," she said. "I saw something had happened. But you were +so comical, I couldn't be sure." + +"I didn't want an explanation just then----" + +"Of course not," she interpolated hastily. + +"But I think I'll go straight back to Dene. Have you a time-table?" + +"Have you quarrelled badly?" + +"Not exactly! Alwynne's rather annoyed with me, though." + +"Annoyed? With you?" + +"Well, you see," he explained, with a touch of amusement, "I think she +rather wants to retain me as a tame cat----" + +"Oh, but Alwynne's not like that," Elsbeth protested. + +"Don't you think every woman is, if she gets the chance? She has to +kow-tow to the Hartill woman, and it would be a relief to have some one +to do the same to her--as well as an amusement. But she's had to +understand that I won't be her friend's whipping-boy. I decline the +post." + +"Oh,--well, if you put it that way--but it's hardly fair to Alwynne. Of +course, you're angry and disappointed----" + +"I'm not!" he protested heatedly. + +"Oh, but you are. Don't pretend you're not human. I don't blame you; I'm +angry too. But you must be fair. Alwynne's motives are obvious enough. +There's no cat-and-mouse business about it. She simply can't bear the +idea of losing you." + +"Yet she won't marry me." + +"She would, if it weren't for Clare. Didn't you get that impression? +Roger, if you really care, wait here a little longer. Stay with us. Let +her have a chance of contrasting you with Clare Hartill." + +"No, I won't," he said obstinately. + +"You care more for your own dignity than for Alwynne, I think," said +Elsbeth, in her lowest voice. + +"Cousin Elsbeth, I care more for Alwynne than for anything else in the +world. You know that. Also, though you'll call me a conceited ass, I +believe I know your ewe-lamb ten thousand times better than you do. And +I've simply got to sit tight for a bit. The less she sees of me at +present, the more she'll think of me--in two senses. If I can make her +miss me, it'll be a profitable exile. Oh, you dear, worried woman," he +cried, laughing at her intent face, "do you think I want to go away from +Alwynne? Nevertheless--where's the time-table?" + +She rose and fetched it, and gave it him, without a word. + +He ran his finger down the page. + +"There's a four o'clock," he announced. + +"If only I could do something," mused Elsbeth. + +He smiled at her gratefully. + +"You're a pretty staunch friend," he said. "What more can one ask?" + +"Oh, but I ought to think of something," she said impatiently. "I sit +here and let you go--I see two people's lives being spoiled--for the +want of a----" + +"What?" + +"That's it! What? What can I do? Nothing, nothing, nothing. Oh, Roger, +it's hard. It's very hard to see people you love unhappy, and not to be +able to help them. It's the hardest thing I know. It would be such +happiness to be allowed to bear things for them. But to watch.... It's +harder for us than for men, you know--we're such born meddlers. We think +it's our mission to put things to rights." + +"When we've made a mess of 'em. I'm not sure that it isn't!" + +"I've got to do something," she went on, without heeding him. "There +you'll be at Dene, miserable--you will be miserable, Roger?" she +interrupted herself, with a faint twinkle. + +"Don't you worry," he reassured her. "It was bad enough when she left. +She's managed to make every nook and corner of the place remind one of +her. I don't know how she does it. Oh, it will be rotten, all right." + +"Then there will be Alwynne here," she continued, "pretending she +doesn't care. Working herself into a fever each time Clare is unkind to +her--and pretending she doesn't care. Watching the posts for a letter +from you--I know her--and pretending she doesn't care. Thoroughly +miserable, and quite satisfied that I see nothing, as long as she laughs +and jokes at meals. Oh, life's a comedy," cried Elsbeth. "You young folk +have your troubles, and think we are too old and blind to see them; and +we old folk have our troubles, and know you are too young and blind to +see them. Yes, Roger--I'm having a grumble, and it's doing me good. One +suffers vicariously as one gets older, but one suffers just the same. +You children forget that." + +"Do we?" he said gently. "I won't again--we won't, later on, +Elsbeth--Alwynne and I." + +"I want you two to be happy," she cried piteously. "I want it so. Oh, +Roger, what can I do?" + +"Nothing," he said. + +She was silenced. But he was touched and a little amused to see how +entirely she was unconvinced. He admired her persistence, and wondered +if she had fought as vehemently for her own happiness, as she now fought +for Alwynne's. Failure was instinct in her, in her faded colouring and +eager, unassured manner. He thought it probable that the memory of +failure was spurring her now. + +He roused her gently. + +"Elsbeth! It's past three o'clock. Will you come and see me off? I must +go back to the White Horse for my bag first. Shall I call for you? I +shan't be more than twenty minutes." + +She nodded assent and promised to be ready. + +Left to herself, she went to her room and dressed with mechanical care. +Her mind tossed the while like an oarless boat in the sea of her +restless thoughts. + +What could she do? Wait--wait and hope, and watch things go wrong.... +Roger was in love now, and prepared to be patient; but Roger was only a +man.... He would get over it in time; and Alwynne, finally released from +Clare's influence--that, too, surely, was only a question of time--would +find out what she had lost.... She understood Alwynne well enough to +know that if she cared, however unconsciously, for Roger, she would +never be content to attach herself to any later comer.... Alwynne was +terribly tenacious. So she, too, would waste and spoil her life; and for +the sake of an infatuation, a piece of girlish quixotry.... It was +criminal of Clare Hartill to allow it.... She supposed that the +situation amused Clare; at least, if Alwynne's version had allowed her +to guess it.... She wondered exactly how much Alwynne would tell +Clare.... + +Suddenly and wonderfully she was illumined by an idea. + +Roger, returning punctually with his bag, found Elsbeth awaiting him on +the step, in calling costume, pulling and patting at a new pair of +gloves with extraordinary energy. Her cheeks were bright; she had the +air of frightened bravery of a cornered sheep. + +"Come away quickly, Roger," she whispered, with a glance at the windows. +"I don't want Alwynne to catch me. I can't come with you to the station, +Roger. I'm going to see Clare Hartill." