"Yes. That's partly why I came. I wanted to get to know her. You see, your description and her letters didn't tally. So I came. We got on jolly well. I burst in on her again at breakfast this morning. She didn't fuss—took it like a lamb. I fancy you underrate our cousin—in more ways than one. She knows it too; she's no fool! I found that out when we talked about you."
"Elsbeth discussed me?—with you?" Alwynne's tone foreboded a bad half-hour to Elsbeth.
"Why not? You're not sacred, are you?" Roger chuckled.
Alwynne felt inclined to box his ears. Here was a new Roger. Roger—her own property—to take such an attitude—to ally himself with Elsbeth—to leave her in the dark! Roger! It was unthinkable.... And she had been so awfully glad to see him ... absurdly glad to see him ... he had made her forget even Clare.... Clare.... She began to occupy her mind once more with the scene of the previous day, recalling what she had said; contrasting it with what she had intended to say; stabbed afresh by Clare's manner; writhing at her own helplessness; when Roger's slow voice brought her thoughts back to the present.
"You've been away from Elsbeth a fortnight," he said accusingly, as they entered the Town Gardens.
She flared anew at his tone.
"Certainly. I've been staying with friends. Have you any objection?"
She flushed.
"Clare Hartill is my best friend——"