rom India myself. You said your brother was there; what's his
regiment?

CLARE. [Shaking her head] You're not going to find out my name. I
haven't got one--nothing.

She leans her bare elbows on the table, and her face on her
hands.

CLARE. First of June! This day last year I broke covert--I've been
running ever since.

YOUNG MAN. I don't understand a bit. You--must have had a--a--some
one----

But there is such a change in her face, such rigidity of her
whole body, that he stops and averts his eyes. When he looks
again she is drinking. She puts the glass down, and gives a
little laugh.

YOUNG MAN. [With a sort of awe] Anyway it must have been like
riding at a pretty stiff fence, for you to come here to-night.

CLARE. Yes. What's the other side?

The YOUNG MAN puts out his hand and touches her arm. It is
meant for sympathy, but she takes it for attraction.

CLARE. [Shaking her head] Not yet please! I'm enjoying this. May
I have a cigarette?

[He takes out his case, and gives her one]

CLARE. [Letting the smoke slowly forth] Yes, I'm enjoying it. Had
a pretty poor time lately; not enough to eat, sometimes.

YOUNG MAN. Not really! How damnable! I say--do have something more
substantial.

CLARE gives a sudden gasp, as if going off into hysterical
laughter, but she stifles it, and shakes her head.

YOUNG MAN. A peach?

[ARNAUD brings peaches to the table]

CLARE. [Smiling] Thank you.

[He fills their glasses and retreats]

CLARE. [Raising her glass] Eat and drink, for tomorrow we--Listen!

From the supper-party comes the sound of an abortive chorus:
"With a hey ho, chivy, hark forrard, hark forrard, tantivy!"
Jarring out into a discordant whoop, it sinks.

CLARE. "This day a stag must die." Jolly old song!

YOUNG MAN. Rowdy lot! [Suddenly] I say--I admire your pluck.

CLARE. [Shaking her head] Haven't kept my end up. Lots of women do!
You see: I'm too fine, and not fine enough! My best friend said
that. Too fine, and not fine enough. [She laughs] I couldn't be a
saint and martyr, and I wouldn't be a soulless doll. Neither one
thing nor the other--that's the tragedy.

YOUNG MAN. You must have had awful luck!

CLARE. I did try. [Fiercely] But what's the good--when there's
nothing before you?--Do I look ill?

YOUNG MAN. No; simply awfully pretty.

CLARE. [With a laugh]