"Please--won't you leave Clare out of it? You are utterly wrong. You see, you don't know her. If you did you would understand. I am so grateful to you for being kind. I don't want to be angry. But I must, if you talk like that. Please--if you can, make me sure it wasn't my fault. But if it involves Clare--I'd rather go on being--not not quite happy. Yet I hoped, perhaps, you would help me." "Of course I'm helping you," he said, quick to catch and adopt her tone. He had no wish to intimidate her. He liked her pathetic little dignities and loyalties. He was, so far, content; he had, he knew, in spite of her protestations, sown a seed of distrust in her mind. Time would ripen it. He felt no compunction in enlightening her blind devotion. He had quick antipathies, and he had conceived an idea of Clare Hartill that would have appalled Alwynne, and which justified to himself any measure that he might see fit to take. In his own mind he referred to her as "that poisonous female." There were no half-measures with Roger. CHAPTER XXXV Alwynne leant back in her chair and regarded Roger with some intentness. "Well?" he said politely. "I was thinking----" she said lamely. "Obviously." "That it was rather queer--that I should tell you all this, when I couldn't even tell Elsbeth." "Don't you think it's often easier to talk to strangers? One's personality can make its own impression--it has no preconception to fight against." "Yes. But I hate strangers, till they've stopped being strange. And, you know"--she hesitated--"I haven't really liked you. Have you noticed it?" "In streaks," he admitted. "But why?" "You patronise so!" she flared. "You make me feel a fool. This afternoon----Of course, it's quite true that I don't know much about men. I suppose you knew I was--inexperienced; but you needn't have rubbed it in. And you've always talked down to me." "I don't think I did," he considered the matter unsmiling. "I think it's rather the other way--the tilt of your nose disturbs my complacence. You listen to me at meals like Disapproval incarnate. You make me nervous." "Do I?" she asked delightedly. "Yes." He laughed. "I hide it under a superior air, of course." "Yes, of course," she sympathised. "That's what I do always." "It is useful," he agreed. "People may think you disagreeable, but at least you're dignified. _You have chosen your fault well, I really cannot laugh at it._ Do you remember? I told Elsbeth that you were like Mr. Darcy." "And that you don't like me?" "Well--I didn't. That's why it's so queer--that I can talk to you so easily. I am grateful. It has helped, just talking." "I knew it would." "I feel better." She stirred in her seat. "Is it late? Ought we to be going home?" He chose his words, his eyes on her, though he spoke casually enough. "No hurry. We can always take a cut through the wood, you know." She flinched at that, as he expected; spoke uneasily, furtive-eyed.