round.

MALISE. Come! Sit down, sit down! [CLARE, heaving a long sigh,
sinks down into the chair] Tea's nearly ready.

He places a cushion for her, and prepares tea; she looks up at
him softly, but as he finishes and turns to her, she drops that
glance.

CLARE. Do you think me an awful coward for coming? [She has taken a
little plain cigarette case from her dress] Would you mind if I
smoked?

MALISE shakes his head, then draws back from her again, as if
afraid to be too close. And again, unseen, she looks at him.

MALISE. So you've lost your job?

CLARE. How did you----?

MALISE. Your brother. You only just missed him. [CLARE starts up]
They had an idea you'd come. He's sailing to-morrow--he wants you to
see your father.

CLARE. Is father ill?

MALI$E. Anxious about you.

CLARE. I've written to him every week. [Excited] They're still
hunting me!

MALISE. [Touching her shoulder gently] It's all right--all right.

She sinks again into the chair, and again he withdraws. And
once more she gives him that soft eager look, and once more
averts it as he turns to her.

CLARE. My nerves have gone funny lately. It's being always on one's
guard, and stuffy air, and feeling people look and talk about you,
and dislike your being there.

MALISE. Yes; that wants pluck.

CLARE. [Shaking her head] I curl up all the time. The only thing I
know for certain is, that I shall never go back to him. The more
I've hated what I've been doing, the more sure I've been. I might
come to anything--but not that.

MALISE. Had a very bad time?

CLARE. [Nodding] I'm spoilt. It's a curse to be a lady when you
have to earn your living. It's not really been so hard, I suppose;
I've been selling things, and living about twice as well as most shop
girls.

MALISE. Were they decent to you?

CLARE. Lots of the girls are really nice. But somehow they don't
want me, can't help thinking I've got airs or something; and in here
[She touches her breast] I don't want them!

MALISE. I know.

CLARE. Mrs. Fullarton and I used to belong to a society for helping
reduced gentlewomen to get work. I know now what they want: enough
money not to work--that's all! [Suddenly looking up at him] Don't
think me worse than I am-please! It's working under people; it's
having to do it, being driven. I have tried, I've not been
altogether a coward, really! But every mor