"Come to dinner?"
"I can't."
"Then you needn't come at all." Clare turned away.
Alwynne caught her hand, as it leaned on the balustrade. In the other the candle shook a little.
"Lady Macbeth! Dear Lady Macbeth! Miss Hartill of the Upper Sixth, whom I'm scared to death of, really—you're behaving like a very naughty small child. Now, aren't you? Honestly? Oh, do turn round and crush me with a look for being impudent, and then tell me that I'm only doing what you really approve. I don't want to, Clare, but you know you hate selfishness."
Clare looked down at her.
"All right, Alwynne. You must do as you like."
"Say good-night to me," demanded Alwynne. "Nicely, Clare, very nicely! It's Christmas-time."
Carefully Clare deposited her candlestick on the stair above. Leaning over the banisters, she put her arms round Alwynne and kissed her passionately and repeatedly.
"Good-night, my darling," said Clare.