"My dear, she was in the way. She worried you and you worried me. I don't like being worried."
Alwynne shivered.
"Don't, Clare! I hate you to talk like that—even in fun. It's—it's so cold-blooded."
"In fun!" Clare laughed lightly. Alwynne's youthful severity amused her. But she had gone, she perceived, a trifle too far. "Well, then, in earnest—joking apart——"
Alwynne's face relaxed. Of course, she had known all along that Clare was in fun....
"Joking apart—it was time for Miss Vigers to go. I admit saying what I thought to Miss Marsham. I am quite ready to take responsibility. She was too old—too fussy—too intolerant—I can't stand intolerance. She had to go."
Alwynne looked wicked.
"Clare, you remind me of a man I met, down at Compton. You ought to get on together. He's great on tolerance too. So tolerant that five hundred years ago he'd have burned every one who wasn't as tolerant as he. As it is, he shrugs them out of existence, à la Podsnap. Just as you did Miss Vigers just now."
"Who was he?"
"Don't know—only met him once. But he tickled me awfully. He hadn't the faintest idea how funny he was."