Clare.  Besides, I should be besieged day and night to go back.  I must lie doggo somehow.

Malise.  It makes my blood boil to think of women like you.  God help all ladies without money.

Clare.  I expect I shall have to go back.

Malise.  No, no!  We shall find something.  Keep your soul alive at all costs.  What! let him hang on to you till you’re nothing but—­ emptiness and ache, till you lose even the power to ache.  Sit in his drawing-room, pay calls, play Bridge, go out with him to dinners, return to—­duty; and feel less and less, and be less and less, and so grow old and—­die!

     [The bell rings.]

Malise. [Looking at the door in doubt] By the wayhe’d no means of tracing you?

     [She shakes her head.]

     [The bell rings again.]

Malise.  Was there a man on the stairs as you came up?

Clare.  Yes.  Why?

Malise.  He’s begun to haunt them, I’m told.

Clare.  Oh!  But that would mean they thought I—­oh! no!

Malise.  Confidence in me is not excessive.

Clare.  Spying!

Malise.  Will you go in there for a minute?  Or shall we let them ring—­or—­what?  It may not be anything, of course.

Clare.  I’m not going to hide.

     [The bell rings a third time.]

Malise. [Opening the door of the inner room] Mrs. Miler, just see who it is; and then go, for the present.

     Mrs. Miler comes out with her hat on, passes enigmatically to
     the door, and opens it.  A man’s voice says:  “Mr. Malise?  Would
     you give him these cards?”

Mrs. Miler. [Re-entering] The cards.

Malise.  Mr. Robert Twisden.  Sir Charles and Lady Dedmond. [He looks at Clare.]

Clare. [Her face scornful and unmoved] Let them come.

Malise. [To Mrs. Miler] Show them in!

     Twisden enters-a clean-shaved, shrewd-looking man, with a
     fighting underlip, followed by sir Charles and lady Dedmond. 
     Mrs. Miler goes.  There are no greetings.

Twisden.  Mr. Malise?  How do you do, Mrs. Dedmond?  Had the pleasure of meeting you at your wedding. [Clare inclines her head] I am Mr. George Dedmond’s solicitor, sir.  I wonder if you would be so very kind as to let us have a few words with Mrs. Dedmond alone?

     At a nod from Clare, Malise passes into the inner room, and
     shuts the door.  A silence.

Sir Charles. [Suddenly] What!

Lady Dedmond.  Mr. Twisden, will you——?

Twisden. [Uneasy] Mrs. Dedmond I must apologize, but you—­you hardly gave us an alternative, did you? [He pauses for an answer, and, not getting one, goes on] Your disappearance has given your husband great anxiety.  Really, my dear madam, you must forgive us for this—­attempt to get into communication.