"That's why I wanted to see you. Frankly, at present I don't think you have."
He looked at her coolly, not at all depressed.
"Why not?"
"Clare Hartill."
"Ah!" He sat down at the table again, his chin in his fist. "You think her the obstacle?"
"I taught her once. Alwynne has been absorbed in her for two years. Alwynne talks——" they both smiled. "I could compare. I ought to know her pretty well."
"Yes. But how can she affect Alwynne and me? Of course I know what a lot Alwynne thinks of her. She's rather delightful on the subject. Thinks her perfection, and so on. Alwynne is naïve; conveys more than she knows or intends, sometimes. And she never looks at her god's feet, does she? 'Clare' and 'Clare' and 'Clare.' Personally, I imagine her a bit of a brute."
"I try to be fair. She is fond of Alwynne."
"Why not? But what's that got to do with Alwynne's caring for me, if I am lucky enough to make her? And I'm—conceitedly sure—that it's only a question of waking Alwynne up."
"You don't know Clare. If once she knows, she'll never let the child go."