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!"