hing 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 morning getting there the
same time; every day the same stale "dinner," as they call it; every
evening the same "Good evening, Miss Clare," "Good evening, Miss
Simpson," "Good evening, Miss Hart," "Good evening, Miss Clare."
And the same walk home, or the same 'bus; and the same men that you
mustn't look at, for fear they'll follow you. [She rises] Oh! and
the feeling-always, always--that there's no sun, or life, or hope, or
anything. It was just like being ill, the way I've wanted to ride
and dance and get out into the country. [Her excitement dies away
into the old clipped composure, and she sits down again] Don't think
too badly of me--it really is pretty ghastly!

MALISE. [Gruffly] H'm! Why a shop?

CLARE. References. I didn't want to tell more lies than I could
help; a married woman on strike can't tell the truth, you know. And
I can't typewrite or do shorthand yet. And chorus--I thought--you
wouldn't li