Clare, ignoring her, wrenched open the door. Louise, flung sideways, slipped on the polished floor. She crouched where she fell, and caught at Clare's skirts. She was completely demoralised.
"Miss Hartill! Oh, please—please—if you would only understand. You hurt me so. You hurt me so."
Clare stood looking down at her.
"Once and for all, Louise, I dislike scenes. Let me go, please."
For a moment their eyes strove. And suddenly Louise, relaxing all effort, let her go. Without another look, Clare retraced her steps and entered the Common-room. Louise, still crouching against the wall, watched her till she disappeared. The doors swung and clicked into rigidity.
There was a sudden uproar of voices and laughter and scraping chairs. A distant door had opened.
Louise started to her feet, and sped swiftly up the stairs, flight on flight, of the tall old house, till she reached the top floor and the music-room. It was empty. She flung-to the door, and fumbled with the stiff key. It turned at last, and she leaned back against the lock, shaking and breathless, but with a sense of relief.
She was safe.... Not for long—they would be coming up soon—but long enough for her purpose.
But first she must recover breath. It was foolish to tremble so. It only hindered one ... when there was so little time to lose.
Hurriedly she sorted out her little pile of everyday clothes—some irrelevant instinct insisting on the paramount necessity of changing into them. Mrs. Denny would be annoyed if she spoiled the new costume. She re-dressed hastily and, clasping her belt, crossed to the window.