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +Alwynne, for all her eagerness, took more than her usual breathless ten +minutes in reaching Clare Hartill's flat. Underneath her pleasure at +seeing Clare again ran a little current of uneasiness. There was so much +to be told, not only in deference to the intimacy of their relationship, +but in order to procure the proof that had never before seemed +necessary, that Roger's, and incidentally Elsbeth's, view of that +relationship was wrong.... Clare, of course, was reserved, +undemonstrative, not, Alwynne was prepared to admit, so kindly or +considerate a companion as--well, as Roger.... But why it should +therefore follow that Roger loved her better, and was more +worthy--preposterous word--of her own love, Alwynne could not see.... +Clare Hartill cared for her, had told her so, had--had not as yet proved +it, because there had been no need of proof.... Alwynne could love for +two.... But to-day she felt only an aching desire that Clare should +realise the importance of what she had just done; should reward her +sacrifice with little softenings and intimacies, some such signs as she +had shown her in the earlier days of their friendship, of affection and +sympathy.... She did not ask much, she told herself; if Clare were only +a little kind, she should not miss Roger. Even as she so decided, her +cheek flushing at the idea of Clare's kindness, at the possibility of a +return to their earlier relationship, she saw suddenly, with flashlight +distinctness, how much, even then, she should miss Roger, how great her +sacrifice would still be.... She saw, as in a vision, the man and woman +drowning in waste seas, and she herself at rescue work with room for one +and one only in the boat beside her.... She felt herself torn by the +agony of choice, knowing the while, that a year ago it had not been so; +that a year ago she would have outstretched arms for Clare alone; that +even now, Elsbeth, The Dears, all alike might drown in that dream sea, +so long as Clare were saved.... She acknowledged, she exulted in the +narrowness of her affection.... Clare before the world! But Clare before +Roger? Clare safe and Roger drowning? She chuckled as it occurred to her +that Roger would certainly be able to swim.... Yes, he would swim +comfortably alongside and spare her the fantastic trouble of a +choice.... Blessed old Roger! + +As she passed the little kiosk at the corner of Friar's Lane, where a +red-haired girl sat behind branches of white and mauve lilac, and +high-piled mounds of violets, she hesitated and turned back. It was a +breaking of unwritten rules, and Clare would give her no thanks, but +to-day at least she would not scold.... She would say nothing, but how +big her dear eyes would grow at sight of that armful of scented colour! +She bought lavishly, and forgot to stay for change, for she was +picturing her own arrival as she hurried on: the open door; the +pell-mell of flowers and sunlight; Clare's smile; Clare's kiss. In spite +of moods Clare could not do without her! She tore up the stairs and +pealed the bell, with never another thought of Roger. + +Clare was at her writing-table and had but a bare nod for Alwynne, as +she stood in the doorway, flushed, smiling, expectant. The girl was +accustomed to finding her preoccupied; there was a time, indeed, when +there had been subtle flattery in the cavalier welcome, when the lack of +ceremony had seemed but a proof of intimacy, and she would bide her time +happily enough, exploring book-shelves, darning stockings, tiptoeing +from parlour to pantry to refill vases and valet neglected plants, or, +curled in the big arm-chair, would sketch upon imaginary canvases +Clare's profile, dark against the sun-filled window, or stare +half-hypnotised, at the twinkling diamond on her finger. But to-day, for +the first time, Clare's reception of her jarred. + +She sat down quietly, the flowers in a heap at her feet, her excitement +subsiding and leaving her jaded and sorehearted. She felt herself +disregarded, reduced to the level of an importunate schoolgirl.... She +wondered how much longer Clare intended to write, and told herself, with +a little, petulant shrug, that for two pins she would surprise Clare, +wrench away her pen, take her by the shoulders and anger her into +attention. Roger was right.... One could be too meek.... She rose with a +little quiver of excitement, her irrepressible phantasy limning with +lightning speed an imaginary Clare--a Clare beleaguered, with barriers +down, a Clare with wide maternal arms, enclosing, comforting, +sufficing.... + +The real Clare shifted in her seat and Alwynne sank back again. No, that +was not the way to take Clare.... One must be patient, only patient, +like Roger.... Clare would give all one needed, that was sure, but in +her own time, her own way.... One must be patient.... + +She loosed her coat.... How close the room was.... She would have liked +to fling open the window, but Clare always protested.... She heard +Elsbeth's voice: "Fresh air? Her idea of fresh air is an electric +fan." ... Queer, how those two jarred! But Elsbeth was not just.... + +Her head throbbed. Listlessly she picked up a spray of lilac and crushed +it against her face. It was deliciously cool.... She supposed that the +lilacs were out by now at Dene.... + +Tic, tac! Tic, tac! The tick of the clock would not keep time with the +scratch of Clare's pen.... How stupid! Stupid, stu--pid, stu--pid, +stu---- + +"Clare!" she cried desperately, "won't you even talk to me?" + +Clare wrote on for a moment as if she had not heard her, finished her +letter, blotted it, stamped and addressed the cover and wiped her pen +deliberately; then she rose, smiling a little. She had been perfectly +conscious of Alwynne's unrest. + +"What is it?" she said. Alwynne flushed and gathered up her flowers. + +"It's your birthday," she apologised. "Look, Clare, aren't they +darlings? I know you hate the school fusses, but your own birthday is +important. Must you go on writing? It ought to be a holiday. May I get +vases? Clare, I've such heaps to tell you, heaps and heaps, only I can't +if you stand and look at me from such a long way off. Won't you sit down +and smell your lilacs and let me talk to you comfortably?" + +With enormous daring she put her arm round Clare and drew her on to the +sofa. Clare made no resistance, but she sat stiffly, unsupported, still +smiling, her eyes glittering oddly. But the acquiescence was enough for +Alwynne and she slid to the ground and sat there sorting her flowers, +her face level with Clare's knee, radiant and fearless again. + +"I wonder what you will say? It's about Roger." + +Clare raised her eyebrows. + +"Oh, Clare, don't you know? I wrote such a lot about him from Dene." + +"I am to remember every detail of your epistles?" + +Alwynne looked up quaintly-- + +"I suppose there is a good deal to wade through. There always seems so +much to say to you. Do you really mind?" + +"You remind me that I've letters to finish." + +Alwynne looked at the clock in sudden alarm. + +"Am I awfully early? You did expect me to tea?" + +"And you're never on the late side, are you?" Clare was still smiling, +but her tone stung. + +Alwynne got up quickly. + +"I'm very sorry. Don't bother about me. I'll arrange these things while +you finish. I didn't know you were really busy." + +Clare put out her hand to the table behind her. + +"I'm not busy. It seems one mayn't tease you since you've stayed at +Dene." + +Alwynne's eyes flashed. + +"That's not fair. It's only that--that sometimes now you tease with +needles--you used to tease with straws." + +"So I had better not tease at all?" + +"You know I don't mean that." + +Clare lifted an opened parcel from the table. Alwynne recognised it and +beamed. So Clare was pleased! + +"If I tease with needles," she smoothed the paper and began to +straighten the little heap of knotted string, "it's because you annoy me +so often. Why did you send me this, Alwynne?