But Alwynne, in her gay frock, cheeks, at sight of Clare, suddenly aflame, did not look as if there were much amiss. She was thinner, of course.... Elsbeth, however, had made Clare uneasy. She attacked Alwynne on the following day. "Your aunt says you're dying, Alwynne. What's the matter?" "Dear old Elsbeth!" Alwynne laughed lightly. "_Is_ anything wrong?" Clare did not appear to look at her; nevertheless she did not miss the slight change in Alwynne's face, as she answered with careful cheeriness-- "What should be wrong in this best of all possible----" Clare caught her up. "I'm not a fool, Alwynne. What's the matter?" "I wish you wouldn't discuss me with Elsbeth," said Alwynne uneasily. "I don't like it. I won't have you bothered." "I'm not," said Clare coolly. "At the same time----" Alwynne braced herself. She knew the tone. "--I don't like any one about me with a secret grief and a pale, courageous smile. I can't stand a martyr." "I'm not!" Alwynne was wincing. Then, suddenly: "What has Elsbeth been saying? Honestly, I didn't know she'd noticed anything." "What is the matter?" said Clare again, gently enough. "Tell me, silly child!" Alwynne shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing! Just life!" Clare waited. "I'm sorry if I've been horrid--" she paused--"to Elsbeth." Clare opened her eyes. "What about me?" "I'm never horrid to you," said Alwynne with compunction. "That's what's so beastly of me." "Well, upon my word!" cried Clare blankly. "Oh, you know what I mean." Alwynne jumbled her words. "I always want to be nice to you. It's perfectly easy. And then I go home to Elsbeth, the darling, and am grumpy and snappy, and show her all the hateful side of me. Heaven knows why! Only yesterday she said, 'You wouldn't speak to Clare Hartill like that,' in her dear, hurt voice. I felt such a brute." A little smile hovered at the corners of Clare's mouth. "I was always so sorry," said Clare smoothly, "that you couldn't spend Christmas Day with me last year." Alwynne wrinkled her forehead. "What's that got to do----?" Clare caught her up. "With your secret griefs? Nothing whatever! You're quite right. But what are they, Alwynne? Who's been worrying you? Have you got too much to do?" "It's not that," said Alwynne unwillingly. "Then what?" "Oh, things!" "What things?" "Miss Vigers, for one," Alwynne began. Then she burst out: "Clare, I don't know what I've done to her. She never leaves me alone." Clare stiffened. "Miss Vigers? What has she to say to you? You're responsible to me--after Miss Marsham."