"I think she's growing too fond of you," said Alwynne desperately.
She faced Clare, red and apprehensive. She expected an outburst. But Clare never did what Alwynne expected her to do.
"Is that all? Pooh!" said Clare lightly and began to laugh. She swung backwards, her finger-tips crooked round the edge of the table, her neat shoes peeping and disappearing beneath her skirts as she rocked herself. She regarded Alwynne with sly amusement.
"So I've a bad influence, Alwynne? Is that the idea?"
Alwynne protested redly. Clare continued unheeding.
"Well, it's a novel one, anyhow. Could you indicate exactly how my blighting effect is produced? Don't mind me, you know." Then, with a chuckle: "Oh, you delicious child!"
Alwynne was silent.
"Tell me all about it, Alwynne dear!" cooed Clare.
Alwynne shrugged her shoulders with a curiously helpless gesture.
"I can't," she said. "I thought I could—but I can't. You don't help me. I was worried over Louise. I thought—I think she alters. I think she gets a strained look. I know she thinks about you all the time. I thought—but, of course, if you see nothing, it's my fancy. There's nothing definite, I know. If you don't know what I mean——"