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."