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"It was your birthday." + +"I hate birthdays." + +"I know." She spoke flatly, a lump in her throat. She might have known +and saved herself her trouble and her pleasure.... She thought of the +weeks of careful work and her delight in it; of the little sacrifices; +the early rising; the walks with Roger curtailed and foregone.... +Everybody had admired it, even Elsbeth had been sure that Clare would be +charmed.... But Clare was angry.... Perhaps it was only that Clare did +not understand.... She roused herself. + +"Clare, it's different. Don't you remember?" + +Clare gave no sign. She had disentangled the string and was retying it +with elaborate care. Alwynne spoke with eyes fixed upon the dexterous +fingers-- + +"You challenged me, don't you remember, Clare? When Marion showed us the +things she was making for her sister's trousseau? And you said, would I +ever have the patience, let alone my clumsy fingers? And I said I could, +and you said you would wear all I made. And you did laugh at me so. So I +thought I'd surprise you, and Elsbeth taught me the pillow-lace, and I +was frightfully careful. It's taken months and months, and you love +lace, and oh, Clare! I thought you would be a little bit pleased." + +Her lip quivered; she was very childlike in her eagerness and +disappointment. + +"Did you think I should wear it?" + +Alwynne dimpled. + +"It's your size, Clare. Wouldn't you just try it?" + +Clare looked at her inscrutably. + +"You've taken great pains," she said. "I've been pleased to see it. But +you've shown it to me and I've told you that you've learned to work +well, so it has fulfilled its purpose, hasn't it? And now you'd better +take it back with you. I'm sure you will be able to use it." + +She held out the neatly fastened package. + +Alwynne's face hardened. She put her hands behind her back. + +"I shall do nothing of the kind," she said. + +Clare did not seem ruffled. + +"Of course you will. And you'll look very pretty in it." She smiled +amiably. + +But Alwynne's face did not relax. + +"I won't take it back. I gave it to you. I made it to give you pleasure. +If you don't want it, burn it, give it to your maid, throw it away. Do +you think I care what becomes of it? But I won't take it back. That is +an insult. You say that to hurt me." + +"You'll take it back because I wish you to." + +"I won't. You shouldn't wish me to." + +"You know I dislike presents." + +"I never labelled it a present in my mind. You talk as if we were +strangers." + +"Perhaps, then," murmured Clare, still smiling, "I dislike the hint that +you consider my wardrobe inadequate." + +Alwynne caught her breath. For the last ten minutes she had been growing +angry, not in her usual summer-tempest fashion, but with a slow, cold +anger that was pain. She felt Clare's attitude an indelicacy--the +discussion a degradation. She sickened at its pettiness. She seemed to +be defending, not herself, but some shrinking, weaponless creature, from +attack and outrage.... The fight had been sudden, desperate; but at +Clare's last sentence she knew herself vanquished, knew that the first +love of her life had been most mortally wounded. + +She turned blindly. She had no tears, no regret: her sensations were +purely physical. She was numbed, breathless, choking, conscious only of +an overpowering desire for fresh air, for escape into the open. But +first she must say good-bye, head erect, betraying nothing ... say +good-bye to the dark figure that was no longer Clare.... A sentence from +a child's book danced through her mind in endless repetition, _They +rubbed her eyes with the ointment, and she saw it was only a stock._ Of +course! And now she must go away quickly.... She should choke if she +could not get into the air.... + +She heard her own voice, flat and tiny-- + +"Have you finished with me? May I go now?" + +Clare's laugh was quite unforced. + +"You're not to go yet!" + +"Yes. Yes--I think so. May I go now, please?" + +She had retreated to the door and clung to the handle looking back with +blank eyes. + +"But, you foolish child, you've had no tea. Why are you running away? +Are you going to spoil my afternoon?" + +She lied blunderingly, mad to escape. + +"But I told you I couldn't stay long. Because--because of Elsbeth. She's +to meet me. I only ran up for a minute. Really, I have to go." She made +a tremendous effort: "I--I can come back later." + +Clare shrugged her shoulders. + +"Oh, very well. Will you come to supper?" + +Alwynne forced a smile. + +"Yes." She crossed the threshold, Clare watching from the doorway. + +"I shall wait for you, we'll have a lazy evening. Supper at eight." + +There was no answer. Alwynne was stumbling down into the darkness of the +stairs and did not seem to hear. Clare turned back into her flat, +hesitated uneasily, and came out again. She leaned far over the +balustrade, peering down. + +"Alwynne!" she cried. "Alwynne! Wait a moment, Alwynne!" + +But Alwynne was gone, gone beyond recall. