"No, no!" protested Alwynne unhappily. Clare continued-- "If you think I'm to blame for encouraging a lonely child--she has no mother, Alwynne--lending her a few books--asking her to tea with me--because I felt rather sorry for her----" "I didn't mean that----" Alwynne twisted her fingers helplessly. "Then what did you mean?" Clare asked her. She had slipped on to the floor, and was facing Alwynne, very tall and grave and quiet. "Won't you tell me just exactly what you did mean?" she allowed a glimmer of displeasure to appear in her eyes. And Alwynne, tongue-tied and cornered, had nothing whatever to say. She had been filled with vague uneasiness and had come to Clare to have it dispelled. The uneasiness was still there, formless yet insistent--but the only effect of her clumsy phrases was to hurt Clare's feelings. After all, was she not worrying herself unduly? Was she to know better than Clare? She had felt for some moments that she had made a fool of herself. There remained to capitulate. Her anxiety over Louise melted before the pain in Clare's eyes--the reproof of her manner. "Would you like me to speak to Louise, before you?" went on Clare patiently. "Perhaps she could explain what it is that worries you----" "No, no! for goodness' sake, Clare!" cried Alwynne, appalled. Then surrendering, "Clare--I didn't mean anything. I do see--I've been fussing--impertinent--whatever you like. I didn't mean any harm. Oh, let's stop talking about it, please." "I'd rather you convinced yourself first," said Clare frigidly. "I don't want the subject re-opened once a week." Then relenting, "Poor old Alwynne! The trials of a deputy! Has she worried herself to death? But I'm back now. I think I can manage my class, Alwynne--as long as you stand by to give me a word of advice now and then." Alwynne squirmed. Clare laughed tenderly. "My dear--give Louise a little less attention. It won't hurt either of you. Are you going to let me feel neglected?" Then, with a change of tone. "Now we've had enough of this nonsense." She curled herself in her big chair. "Alwynne, there's a box of Fuller's in the cupboard, and an English Review. Don't you want to hear the new Masefield before you go home?" And Alwynne's eyes grew big, and she forgot all about Louise, as Clare's "loveliest voice" read out the rhyme of _The River_. Yet Clare had a last word as she sent her home to Elsbeth. "Sorry?" said Clare whimsically, as Alwynne bade her good-bye. "I always was a fool," said Alwynne, and hugged her defiantly. But Clare, for once, made no protest. She patted her ruffled hair as she listened to the noises of the departure. "Too fond of me?" she said softly. "Too fond of me? Alwynne--what about you?" But if Alwynne heard, she made no answer. CHAPTER XIV Miss Marsham was accustomed to recognise that it was the brief career of Cynthia Griffiths that first induced her to consider the question of her own retirement.