"It was an accident!" she cried passionately. "In my heart I am sure. I wish I'd never said anything to you. I'd no right to be suspicious. Think of what Miss Durand's feelings would be if she realised----" She flung out her hands appealingly. "Oh, we're two overwrought women, aren't we? Sitting in the dusk and scaring ourselves with bogies. It was an accident, Miss Vigers--a tragic accident! Make yourself think so! Make me think so too!" Her beautiful eyes implored comfort. Henrietta, quite touched, patted her awkwardly on the arm. She enjoyed her transient superiority. "Of course, of course, we'll try to think so. Now you must go home. You are quite overwrought. It will be a trying day for us all to-morrow. I shall go to bed early too. Won't you go home now?" Clare nodded, mute, grateful. She went to her peg, and took down her hat and jacket. "Have you finished with Miss Durand? She was going home with me." "Oh! Miss Durand!" Henrietta's tone grew crisper. "Yes, of course. I'll see if she has done. I'll send her to you. And you mustn't let yourself worry, Miss Hartill. Leave it all to me. These things are more my province. Good-night!" said Henrietta cordially. She left the room. Clare, pinning on her hat, stared critically at herself in the inadequate mirror. "I think," she said confidentially, "we did that rather well." She smiled. The cynical lips smiled back at her. "You beast!" cried Clare, with sudden passion. "You beast! You beast!" She was still staring at herself when Alwynne came for her. CHAPTER XXVI Clare Hartill's precautions proved to be unnecessary as the alarms of her colleagues. The inquest was a formal and quickly concluded affair, and the only corollary to the verdict of accidental death was an expression of sympathy with all concerned. Whereon, there being no further cause for the detaining of Louise Denny above ground, she was elegantly and expeditiously buried. The whole school attended the funeral. The flowers required a second carriage, and for the first time in his life, Mr. Denny was genuinely proud of his daughter. He did not believe that his own death could have extracted more lavish tributes from the purses of his acquaintances. Clare Hartill, writing a card for her wreath of incredible orchids, did not regret her extravagance. After all--one must keep up one's position.... There would certainly not be such another wreath in the churchyard.... How Louise would have exclaimed over it! Poor child.... It was all one could do for her now. Clare hesitated, pen arrested--"With deepest sympathy." It was not necessary to write anything more.... Her name was printed already.... But Louise would have liked a message.... After all, she had been very proud of Louise.... She reversed the card, and wrote, almost illegibly, in a corner, "Louise--with love. C. H." She paused, lips pursed. Sentimental, perhaps? Possibly.... But let it go....