"Nothing whatever," said Clare.
"Exactly. But knowing that you are fond of Alwynne, and realising your great, your very great, influence with her, I felt—indeed we both felt—that if you once realised——"
"We?"
"Roger. Mr. Lumsden."
"Oh, the gardener at Dene."
"My cousin, Miss Hartill."
"Oh. Oh, really. But what has he to do with Alwynne?"
"My dear, he wants to marry her. Didn't she tell you?" Elsbeth had the satisfaction of seeing Clare look startled. "Now I was sure Alwynne had confided the matter to you. Hasn't she just been here? That is really why I came. I was so afraid that you, with the best of motives, of course, might incline her to refuse him. And you know, Miss Hartill, she mustn't. The very man for Alwynne? He suits her in every way. Devoted to her, of course, but not in the least weak with her, and you know I always say that Alwynne needs a firm hand. And between ourselves, though I am the last person to consider such a thing, he is an extremely good match. I can't tell you, Miss Hartill, the joy it was to me, the engagement. I had been anxious—I quite foresaw that Alwynne would be difficult, though I am convinced she is attached to him—underneath, you know. So I made up my mind to come to you. I said to myself: 'I am sure—I am quite sure—Miss Hartill would not misunderstand the situation. I am quite sure Miss Hartill would not intend to stand in the child's light. She is far too fond of Alwynne to allow her personal feelings——' After all, feminine friendship is all very well, very delightful, of course, and I am only too sensible of your goodness to Alwynne—and taking her to Italy too—but when it is a question of Marriage—oh, Miss Hartill, surely you see what I mean?"
Clare frowned.
"I think so. The gard——This Mr. Lumpkin——"