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + + +Alwynne fled down Friar's Lane in amazement, conscious only of the need +of escape. She had heard the outer door of the flat close behind her, +yet she felt herself pursued. Clare's voice rang in her ears. Momently +she awaited the touch of Clare's hand upon her shoulder. She felt +herself exhausted; knew that, once overtaken, she would be powerless to +resist; that she would be led back; would submit to reconciliation and +caresses. And yet she was sure that she would never willingly see Clare +again. She was free, and her terror of recapture taught her what liberty +meant to her. There was the whole world before her, and Elsbeth--and +Roger.... She must find Roger.... She was capable of no clear thought, +but very sure that with him was safety. + +She hurried along in the shadow of the overhanging lilac-hedge, ears +a-prick, eyes glancing to right and left. Oblivious of probabilities she +saw Clare in every passer-by. At the turn of the blind lane she ran into +a woman, walking towards her. She bit back a cry. + +But it was only Elsbeth--Elsbeth in her Sunday gown, very determined, +gripping her card-case as if it were a dagger. She spoke between relief +and distress. + +"Alwynne! Why did you disappear? Where have you been?" + +"With Clare." + +"It was more than rude. You could surely have foregone one afternoon. No +one to see Roger off! After all his kindness to you at Dene!" + +"See Roger off?" + +Elsbeth was pleased to see her concern. + +"I should have gone myself, of course, but he would not allow it. The +heat--as I have to pay a call. So he saw me on my way and then went off +by himself, poor Roger!" + +"Where is he going? Why is he going?" + +"Back to Dene. The four-five. I am afraid, Alwynne, he has been hurt and +upset. Alwynne!" + +But Alwynne, tugging at her watch-chain, was already running down the +road with undignified speed. The four-five! Another ten minutes ... no, +nine and a half.... Cutting through the gardens she might do it yet.... +She prayed for her watch to be fast--the train late. She ran steadily, +doggedly, oblivious of the passers-by, oblivious of heat and dust and +choking breathlessness, of everything but the idea that Roger was +deserting her. + +As she bent round the sweep of the station yard past the shelter with +its nodding cabmen, and ran down the little wall-flower-bordered asphalt +path, she heard the engine's valedictory puff. The platform was noisy +and crowded, alive with shouting porters, crates of poultry and burdened +women, but at the upper end was Roger, his foot on the step of the +carriage, obviously bribing a guard. + +She pushed past the outraged ticket collector, and darted up the +platform. + +Roger had disappeared when she reached the door of his compartment, and +the whistle had sounded, but the door was still a-swing. The train began +to move as she scrambled in. The door banged upon their privacy. + +"Roger!" cried Alwynne. "Roger!" + +She was shaking with breathlessness and relief. + +"You were right. I was wrong. It's you I want. I will do everything you +want, always. I've been simply miserable. Oh, Roger--be good to me." + +And for the rest of his life Roger was good to her. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + + +Clare had paused a moment, half expecting Alwynne to return; but it was +draughty on the landing and she did not wait long. Silly of Alwynne to +dash off like that.... She had wanted to discuss Miss Marsham's letter +with her before writing her answer.... Not that she was really +undecided, of course.... The offer was an excellent one no doubt, and it +was fitting that it should have been made.... But to accept the head +mistress-ship was another matter.... Life was pleasant enough as it +was.... She had plenty of money and Alwynne was hobby enough.... She +wondered what Alwynne would say to it ... urge her to accept, +probably.... Alwynne was so terribly energetic.... Well, she would let +Alwynne talk ... (she picked up her pen) and when she had expended +herself, Clare would produce her already written refusal.... Alwynne +would pout and be annoyed.... Alwynne hated being made to look a +fool.... Clare laughed as she bent over her letter. + +She had achieved preliminary compliments and was hesitating as to how +she should continue, when a violent rat-tat, hushing immediately to a +tremulous tat-a-tat-tat, as if the success of the attack upon Clare's +door had proved a little startling to the knocker, announced a visitor, +and to their mutual astonishment, Elsbeth Loveday fluttered into the +room. Though Elsbeth's naïve amazement at herself and her own courage +was more apparent, it was scarcely greater than Clare's politely veiled +surprise at the invasion, for since Alwynne's attempts to reconcile the +oil and water of their reluctant personalities had ceased with her +absence, there had been practically no intercourse between them. With a +crooked smile for her first fleeting conviction of the imminence of a +church bazaar or Sunday-school treat on gargantuan lines, Clare applied +herself to the preparation of Elsbeth's tea, in no great hurry for the +disclosure of the visit's object, but already slightly amused at her +visitor's unease, and foreseeing a whimsical half-hour in watching her +pant and stumble, unassisted, to her point. + +Elsbeth was dimly aware of her hostess's attitude, and not a little +nettled by it. She waved away cake and toast with a vague idea of +breaking no bread in the enemy's house, but she was not the woman to +resist tea, though Hecate's self brewed it. Fortified, she returned the +empty cup; readjusted her veil, and opened fire. + +"My dear Miss Hartill," she began, a shade too cordially, "I've come +round--I do hope you're not too busy; I know how occupied you always +are." + +Clare was not at all busy; entirely at Miss Loveday's service. + +"Ah, well, I confess I came round in the hope of finding you alone--in +the hope of a quiet chat----" + +Clare was expecting no visitors. But would not Miss Loveday take another +cup of tea? + +"Oh no, thank you. Though I enjoyed my cup immensely--delicious flavour. +China, isn't it? Alwynne always quotes your tea. Poor Alwynne--she can't +convert me. I've always drunk the other, you know. Not but that China +tea is to be preferred for those who like it, of course. An acquired +taste, perhaps--at least----" She finished with an indistinct murmur +uncomfortably aware that she had not been particularly lucid in her +compliments to Clare's tea. + +Might Clare order a cup of Indian tea to be made for Miss Loveday? It +would be no trouble; her maid drank it, she believed. + +"Oh, please don't. I shouldn't dream----You know, I didn't originally +intend to come to tea. But you are so very kind. I am sure you are +wondering what brings me." + +Clare disclaimed civilly. + +"Well, to tell you the truth--I am afraid you will think me extremely +roundabout, Miss Hartill----" + +Clare's mouth twitched. + +"But it is not an easy subject to begin. I'm somewhat worried about +Alwynne----" + +"Again?" Clare had stiffened, but Elsbeth was too nervous to be +observant. + +"Oh, not her health. She is splendidly well again--Dene did wonders." +Clare found Elsbeth's quick little unexplained smile irritating. "No, +this is--well, it certainly has something to do with Dene, too!" + +"Indeed," said Clare. + +Elsbeth continued, delicately tactless: she was always at her worst with +her former pupil. + +"I daresay you are surprised that I consult you, for we need not +pretend, need we, that we have ever quite agreed over Alwynne? You, I +know, consider me