"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.
"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."
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.
"You realised the responsibility you incurred?" Clare went on.
"I didn't. No, never!" Alwynne supplicated her.
"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----"