"Do you think so?" she repeated, with a lift of her eyebrows that reduced Alwynne's status to that of a Kindergarten pupil teacher. She enjoyed seeing her grow pink.
"Of course, it's no affair of mine," said Alwynne aggrievedly. She went on with her drawing.
Clare swung herself on to the low table and sat, skirts a-sway, gazing down at Alwynne's head, bent over its grotesques. There was a curl at the nape of the neck that fascinated her. It lay fine and shining like a baby's. She picked up a pencil and ran it through the tendril. Alwynne jumped.
"Clare, leave me alone. You only think I'm impertinent."
"Does she want a finger in the pie, then?" said Clare softly. "Poor old Alwynne!" The pencil continued its investigations.
Alwynne tried not to laugh. She could never resist Clare's soft voice, as Clare very well knew.
"I don't! I only thought——"
"That Louise—your precious Louise——"
"She's trying so awfully hard——"
"Yes?"