Lesbians -- Fiction; Psychological fiction; Women teachers -- Fiction
"Oh no, thank you. Though I enjoyed my cup immensely--delicious flavour.
China, isn't it? Alwynne always quotes your tea. Poor Alwynne--she can't
convert me. I've always drunk the other, you know. Not but that China
tea is to be preferred for those who like it, of course. An acquired
taste, perhaps--at least----" She finished with an indistinct murmur
uncomfortably aware that she had not been particularly lucid in her
compliments to Clare's tea.
Might Clare order a cup of Indian tea to be made for Miss Loveday? It
would be no trouble; her maid drank it, she believed.
"Oh, please don't. I shouldn't dream----You know, I didn't originally
intend to come to tea. But you are so very kind. I am sure you are
wondering what brings me."
Clare disclaimed civilly.
"Well, to tell you the truth--I am afraid you will think me extremely
roundabout, Miss Hartill----"
Clare's mouth twitched.
"But it is not an easy subject to begin. I'm somewhat worried about
Alwynne----"
"Again?" Clare had stiffened, but Elsbeth was too nervous to be
observant.
"Oh, not her health. She is splendidly well again--Dene did wonders."
Clare found Elsbeth's quick little unexplained smile irritating. "No,
this is--well, it certainly has something to do with Dene, too!"
"Indeed," said Clare.
Elsbeth continued, delicately tactless: she was always at her worst with
her former pupil.
"I daresay you are surprised that I consult you, for we need not
pretend, need we, that we have ever quite agreed over Alwynne? You, I
know, consider me old-fashioned----" She paused a moment for a
disclaimer, but Clare was merely attentive. With a little less suavity
she resumed: "And of course I've always thought that you----But that,
after all, has nothing to do with the matter."
"Nothing whatever," said Clare.
"Exactly. But knowing that you are fond of Alwynne, and realising your
great, your very great, influence with her, I felt--indeed we both
felt--that if you once realised----"
"We?"
"Roger. Mr. Lumsden."
"Oh, the gardener at Dene."
"My cousin, Miss Hartill."
"Oh. Oh, really. But what has he to do with Alwynne?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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