He lifts the portfolio from the table, and takes it into the inner room.  The Boy, putting his thumb stolidly to his nose, turns to go.  In the doorway he shies violently at the figure of Clare, standing there in a dark-coloured dress, skids past her and goes.  Clare comes into the gleam of sunlight, her white face alive with emotion or excitement.  She looks round her, smiles, sighs; goes swiftly to the door, closes it, and comes back to the table.  There she stands, fingering the papers on the table, smoothing MALISE’s hat wistfully, eagerly, waiting.

Malise. [Returning] You!

Clare. [With a faint smile] Not very glorious, is it?

     He goes towards her, and checks himself, then slews the armchair
     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?