old-fashioned----" She paused a moment for a +disclaimer, but Clare was merely attentive. With a little less suavity +she resumed: "And of course I've always thought that you----But that, +after all, has nothing to do with the matter." + +"Nothing whatever," said Clare. + +"Exactly. But knowing that you are fond of Alwynne, and realising your +great, your very great, influence with her, I felt--indeed we both +felt--that if you once realised----" + +"We?" + +"Roger. Mr. Lumsden." + +"Oh, the gardener at Dene." + +"My cousin, Miss Hartill." + +"Oh. Oh, really. But what has he to do with Alwynne?" + +"My dear, he wants to marry her. Didn't she tell you?" Elsbeth had the +satisfaction of seeing Clare look startled. "Now I was sure Alwynne had +confided the matter to you. Hasn't she just been here? That is really +why I came. I was so afraid that you, with the best of motives, of +course, might incline her to refuse him. And you know, Miss Hartill, she +mustn't. The very man for Alwynne? He suits her in every way. Devoted to +her, of course, but not in the least weak with her, and you know I +always say that Alwynne needs a firm hand. And between ourselves, though +I am the last person to consider such a thing, he is an extremely good +match. I can't tell you, Miss Hartill, the joy it was to me, the +engagement. I had been anxious--I quite foresaw that Alwynne would be +difficult, though I am convinced she is attached to him--underneath, you +know. So I made up my mind to come to you. I said to myself: 'I am +sure--I am quite sure--Miss Hartill would not misunderstand the +situation. I am quite sure Miss Hartill would not intend to stand in the +child's light. She is far too fond of Alwynne to allow her personal +feelings----' After all, feminine friendship is all very well, very +delightful, of course, and I am only too sensible of your goodness to +Alwynne--and taking her to Italy too--but when it is a question of +Marriage--oh, Miss Hartill, surely you see what I mean?" + +Clare frowned. + +"I think so. The gard----This Mr. Lumpkin----" + +"Lumsden." + +"Of course. I was confusing him----Mr. Lumsden has proposed to Alwynne. +She has refused him, and you now wish for my help in coercing her into +an apparently distasteful engagement?" + +"Oh no, Miss Hartill! No question of coercion. I think there is no +possible doubt that she is fond of him, and if it were not for +you----But Alwynne is so quixotic." + +Clare lifted her eyebrows, politely blank. + +"Oh, Miss Hartill--why beat about the bush? You know your influence with +Alwynne. It is very difficult for me to talk to you. Please believe that +I intend nothing personal--but Alwynne is so swayed by you, so entirely +under your thumb; you know what a loyal, affectionate child she is, and +as far as I can gather from what Roger let fall--for she is in one of +her moods and will not confide in me--she considers herself bound to you +by--by the terms of your friendship. All she would say to Roger was, +'Clare comes first. Clare must come first'--which, of course, is +perfectly ridiculous." + +Clare reddened. + +"You mean that I, or you, for that matter, who have known Alwynne for +years, must step aside, must dutifully foster this liking for a +comparative stranger." + +Elsbeth smiled. + +"Well, naturally. He's a man." + +"I am sorry I can't agree. Alwynne is a free agent. If she prefers my +friendship to Mr. Lumsden's adorations----" + +"But I've told you already, it's a question of Marriage, Miss Hartill. +Surely you see the difference? How can you weigh the most intimate, the +most ideal friendship against the chance of getting married?" Elsbeth +was wholly in earnest. + +Clare mounted her high horse. + +"I can--I do. There are better things in life than marriage." + +"For the average woman? Do you sincerely say so? The brilliant +woman--the rich woman--I don't count them, and there are other +exceptions, of course; but when her youth is over, what is the average +single woman? A derelict, drifting aimlessly on the high seas of life. +Oh--I'm not very clear; it's easy to make fun of me; but I know what I +mean and so do you. We're not children. We both know that an unmated +woman--she's a failure--she's unfulfilled." + +Clare was elaborately bored. + +"Really, Miss Loveday, the subject does not interest me." + +"It must, for Alwynne's sake. Don't you realise your enormous +responsibility? Don't you realise that when you keep Alwynne entangled +in your apron strings, blind to other interests, when you cram her with +poetry and emotional literature, when you allow her to attach herself +passionately to you, you are feeding, and at the same time deflecting +from its natural channel, the strongest impulse of her life--of any +girl's life? Alwynne needs a good concrete husband to love, not a +fantastic ideal that she calls friendship and clothes in your face and +figure. You are doing her a deep injury, Miss Hartill--unconsciously, I +know, or I should not be here--but doing it, none the less. If you will +consider her happiness----" + +Clare broke in angrily-- + +"I do consider her happiness. Alwynne tells you that I am essential to +her happiness." + +"She may believe so. But she's not happy. She has not been happy for a +long time. But she believes herself to be so, I grant you that. But +consider the future. Shall she never break away? Shall she oscillate +indefinitely between you and me, spend her whole youth in sustaining two +old maids? Oh, Miss Hartill, she must have her chance. We must give her +what we've missed ourselves." + +Clare appeared to be occupied in stifling a yawn. Her eyes were danger +signals, but Elsbeth was not Alwynne to remark them. + +"In one thing, at least, I do thoroughly agree with you. I don't think +there is the faintest likelihood of Alwynne's wishing to marry at all at +present, but I do feel, with you, that it is unfair to expect her to +oscillate, as you rhetorically put it, between two old maids. I agree, +too, that I have responsibilities in connection with her. In fact, I +think she would be happier if she were with me altogether, and I intend +to ask her to come and live here. I shall ask her to-night. Don't you +think she will be pleased?" + +Clare's aim was good. Elsbeth clutched at the arms of her chair. + +"You wouldn't do such a thing." + +Clare laughed shrilly. + +"I shall do exactly what your Mr. Lumsden wants to do. I'm not poor. I +can give her a home as well as he, if you are so anxious to get her off +your hands. She seems to be going begging." + +Elsbeth rose. + +"I'm wasting time. I'll say good-bye, Miss Hartill. I shouldn't have +come. But it was for Alwynne's sake. I hoped to touch you, to persuade +you to forego, for her future's sake, for the sake of her ultimate +happiness, the hold you have on her. I sympathised with you. I knew