I hadn't, of course, known Clare was there, or I wouldn't have said anything. But I was rather irritated; after all, it wasn't her business, and I thought it rather absurd the way she kept up her attitude of not being able to bear to hear Oliver Hobart's death mentioned. I got up to go. After all, I had nothing more to say. I didn't want to stop and pry, only to let Jane know. But as I turned to go, I remembered that I had one more thing to say. 'It was Lady Pinkerton who started it and who is keeping it up,' I told Jane. 'Can you--somehow--stop her?' Jane still stared at me, stupidly. After a moment she half whispered, slowly, 'I--don't--know.' I stood looking at her for a second, then I went, without any more words. All the way home I saw those two white faces staring at me, and heard Jane's whisper 'I--don't--know....' I didn't know, either. I only knew, that evening, one thing--that I hated Jane, who had got Arthur into this mess, and 'didn't know' whether she could get him out of it or not. And I may as well end what I have got to tell by saying something which may or may not have been apparent to other people, but which, anyhow, it would be Potterish humbug on my part to try to hide. For the last five years I had cared for Arthur Gideon more than for any one else in the world. I saw no reason why I shouldn't, if I liked. It has never damaged any one but myself. It has damaged me in two ways--it has made it sometimes difficult to give my mind to my work, and it has made me, often, rather degradingly jealous of Jane. However, you would hardly (I hope) notice it, and anyhow it can't be helped. PART V: TOLD BY JUKE (IN HIS PRIVATE JOURNAL) GIVING ADVICE 1 It is always rather amusing dining at Aylesbury House, with my stimulating family. Especially since Chloe, my present stepmother, entered it, three years ago. Chloe is great fun; much more entertaining than most variety artists. I know plenty of these, because Wycombe, my eldest brother, introduces them to me. As a class they seem pleasant and good-humoured, but a little crude, and lacking in the subtler forms of wit or understanding. After an hour or so of their company I want to yawn. But Chloe keeps me going. She is vulgar, but racy. She is also very kind to me, and insists on coming down to help with theatrical entertainments in the parish. It is so decent of her that I can't say no, though she doesn't really fit in awfully well with the O.U.D.S. people, and the Marlowe Society people, and the others whom I get down for theatricals. In fact, Elizabethan drama isn't really her touch. However, the parish prefers Chloe, I need hardly say.