Alwynne

“ A brilliant talker, she chose to listen, and soon heard all there was to hear of Alwynne's short history; of her mother's sister, Elsbeth Loveday (Clare pricked up her ears at the name) , who had reared her from babyhood; of her schooldays; her crude young likes and dislikes; her hero-worships and passionate, vague ambitions. Clare knew it all by heart, had heard the tale from more pairs of lips than she could remember, for more years than she cared to count. But Alwynne, nevertheless, told it in a way of her own that appealed to Clare and interested her anew. ”

“ Clare bent towards her, tender, gracious, yet subtly aloof; confessor, not friend.
"Oh, Alwynne! Why will you always be so sure of yourself? Why not have come to me for advice as you used to? What are we elder folk for? I love your impetuosity—your self-reliance—and I believe, I shall always believe, that you wanted to spare me trouble and worry. I know you. But you're not all enough, Alwynne, to decide everything for yourself. You won't believe it, I suppose—oh, I was just the same. But doesn't all this dreadful business show you? A few words—and Louise might have been with us now. ”

“ Alwynne, I'm frightened of my thoughts."
Alwynne put her hand shyly on her shoulders, talking at random.
"Clare, dear, do get up. Come on to the sofa. You mustn't kneel there. You'll strain yourself. I always get tired kneeling in church. It makes one's heart ache." ”

“ But to see Alwynne swaying, however unconsciously, minds of a finer type, would not have been easy for Clare. She had grown very fond of Alwynne; but the sentiment was proprietary; she could derive no pleasure from her that was not personal, and, in its most literal sense, selfish. She was unmaternal to the core. She could not see human property admired by others with any sensation but that of a double jealousy; she was subtly angered that Alwynne could attract, yet was caught herself in the net of those attractions, and unable to endure to watch them spread for any but herself. ”

“ Alwynne's utter unrealisation of the fact that a trial of strength was in progress, was disconcerting: yet Clare, jaded and super-subtle, found her innocence endearing. Without relaxing in her purpose, she yet caught herself wondering if an ally were not better than a slave. But the desire for domination was never entirely shaken off, and Alwynne's free bearing was in itself an ever-present challenge. Clare loved her for it, but her pride was in arms. It was her misfortune not to realise that, for all her Olympian poses, she had come to love Alwynne deeply and enduringly. ”

“ She's rather delightful on the subject. Thinks her perfection, and so on. Alwynne is naïve; conveys more than she knows or intends, sometimes. And she never looks at her god's feet, does she? 'Clare' and 'Clare' and 'Clare.' Personally, I imagine her a bit of a brute."
"I try to be fair. She is fond of Alwynne." [343]
"Why not? But what's that got to do with Alwynne's caring for me, if I am lucky enough to make her? And I'm—conceitedly sure—that it's only a question of waking Alwynne up."
"You don't know Clare. If once she knows, she'll never let the child go." ”

“ And Alwynne, immensely flattered by the picture of herself as a woman of the world, had lived up to it with her usual drastic enthusiasm. Elsbeth, not unused to disillusionment and hopes deferred, could sigh and smile and acquiesce, knowing it for the phase that it was and forgiving Alwynne in advance. But Clare, who owed her neither gratitude nor duty, she never forgave. She was a very human woman, for all her saintliness. ”

“ Clare's letters were getting impatient—Clare was wanting her back. Clare was finding her holidays dull. Yet Alwynne, longing to return to her, was persuaded to linger—for a bazaar—a village bazaar! That a bazaar of all things should tempt Alwynne from Clare! She felt the absurdity of it as fully as ever Clare could do. Yet she stayed. After all, The Dears had been very good to her.... She should be glad to make some small return by being useful when she could....
And Alwynne was pleasantly conscious that she was uncommonly useful. A fair is a many-sided gaiety. ”

“ At once, indifferently, she left the buttercups to Nicholas Nye and hurried on and into the wood.
There were hyacinths everywhere, hyacinths by the million. It was as if the winds had torn her robes from the faint, spring sky, and had flung them to earth, and she now bent above them naked and shivering.
Alwynne wandered from patch to patch in an ecstasy of delight. As usual, her pleasure shaped itself into exclamations, phrases, whole sentences of the letters she would write [280] to Clare Hartill of her experiences. ”

