"Do you?" said Clare intently.
Alwynne's eyes met hers defiantly.
"I do. Of course I do. It's wicked to torment yourself. But if I didn't—if the poor baby was overtired and overworked—is it your fault? You only saw her in class at the last. You couldn't help it if the exams, and the play were suddenly too much—if something snapped——"
"You see, you do think so," said Clare bitterly. "I've always known you did. Well—think what you like—what do I care?" She put up her clenched hands and rubbed and kneaded at her dry aching eyes.
Alwynne watched her, desperately. Here was her lady wanting comfort, and she had found none. She wracked her brains as the sluggish minutes passed.
Clare's hands dropped at last. She met Alwynne's anxious gaze and laughed harshly.
"Well? The verdict? That I was a brute to Louise, I suppose?"
Alwynne looked at her wistfully.
"Clare, I do love you so."
Clare stiffened.