it +would be a sacrifice. I knew, because I made the same sacrifice two +years ago, when you first began to attract her. I thought you would +develop her. I am not a clever woman, Miss Hartill, and you are; so I +made no stand against you; but it was hard for me. Alwynne did not make +it easier. She was not always kind. But hearing you to-day, I +understand. You made Alwynne suffer more than I guessed. I don't blame +her if sometimes it recoiled on me. You were always cruel. I remember +you. The others were always snails for you to throw salt upon. I might +have known you'd never change. Do you think I don't know your effect on +the children at the school? Oh, you are a good teacher! You force them +successfully; but all the while you eat up their souls. Sneer if you +like! Have you forgotten Louise? I tell you, it's vampirism. And now you +are to take Alwynne. And when she is squeezed dry and flung aside, who +will the next victim be? And the next, and the next? You grow greedier +as you grow older, I suppose. One day you'll be old. What will you do +when your glamour's gone? I tell you, Clare Hartill, you'll die of +hunger in the end." + +The small relentless voice ceased. There was a silence. Clare, who had +remained quiescent for sheer amaze at the attack from so negligible a +quarter, pulled herself together. Rather white, she began to clap her +hands gently, as a critic surprised into applause. + +"My dear woman, you're magnificent! Really you are. I never thought you +had it in you. The Law and the Prophets incarnate. How Alwynne will +laugh when I tell her. I wish she'd been here. You ought to be on the +stage, you know, or in the pulpit. Have you quite finished? Quite? Do +unburden yourself completely, you won't be given another opportunity. +You understand that, of course? If Alwynne wishes to see you, she must +make arrangements to do so elsewhere. That is the one condition I shall +make. This is the way out." + +Elsbeth rose. She was furious with herself that her lips must tremble +and her hands shake, as she gathered up scarf and reticule; but she +followed her hostess with sufficient dignity. + +Clare flung open the door with a gesture a shade too ample. + +Elsbeth laughed tremulously as she passed her and crossed the hall. + +"Oh, you are not altered," she said, and bent to fumble at the latch. +"But it doesn't impress me. You've not won yet. You count too much on +Alwynne. And you have still to reckon with Mr. Lumsden." + +"And his three acres and a cow!" Clare watched her contemptuously. It +did not seem worth while to keep her dignity with Elsbeth. She felt that +it would be a relief to lose her temper completely, to override this +opponent by sheer, crude invective. She let herself go. + +"What a fool you are! Do you flatter yourself that you understand +Alwynne? Go back to your Coelebs and tell him from Alwynne--I tell you I +speak for Alwynne--that he's wasting his time. Let him take his goods to +another market: Alwynne won't buy. I've other plans for her--she has +other plans for yourself. She doesn't want a husband. She doesn't want a +home. She doesn't want children. She wants me--and all I stand for. She +wants to use her talents--and she shall--through me. She wants +success--she shall have it--through me. She wants friendship--can't I +give it? Affection? Haven't I given it? What more can she want? A home? +I'm well off. A brat to play with? Let her adopt one, and I'll house +it. I'll give her anything she wants. What more can your man offer? But +I won't let her go. I tell you, we suffice each other. Thank God, there +are some women who can do without marriage--marriage--marriage!" + +Elsbeth, as if she heard nothing, tugged at the catch. The door swung +open, and she stepped quietly into the sunny passage. Then she turned to +Clare, a grey, angry shadow in the dusk of the hall. + +"Poor Clare!" she said. "Are the grapes very sour?" + +She pulled-to the door behind her. + + * * * * * + +Later in the evening, as she sat, flushed, tremulous, utterly joyful +over Roger's telegram, she considered the manner of her exit and was +shocked at herself. + +"I don't know what possessed me," said Elsbeth apologetically. "And if I +had only known. It was unladylike--it was unwomanly--it was +unchristian." She shook her head at her mild self in the glass. "But she +made me so angry! If I'd only known that this was coming!" She fingered +the pink envelope. "She'll think I knew. She'll always think I knew. And +then to say what I did? It was unpardonable. + +"But I was right, all the same," cried Elsbeth incorrigibly; "and I +don't care. I'm glad I said it--I'm glad--I'm glad!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + + +The sun slid over the edge of the sweating earth. Its red-hot plunge +into the sea behind the hills was almost audible. The black cloud, +fuming up from its setting-place, was as the steam of the collision. In +great clots and coils it rolled upwards, spreading as it thinned, till +it was a pall of vapour that sheeted all the lemon-coloured sky. +Suddenly a cold wind sprang up, raced down the silent heavens, and, by +way of Eastern Europe and the North Sea and the straight Roman road that +drives down England, tore along the Utterbridge byways, and into the +open window of Clare Hartill's parlour. A touch of its cold lips on her +hair, and brow, and breast, and it was out again, driving the dust +before it. + +Clare shivered. She was very tired of waiting.... It was inexplicable +that Alwynne should be late; but Clare with a half laugh, promised +Alwynne to forego her scolding if she would but come.... The dusk and +the wind and the silence were getting on her nerves.... The tick of the +hall clock, for instance, was aggressive, insistent, maddening in its +precise monotony.... Oh, unbearable! With a gesture that was hysterical +in its abandonment, Clare rose suddenly and flung into the hall, plucked +open the clock door, and removed the pendulum. The released wire waggled +foolishly into silence, like an idiot, tongue a-loll. + +As the quiet hunted Clare into her sitting-room again, a little silver +wire flickered down the sky like a scared snake, and for an instant she +saw herself reflected in a convex mirror, a Clare bleached and shining +and askew, like a St. Michael in a stained-glass window. Dusk and the +thunder followed. The storm was beginning. + +Clare moved about restlessly. She disliked storms. Her eyes ached, and +she was cramped with waiting, and Alwynne had not come. She would, of +course.... That woman had detained her, purposely, no doubt, and now +there was the storm to delay her.... But Alwynne would come.... Clare +smiled securely. + +Again the lightning whipped across the heavens, and thunder roared in +its wake. + +Clare went to the window and watched the sky. The