“ Alwynne settled down with an ease that surprised herself. Much as she loved the country, a country life would have bored her to death, Clare had often assured her, as a permanent state; but for a few weeks it was certainly delightful. She enjoyed pottering about the garden with Jean, and jogging into the village on her own account behind the obstinate pony, who, approving her taste in apples, allowed her to believe that she more or less regulated his direction and pace. ”

“ Alwynne was too ingenuous, too obviously subject through her own free impulse, to entirely satisfy: Clare's love of power had its morbid moments, when a struggling victim, head averted, pleased her. There was never, among the new-comers, a child, self-absorbed, nonchalant or rebellious, who passed a term unmolested by Miss Hartill. Egoism aroused her curiosity, her suspicion of hidden lands, virgin, ripe for exploration ”

“ She would always squirm good-humouredly under Clare's pin-pricks, with such amusement at her own discomfiture that Clare never knew whether to fling away her needle for good, or, for the mere experiment's sake, to stab hard and savagely. At that stage of their intimacy, Alwynne's guilelessness invariably charmed and disarmed her—she knew that it would take a very crude display of cruelty to make Alwynne believe that she was being hurt intentionally. ”

“ That I was a brute to Louise, I suppose?"
Alwynne looked at her wistfully.
"Clare, I do love you so."
Clare stiffened.
"Then I warn you—stop! I'm not good for you. I hurt people who love me. You always pestered me about hurting Louise. You needn't protest. You always did. And now you lay her death at my door. I see it in your face. Can't I read you like a book? Can't I? Can't I?" Her face was distorted by the conflict within her.
Alwynne's simplicity was convinced. Here, she felt, was tragedy. Awe and pity tore at her sense of reality. Love loosened her tongue. ”

“ She leaned far over the balustrade, peering down.
"Alwynne!" she cried. "Alwynne! Wait a moment, Alwynne!"
But Alwynne was gone, gone beyond recall.
[395]
CHAPTER XLV
Alwynne fled down Friar's Lane in amazement, conscious only of the need of escape. She had heard the outer door of the flat close behind her, yet she felt herself pursued. Clare's voice rang in her ears. Momently she awaited the touch of Clare's hand upon her shoulder. She felt herself exhausted; knew that, once overtaken, she would be powerless to resist; that she would be led back; would submit to reconciliation and caresses. ”

“ Alwynne defervesced.
There was an unhappy pause.
"You know, I'm most awfully sorry," said Alwynne at last, as one making a brilliant and original contribution to the discussion.
A piercing shriek from the kitchen interrupted them. Alwynne jumped, but Clare was undisturbed.
"It's only Bagot. She's always having accidents. But she's an excellent cook. After all, what's a shilling's worth of crockery a week compared with a good cook? But to return to Napoleon and the Lower Third——"
"You don't think she's hurt herself?" Alwynne ventured to interrupt. "She did squeal." ”

“ Clare rallied her.
"Be sensible, my child. It is most kind of Miss Loveday; but—wasn't it chiefly your doing, Alwynne? Imagine her dismay if I accepted. A stranger in the gate! On Christmas Day! One must make allowances for little prejudices, you know."
"She'll be awfully disappointed," cried Alwynne, so eager for Clare that she believed it.
"Will she?" Clare laughed pleasantly. "Every one doesn't wear your spectacles. What would she do with me, for a whole day?"
"We shouldn't see her much," began Alwynne. "She spends most of her time in church. I go in the morning— (yes, I'm very good!) ”

“ Clare caught her up.
"I'm not a fool, Alwynne. What's the matter?"
"I wish you wouldn't discuss me with Elsbeth," said Alwynne uneasily. "I don't like it. I won't have you bothered."
"I'm not," said Clare coolly. "At the same time——"
Alwynne braced herself. She knew the tone.
"—I don't like any one about me with a secret grief and a pale, courageous smile. I can't stand a martyr."
"I'm not!" Alwynne was wincing. Then, suddenly: "What has Elsbeth been saying? ”

“ Alwynne so obviously was longing to be with her.... Equally obviously prepared to risk her displeasure (a heavy penalty already, Clare guessed, to Alwynne) , rather than ignore the older claim. Clare thought that an affection that could be so loyal to a tedious old maid was better worth deflecting than many a more ardent, unscrupulous enthusiasm. Alwynne was showing strength of character. ”

