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 ap.r.o.n strings, blind to other interests, when you cram her with poetry and emotional literature, when you allow her to attach herself pa.s.sionately 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."