"It's patchwork," said Clare disgustedly to Alwynne, at the end of the third week, "pure patchwork. She does everything I tell her--and the result is dire. What it will be like on the night, heaven knows! And there's nobody else. Yet she _can_ act. That first performance was quite excellent." "And she tries." "She slaves! She would be less irritating if she didn't. You know, Alwynne, I let myself go yesterday. I told her how impossible she was. And all she did was to look at me like a mournful monkey!" "Inarticulate. Exactly." Clare lifted her eyebrows. Alwynne looked at her quaintly. "You know perfectly well what's wrong. Why on earth don't you leave her alone?" "Uncoached?" "That as well, of course. You said yourself she was excellent at first. Why don't you leave her to herself? It's safe. She's not like the others. She's a nectarine, not a potato. Give her a free hand till the dress-rehearsal. It won't be your reading--I prefer yours, too; at least I think I do----" "I'm glad you say 'think.' But think again. There's no question of which you ought to prefer. But I, my good child, must consider my public! It wants to enjoy itself! It wants to weep salt tears! Louise's reading would cheat it of its emotions!" "At least it will be a reading, not a repetition. I don't mean that, though, when I say--leave her alone. Clare--you won't realise what you mean to people!" "I don't follow----" but Clare laughed a little. "You do. You know you've made Louise crazy about you." Clare shrugged impatiently. "I dislike these enthusiasms." "But you cause them. I think it is rather mean to shirk the consequences." "Really, Alwynne!" But Clare was still smiling. "You do. You begin by being heavenly to people--and then you tantalise them." "Does it hurt, Alwynne? Are you going to run away?" Alwynne smiled. "Oh, you won't get rid of me so easily. I'm a limpet. Do you know, I couldn't imagine existence without you now. I've never been so gloriously happy in my life. You wouldn't ever get really tired of me, would you?" "I wonder." "I know." "I've warned you that I'm changeable. Instance your Louise." "Oh, Clare, do be nicer to Louise." "Oh, Alwynne, do mind your own business. I'm as nice as is good for her. But I believe you're right about this acting. I'll wash my hands of her till the dress-rehearsal, if you like. You can tell her I said so." But Alwynne, whispering to Louise that perhaps the old way was better after all, that Miss Hartill had said she didn't mind, achieved little. "Oh, Miss Durand--don't let her think I'm hopeless. I shall get it right in time. I'd rather stick to the way she showed me. Miss Durand--do you think she's angry? Honestly, I will get it right. Miss Durand--I suppose there's no news?"