“ He tramped on into the thickness of the wood, till at last, through a thinning of trees, a hundred yards to his left, he caught a glimpse of gold, that could only, he told himself, be Alwynne's hair. He frowned. It was just like the girl to go floundering into the only boggy bit of the wood, when two thirds were drained and dry, and thick with flowers.... It was sheer spirit of contradiction! She would catch cold of course; and he would, not to mince matters, be stunk out with eucalyptus for the next ten days ... ”

“ Alwynne's face relaxed. Of course, she had known all along that Clare was in fun....
"Joking apart—it was time for Miss Vigers to go. I admit saying what I thought to Miss Marsham. I am quite ready to take responsibility. She was too old—too fussy—too intolerant—I can't stand intolerance. She had to go."
Alwynne looked wicked.
"Clare, you remind me of a man I met, down at Compton. You ought to get on together. He's great on tolerance too. So tolerant that five hundred years ago he'd have burned every one who wasn't as tolerant as he. ”

“ You begin by being heavenly to people—and then you tantalise them."
"Does it hurt, Alwynne? Are you going to run away?"
Alwynne smiled.
"Oh, you won't get rid of me so easily. I'm a limpet. Do you know, I couldn't imagine existence without you now. I've never been so gloriously happy in my life. You wouldn't ever get really tired of me, would you?"
"I wonder."
"I know." [181]
"I've warned you that I'm changeable. Instance your Louise."
"Oh, Clare, do be nicer to Louise."
"Oh, Alwynne, do mind your own business. I'm as nice as is good for her. But I believe you're right about this acting. ”

“ Alwynne, hurrying on to the stage to shift scenery for the following act, nearly tripped, as she dismantled the alcove, over a huddle of clothes crouched between backing and wall. She stooped and shook it. A small arm flung up in instant guard.
"Louise? Get up! The act's over. Run out of the way. Stop—help me with this, as you're here."
Obediently the child scrambled to her feet. She gripped an armful of curtain, and trailed across the stage in Alwynne's wake. Till the curtains rose on the final act, she trotted after her meekly, helping where she could. ”

“ Though I don't think Clare will give it you—for I believe Alwynne does mean more to her than most things. But she's an unaccountable person: there is the chance."
"I see," Roger rose and straightened himself. "Practically I'm not to depend on my own—attractions—at all." He laughed a little. "I am to watch the whims of this—this unpleasant school-marm, and be grateful to her for forcing Alwynne to prefer my deep sea to her devil. The situation is hardly dignified."
Elsbeth laughed too.
"Love is always undignified, Roger. What does it matter if you want her?" ”

“ His people lived there for generations—the Lumsdens of Dene Compton. The head master has the old house, but the school itself is new—all those buildings you see. No, not those—" Alwynne's eyes were caught by a glitter of glass roofs—"those are Roger's houses. He's a gardener, you know. He lives for his bulbs and his manures."
The tiny cart rocked as the pony bucketed down the dip of the road and whirled it through the gates and up the short drive. Alwynne clutched the inadequate rail.
"He will do it," said Alicia resignedly. "He wants his tea. There's Jean. ”

“ Alwynne should be there (she would ensure that) , and she, Clare, would be exceedingly charming, and very delicately emphasise the contrast between Elsbeth and herself. It would be quite easy, with Alwynne already biassed. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. It would be amusing. She should enjoy routing Elsbeth.
And there was the case of Alwynne to be considered. She had been excessively nice to Alwynne lately, had, in fact, allowed her, for a moment, to see how necessary she was becoming to Clare.... That was a mistake.... One must never let people feel secure of their hold upon one.... ”

“ Don't pretend you're not human. I don't blame you; I'm angry too. But you must be fair. Alwynne's motives are obvious enough. There's no cat-and-mouse business about it. She simply can't bear the idea of losing you."
"Yet she won't marry me."
"She would, if it weren't for Clare. Didn't you get that impression? Roger, if you really care, wait here a little longer. Stay with us. Let her have a chance of contrasting you with Clare Hartill."
"No, I won't," he said obstinately.
"You care more for your own dignity than for Alwynne, I think," said Elsbeth, in her lowest voice. ”