Millie's laugh attracted Clare's attention. Her wandering glance suddenly settled on Millie's face.
"You're beautiful," she said. "I like all that bright colour. Purple suits you and you wear clothes well, too, which hardly any English girls do. It's clever, that little bit of white there. . . . Nice shoes you have . . . lovely hair. I wonder . . ."
She broke off, staring at Millie. "Why, of course! You're the girl Peter's in love with."
"Me!"
"Yes, you. Of course I discovered after I'd been back an hour that there was somebody. Peter isn't so subtle but that you can't find out what he's thinking. Besides, I knew him twenty years ago and he hasn't changed as much as I have. You're the girl! Well, I'm not sorry. I did him an injury twenty years ago, more or less ruined his life for him, and I won't be sorry to do him a good turn before I go. You won't have long to wait, my dear. I was very nearly finished last night, if you want to know. I can tell you a few things about Peter that it will be good for you to understand if you're going to live with him."
"Oh, but you're wrong! You're entirely wrong!" cried Millie. "I'm sure Peter doesn't love me, and even if he did—anyway, I don't love him. I was engaged until a few days ago. It has just been broken off—some one I loved very much. That's the trouble I spoke about just now."
"Tell me about it," said Clare, looking at her with eyes half-closed.
"Oh, but you wouldn't—it isn't——"
"Yes, I would . . . Yes, it is. . . . Remember there's nothing about men I don't know. You look so young: you can't know very much. Perhaps I can help you."
"No," said Millie, shaking her head. "You can't help me. No one can help me but myself. It's all over—quite, quite over."