"Finished?" Clare spoke from the shadow of her deep chair. Her back was to the light, but Henrietta faced the west window. The evening sun laid bare her face for Clare's inspection. Not a flicker of expression could escape her, if she chose to look.
"More or less. I want half-an-hour's rest."
"I don't wonder. You've had everything to see to." Clare's voice was delicately sympathetic.
Henrietta unbent.
"A secretary's work isn't showy, Miss Hartill, but it's necessary: and any happening that's out of the common doubles it. The correspondence over this unhappy affair alone——"
"I know. Of course, at Miss Marsham's age——"
"It all falls on me! People don't realise that. The extra work is enormous. Miss Marsham depends on me so entirely, of course."
"Yes, yes," murmured Clare appreciatively.
Henrietta played with her papers.
"I feel the responsibility very strongly," she said abruptly; but her tone was confidential.