CHAPTER XLVI
Clare had paused a moment, half expecting Alwynne to return; but it was draughty on the landing and she did not wait long. Silly of Alwynne to dash off like that.... She had wanted to discuss Miss Marsham's letter with her before writing her answer.... Not that she was really undecided, of course.... The offer was an excellent one no doubt, and it was fitting that it should have been made.... But to accept the head mistress-ship was another matter.... Life was pleasant enough as it was.... She had plenty of money and Alwynne was hobby enough.... She wondered what Alwynne would say to it ... urge her to accept, probably.... Alwynne was so terribly energetic.... Well, she would let Alwynne talk ... (she picked up her pen) and when she had expended herself, Clare would produce her already written refusal.... Alwynne would pout and be annoyed.... Alwynne hated being made to look a fool.... Clare laughed as she bent over her letter.
She had achieved preliminary compliments and was hesitating as to how she should continue, when a violent rat-tat, hushing immediately to a tremulous tat-a-tat-tat, as if the success of the attack upon Clare's door had proved a little startling to the knocker, announced a visitor, and to their mutual astonishment, Elsbeth Loveday fluttered into the room. Though Elsbeth's naïve amazement at herself and her own courage was more apparent, it was scarcely greater than Clare's politely veiled surprise at the invasion, for since Alwynne's attempts to reconcile the oil and water of their reluctant personalities had ceased with her absence, there had been practically no intercourse between them. With a crooked smile for her first fleeting conviction of the imminence of a church bazaar or Sunday-school treat on gargantuan lines, Clare applied herself to the preparation of Elsbeth's tea, in no great hurry for the disclosure of the visit's object, but already slightly amused at her visitor's unease, and foreseeing a whimsical half-hour in watching her pant and stumble, unassisted, to her point.
Elsbeth was dimly aware of her hostess's attitude, and not a little nettled by it. She waved away cake and toast with a vague idea of breaking no bread in the enemy's house, but she was not the woman to resist tea, though Hecate's self brewed it. Fortified, she returned the empty cup; readjusted her veil, and opened fire.
"My dear Miss Hartill," she began, a shade too cordially, "I've come round—I do hope you're not too busy; I know how occupied you always are."
Clare was not at all busy; entirely at Miss Loveday's service.
"Ah, well, I confess I came round in the hope of finding you alone—in the hope of a quiet chat——"
Clare was expecting no visitors. But would not Miss Loveday take another cup of tea?
"Oh no, thank you. Though I enjoyed my cup immensely—delicious flavour. China, isn't it? Alwynne always quotes your tea. Poor Alwynne—she can't convert me. I've always drunk the other, you know. Not but that China tea is to be preferred for those who like it, of course. An acquired taste, perhaps—at least——" She finished with an indistinct murmur uncomfortably aware that she had not been particularly lucid in her compliments to Clare's tea.
Might Clare order a cup of Indian tea to be made for Miss Loveday? It would be no trouble; her maid drank it, she believed.