"She slaves! She would be less irritating if she didn't. You know, Alwynne, I let myself go yesterday. I told her how impossible she was. And all she did was to look at me like a mournful monkey!"
Clare lifted her eyebrows. Alwynne looked at her quaintly.
"You know perfectly well what's wrong. Why on earth don't you leave her alone?"
"Uncoached?"
"That as well, of course. You said yourself she was excellent at first. Why don't you leave her to herself? It's safe. She's not like the others. She's a nectarine, not a potato. Give her a free hand till the dress-rehearsal. It won't be your reading—I prefer yours, too; at least I think I do——"
"I'm glad you say 'think.' But think again. There's no question of which you ought to prefer. But I, my good child, must consider my public! It wants to enjoy itself! It wants to weep salt tears! Louise's reading would cheat it of its emotions!"
"At least it will be a reading, not a repetition. I don't mean that, though, when I say—leave her alone. Clare—you won't realise what you mean to people!"
"I don't follow——" but Clare laughed a little.
"You do. You know you've made Louise crazy about you." Clare shrugged impatiently.