MRS. FULLARTON. Of course I'll back you, all that's possible, but I can't invent things.
CLARE. You wouldn't let me come to you for a bit, till I could find my feet?
MRS. FULLARTON, taken aback, cannot refrain from her glance at FULLARTON automatically gazing at CLARE while he talks with HUNTINGDON.
MRS. FULLARTON. Of course—the only thing is that——
CLARE. [With a faint smile] It's all right, Dolly. I'm not coming.
MRS. FULLARTON. Oh! don't do anything desperate, Clare—you are so desperate sometimes. You ought to make terms—not tracks.
CLARE. Haggle? [She shakes her head] What have I got to make terms with? What he still wants is just what I hate giving.
MRS. FULLARTON. But, Clare——
CLARE. No, Dolly; even you don't understand. All day and every day —just as far apart as we can be—and still—Jolly, isn't it? If you've got a soul at all.
MRS. FULLARTON. It's awful, really.