pane of glass was +grateful to her hot forehead. She was too tired, too bruised and shaken +by her own recent anger to arrange her thoughts, to pose for the moment, +even to herself--of all audiences the most critical. The interview with +Elsbeth Loveday rehearsed itself incessantly, pricking, probing, +bludgeoning, in crescendo of intonation, innuendo, open attack, to the +final triumphant insult. Triumphant, because true. The insult could cut +through her defences and strike at her very self, because it was true. +Her pride agonised. She had thought herself shrouded, invulnerable. And +yet Elsbeth, whom of all women she had reckoned negligible, had guessed, +had pitied.... Yet even her enemy was forgotten, as she sat and +shuddered at the wound dealt; plucked and shrank, and plucked again at +the arrow-tip rankling in it still. + +The hours had passed in an evil mazement. But Alwynne was to come.... +She thought of Alwynne with shifting passions of relief and longing and +sheer crude lust for revenge. Alwynne would come.... Alwynne would +soothe and comfort, intuitive, never waiting for the cry for help. + +And Alwynne should pay.... Oho! Alwynne should pay Elsbeth's debts ... +should wince, and shrink, and whiten. _Scientific vivisection of one +nerve._ Wait a little, Alwynne!--Ah, Alwynne--the dearest--the +beloved--the light and laughter of one's life.... What fool is +whispering that Clare can hurt her?... Alwynne shall see when she comes, +who loves her.... There shall be a welcome, the royalest welcome she has +ever had.... For what in all the world has Clare but Alwynne, and +having Alwynne, has not Clare the world? + +Ah, well.... Perhaps, she had not been always good to Alwynne.... +To-day, for instance, she might have been kinder.... But Alwynne always +understood.... That was the comfort of Alwynne, that she always +understood.... Why didn't she come? Wasn't there an echo of a step far +down the street? + +When Alwynne came, they would make plans.... It would not be easy to +wean the girl from her aunt, at least while they lived in the same town, +the same country.... But one could travel, could take Alwynne quite +away.... Italy.... Greece.... Egypt.... they would go round the world +together, shake off the school and all it stood for.... In a new world, +begin a new life.... Why not? She had money enough to burn.... It would +not be hard to persuade Alwynne, adventurous, infatuate.... Once gone, +Elsbeth might whistle for her niece.... They would talk it over +to-morrow ... to-night ... as soon as Alwynne came.... + +Was that thunder or a knocking? Rat-tat! Rat-tat! She had not been +mistaken after all.... Alwynne! Alwynne! + +And Clare, with an appearance on her that even Alwynne had never seen, +ran like a child to open the door. + +On the threshold stood a messenger boy, proffering a telegram. She took +it. + +"Any answer, Miss!" for she had offered to close the door. + +"Oh, of course!" She frowned, and pulled open the flimsy sheet. + +The boy waited. He peered past her, interested in the odd pictures on +the walls, and the glimpse of a table luxuriously set. The minutes sped. +He had soon seen all he could, and began to fidget. + +"Any answer, Miss?" he hinted. + +"Oh!" said Clare vaguely. "Answer? No. No answer. No answer at all." + +The boy knuckled his forehead and clattered away down the staircase. + +Mechanically Clare shut the door, locked and bolted it and secured it +with the chain. Then she returned to the sitting-room and crossed to her +former station by the open window. + +The storm was ending in a downpour of furious tropical rain. It beat in +unheeded upon her thin dress and bare neck and the open telegram in her +hands, as, with lips parted and a faint, puzzled pucker between her +brows, she conned over the message-- + +_I cannot come to-night.--I have gone to Dene. I am going to marry +Roger._ + +She read it and re-read, twisting it this way and that, for it was +barely visible in the wet dusk. It seemed an eternity before its full +meaning dawned upon her. And yet she had known all there was to know +when she confronted the messenger boy (Oh, Destiny is up to date) and +took her sentence from his grimy hand. + +_I am going to marry Roger._ + +"Very well, Alwynne!" Clare flung up her head, up and back. Her face was +drowned in the shadows of the crimson curtain, but her neck caught the +last of the light, shone like old marble. The whole soul of her showed +for an instant in its defiant outline, in the involuntary pulsation that +quivered across its rigidity, in the uncontrollable flutter beneath the +chin. + +The thin, capable fingers twisted and clenched over the sodden paper. + +She moved at last, spoke into space. Passion, anger, and the cool +contempt of the school-mistress for a mutinous class, mingled +grotesquely in her voice. + +"Very well, Alwynne! Just as you please, of course. There is no more to +be said." She tossed away the little ball of paper as she spoke. + +She wandered aimlessly about the room; turned to her book-shelves after +a while, and stood a long time, pulling out volume after volume, +opening each at random, reading a page, closing the book again, letting +it slide from her hand, never troubling to replace it. She was tired at +last and turned to her writing-table. + +It was piled high with exercise-books, and she corrected a couple before +she swept them also aside. + +The rain had not faltered in its swishing downfall. It beat against the +panes, and on to the sill, and dripped down into a pool beneath the open +window. + +"She will have to come back on Monday," said Clare suddenly. "She can't +go off like that. There's the school----" She broke off abruptly, as a +gust of wind soughed by. + +_I cannot come. I have gone to Dene. I am going to marry Roger._ She +could hear Alwynne's voice in it, answering. + +"But why?" cried Clare piteously. "Why? What is it? What have I done?" + +"S'hush!" sighed the rain. "S'hush!" + +"I loved her," cried Clare. "I loved her. What have I done?" + +"S'hush!" sobbed the rain. "S'hush! S'hush!" + +She turned to the darkening windows, and started, and shuddered away +again, stricken dumb and shaking. A pool of something red and wet was +spreading over the polished boards, and a thin trickle was stealing +forward to her feet. + +Blood? + +Fool.... The red of the curtains reflected, tingeing a pool of +rain-water.... Blood, nevertheless.... She had forgotten Louise. + +What had Alwynne heard? A garbled version of that last interview? Fool +again--unless the dead can speak.... But Alwynne knew.... Something had +been revealed to her, suddenly, during their idle talk.... But when? But +how? She had come as a lover ... she had left as a stranger ... what in +any god's name, had she guessed? Clare's subconscious memory reproduced +for