"It was that to everybody, naturally. But in a way it's curious," said Henrietta meditatively, "how much we all feel it—how oppressively, at least: for I don't think any one was very fond of Louise."
"Oh, Miss Durand was deeply attached to her," Clare protested, her beautiful voice low with emotion.
"Yes, of course! Oh, I've noticed that." Clare's unusual accessibility made Henrietta anxious to agree. Also, though she had noticed nothing unusual, she did not wish to appear lacking in penetration. She recalled Alwynne's haggard face; recollected how much she had had to do with the child; and decided that Clare was probably right.
"But except for her," she went on, "and your interest in her——"
"I've never had such a pupil," said Clare calmly. "Industrious—original—oh, I shall miss her, I know. But you're right—she was not popular——"
"Yet everybody feels her death—among ourselves, I mean—to an extraordinary degree. After all—an accident is only an accident, however dreadful! But there's a sort of oppression on us—a kind of fear. Do you know what I mean? I think we all feel it. It draws us together in a curious way."
"'The Tie of Common Funk,'" rapped out Clare, forgetting her rôle.
Henrietta stiffened.
"I don't think it is an occasion for slang," she said. "The child's not buried yet."
Clare bit back a flippancy.