"I've never said so or thought so," said Roger.
"You have! You do! Look at the way you've talked about Clare. That looks as if you thought me loyal and a good friend, doesn't it? What would Clare think of me—when I've let her be sure she can have me always—when I've promised her——"
"At nineteen! Miss Hartill's generous to allow you to sacrifice yourself——"
"It's no sacrifice! Can't you understand that I care for her—awfully. Why—I owe her everything. I was a silly, ignorant schoolgirl, and she took me, and taught me—pictures, books, everything. She made me understand. Of course, I love my dear old Elsbeth—but Clare woke me up, Roger. You don't know how good she's been to me. I owe her—all my mind——"
"And your peace?" he asked significantly.
She softened.
"You know I'm grateful. I don't forget. But she's such a dreadfully lonely person. You've got The Dears, at least. She's queer. She can't help it. She doesn't make friends, though every one adores her. She's only got me. She wants me. How could I go when she wants me—when she's so good to me?"
"Is she?" he said. "Yesterday——"
"I was a fool yesterday," said Alwynne quickly. "Of course, I get on her nerves sometimes. But it's always my fault—honestly. You don't know what she's like, Roger, or you wouldn't say such things. I hate you to misunderstand her. How could I care for her so, if she were what you and Elsbeth think?"
He looked at her innocent, anxious face, and sighed.