The real Clare shifted in her seat and Alwynne sank back again. No, that was not the way to take Clare.... One must be patient, only patient, like Roger.... Clare would give all one needed, that was sure, but in her own time, her own way.... One must be patient.... She loosed her coat.... How close the room was.... She would have liked to fling open the window, but Clare always protested.... She heard Elsbeth's voice: "Fresh air? Her idea of fresh air is an electric fan." ... Queer, how those two jarred! But Elsbeth was not just.... Her head throbbed. Listlessly she picked up a spray of lilac and crushed it against her face. It was deliciously cool.... She supposed that the lilacs were out by now at Dene.... Tic, tac! Tic, tac! The tick of the clock would not keep time with the scratch of Clare's pen.... How stupid! Stupid, stu--pid, stu--pid, stu---- "Clare!" she cried desperately, "won't you even talk to me?" Clare wrote on for a moment as if she had not heard her, finished her letter, blotted it, stamped and addressed the cover and wiped her pen deliberately; then she rose, smiling a little. She had been perfectly conscious of Alwynne's unrest. "What is it?" she said. Alwynne flushed and gathered up her flowers. "It's your birthday," she apologised. "Look, Clare, aren't they darlings? I know you hate the school fusses, but your own birthday is important. Must you go on writing? It ought to be a holiday. May I get vases? Clare, I've such heaps to tell you, heaps and heaps, only I can't if you stand and look at me from such a long way off. Won't you sit down and smell your lilacs and let me talk to you comfortably?" With enormous daring she put her arm round Clare and drew her on to the sofa. Clare made no resistance, but she sat stiffly, unsupported, still smiling, her eyes glittering oddly. But the acquiescence was enough for Alwynne and she slid to the ground and sat there sorting her flowers, her face level with Clare's knee, radiant and fearless again. "I wonder what you will say? It's about Roger." Clare raised her eyebrows. "Oh, Clare, don't you know? I wrote such a lot about him from Dene." "I am to remember every detail of your epistles?" Alwynne looked up quaintly-- "I suppose there is a good deal to wade through. There always seems so much to say to you. Do you really mind?" "You remind me that I've letters to finish." Alwynne looked at the clock in sudden alarm. "Am I awfully early? You did expect me to tea?" "And you're never on the late side, are you?" Clare was still smiling, but her tone stung. Alwynne got up quickly. "I'm very sorry. Don't bother about me. I'll arrange these things while you finish. I didn't know you were really busy." Clare put out her hand to the table behind her. "I'm not busy. It seems one mayn't tease you since you've stayed at Dene." Alwynne's eyes flashed. "That's not fair. It's only that--that sometimes now you tease with needles--you used to tease with straws."