"Ah! She's so young! So full of the zeal of youth. Besides, I'm very fond of her." Clare's smile took Henrietta into her confidence—confessed to an amiable weakness.
Henrietta brooded.
"Oh, Miss Hartill, you talk of my common sense. I wish—I wish you could see Miss Durand from my point of view for a moment." She eyed Clare, attentive and plastic in her shadows, and took courage. "This—appalling—probability——"
"Possibility——" Clare deprecated.
"Oh, but it seems terribly probable to me—only carries on my idea of Miss Durand. She is so ignorant—so inexperienced—so undisciplined—she cannot possibly have a good influence on young children——"
"She is my friend!" Clare reminded her, with gentle dignity.
"And if your suspicions are correct—if Louise's death were not accidental—if it had anything to do with her state of mind—if it were the effect of overwork—I consider—I must consider Miss Durand in some measure responsible. I feel that Miss Marsham should be told."
Clare shook her head. Her solemn, candid eyes abashed Henrietta.
"Miss Vigers—we are speaking in confidence. I should never forgive myself if anything I've said to you were repeated."
"Of course, of course!" Henrietta appeased her hastily. "But I've had my own suspicions—oh, for a long time, I assure you. I've not been blind. And I might feel it my duty—on my account, you understand—after all Miss Marsham depends on me implicitly—to speak to her—for the sake of the school——"