her instantly, with photographic accuracy, details of the scene that +she had not even known she had observed. Alwynne had changed, in an +instant, between a word and a reply.... What was it that Clare had +said--what trifling, teasing nothing, flung out in pure wantonness? But +Alwynne's face, her dear face, had become, for an instant--Clare +strained to the memory--as the face of Louise.... Louise had looked at +her like that, that other day.... What had they seen then, both of them? +Was she Gorgon to bring that look into their faces? Louise--yes--she +could understand Louise.... She did not care to think about Louise.... +But Alwynne--what had she ever done to Alwynne? At least Alwynne might +tell her what she had done.... She would not submit to it.... She would +not be put aside.... She would at least have justice.... + +_I am going to marry Roger._ + +Useless! All useless! The struggle was over before she had known she was +fighting.... She knew that in Alwynne's life there was no longer any +part for her. And Clare had travelled far that evening, to phrase it +thus. Sharing was a strange word for her to use. But she recognised +dully that even sharing was out of her power. What had she to do with a +husband, and housewifery, and the bearing of children? Alwynne married +was Alwynne dead. + +Alwynne in love.... Alwynne married.... Alwynne putting any living thing +before Clare! She broke into bitter laughter at the idea. What had +happened? What had Clare done or left undone? She realised grimly that +of this at least she might be sure--it had been her own doing.... No +influence could have wrought against her own.... Alwynne, at least, was +where she was, because Clare had sent her, not because another had +beckoned.... And that was the comfort she had stored up for herself, to +last her in the lean years to come.... + +What was the use of regretting? + +Alwynne was gone.... Then forget her.... There were other fish in the +sea.... There was a promising class this term.... That child in the +Fourth.... She wondered if Alwynne had noticed her.... She must ask +Alwynne.... Alwynne had gone away, had gone to Dene, was going to marry +Roger.... + +Well, there was always work.... Where was that letter to Miss Marsham? + +She moved stiffly in her seat, lit a candle, and drew towards her the +half-written sheet that lay open on the blotter. She re-read it. + +_You will, I am sure, understand how much I appreciate your offer of the +partnership, but after much consideration I have decided_---- + +She hesitated, crossed out the _but_ and wrote an _and_ above it, and +continued-- + +--_to accept it. I will come to tea to-morrow, as you kindly suggest._ + +She finished the letter, signed it, stamped and addressed, and sat idle +at last, staring down at it. + +The neat handwriting danced, and flickered, and grew dim. + +With an awkward gesture she put her hands to her eyes, and brought them +away again, wet. She smiled at that, a twisted, mocking smile. She +supposed she was crying.... She did not remember ever having done such a +thing.... + +So her future was decided.... It was to be work and +loneliness--loneliness and work ... because, it seemed, she had no +friends left.... Yet Alwynne had promised many things.... What had she +done to Alwynne? What had she done? + +She turned within herself and reviewed her life as she remembered it, +thought by thought, word by word, action by action. Faces rose about +her, whispering reminders, forgotten faces of the many who had loved +her: from her old nurse, dead long ago, to Louise, and Alwynne, and +foolish Olivia Pring. + +The candle at her elbow flared and dribbled, and died at last with a +splutter and a gasp. She paid no heed. + +When the dawn came, she was still sitting there, thinking--thinking. + + _March 1914--September 1915._ + + + THE END + + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + +Punctuation and formatting markup have been normalized. + +"_" surrounding text represents italics. + +Apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below. + +Page 22, "critise" changed to "criticise". ("Excuse me, Miss Vigers, but +I hardly see that it is your business to criticise my way of teaching.") + +Page 26, "inacessible" changed to "inaccessible". (Miss Hartill, who had +been, indeed, surrounded, inaccessible, from the instant of her entrance +until the prayer bell rang, did not look her way a second time.) + +Page 29, "Tallyerand" changed to "Talleyrand". +(Marengo--Talleyrand--never heard of 'em!) + +Page 30, "returned" changed to "return". (But to return to Napoleon and +the Lower Third----) + +Page 31, "warned" changed to "warmed". (And how it warmed the cockles of +one's heart to her!) + +Page 43, "all all" changed to "all". (Clare thanked the gods of her +unbelief, and, relaxing all effort, settled herself to enjoy to the full +the cushioning sense of security;) + +Page 47, "shouldnt'" changed to "shouldn't". (Well, I thought I +shouldn't get it done under forty--an essay on _The Dark Tower_.) + +Page 83, "scretly" changed to "secretly". (and she would pay any price +for apple-wood, ostensibly for the quality of its flame, secretly for +the mere pleasure of burning fuel with so pleasant a name;) + +Page 88, "a a" changed to "a". (She could not believe in simplicity +combined with brains: a simple soul was necessarily a simpleton in her +eyes.) + +Page 89, "negligble" changed to "negligible". (So that negligible and +mouse-like woman had been aware--all along ...) + +Page 100, "eucalyplyptus" changed to "eucalyptus". (Before the evening +was over Alwynne reeked of eucalyptus.) + +Page 108, "Clarke" changed to "Clare". ("Of course not," said Clare, +with grave sympathy.) + +Page 135, "Louise's" changed to "Clare's". (And Alwynne's eyes grew big, +and she forgot all about Louise, as Clare's "loveliest voice" read out +the rhyme of _The River_.) + +Page 152, "Cnythia" changed to "Cynthia". ("And yet it bores her +too----" parenthesised Cynthia shrewdly.) + +Page 155, "Wail" changed to "Wait". ("Wait till you get a best boy.") + +Page 186, "then" changed to "them". ("You begin by being heavenly to +people--and then you tantalise them.") + +Page 250, "phrase" changed to "phase". (Elsbeth, not unused to +disillusionment and hopes deferred, could sigh and smile and acquiesce, +knowing it for the phase that it was and forgiving Alwynne in advance.) + +Page 370, "so" changed to "to". (She had only to say, quite quietly, +that she must do what she felt to be right....) + +Page 413, "Alwyne" changed to "Alwynne". (She thought of Alwynne with +shifting passions of relief and longing and sheer crude lust for +revenge.) + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Regiment of Women, by Clemence Dane + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40264 *** |