What had Alwynne heard? A garbled version of that last interview? Fool again--unless the dead can speak.... But Alwynne knew.... Something had been revealed to her, suddenly, during their idle talk.... But when? But how? She had come as a lover ... she had left as a stranger ... what in any god's name, had she guessed? Clare's subconscious memory reproduced for her instantly, with photographic accuracy, details of the scene that she had not even known she had observed. Alwynne had changed, in an instant, between a word and a reply.... What was it that Clare had said--what trifling, teasing nothing, flung out in pure wantonness? But Alwynne's face, her dear face, had become, for an instant--Clare strained to the memory--as the face of Louise.... Louise had looked at her like that, that other day.... What had they seen then, both of them? Was she Gorgon to bring that look into their faces? Louise--yes--she could understand Louise.... She did not care to think about Louise.... But Alwynne--what had she ever done to Alwynne? At least Alwynne might tell her what she had done.... She would not submit to it.... She would not be put aside.... She would at least have justice.... _I am going to marry Roger._ Useless! All useless! The struggle was over before she had known she was fighting.... She knew that in Alwynne's life there was no longer any part for her. And Clare had travelled far that evening, to phrase it thus. Sharing was a strange word for her to use. But she recognised dully that even sharing was out of her power. What had she to do with a husband, and housewifery, and the bearing of children? Alwynne married was Alwynne dead. Alwynne in love.... Alwynne married.... Alwynne putting any living thing before Clare! She broke into bitter laughter at the idea. What had happened? What had Clare done or left undone? She realised grimly that of this at least she might be sure--it had been her own doing.... No influence could have wrought against her own.... Alwynne, at least, was where she was, because Clare had sent her, not because another had beckoned.... And that was the comfort she had stored up for herself, to last her in the lean years to come.... What was the use of regretting? Alwynne was gone.... Then forget her.... There were other fish in the sea.... There was a promising class this term.... That child in the Fourth.... She wondered if Alwynne had noticed her.... She must ask Alwynne.... Alwynne had gone away, had gone to Dene, was going to marry Roger.... Well, there was always work.... Where was that letter to Miss Marsham? She moved stiffly in her seat, lit a candle, and drew towards her the half-written sheet that lay open on the blotter. She re-read it. _You will, I am sure, understand how much I appreciate your offer of the partnership, but after much consideration I have decided_---- She hesitated, crossed out the _but_ and wrote an _and_ above it, and continued--