Mrs. Fullarton.  Can you—­can you keep him?

Clare.  Go!

Mrs. Fullarton.  I’m going.  But, men are hard to keep, even when you’ve not been the ruin of them.  You know whether the love this man gives you is really love.  If not—­God help you! [She turns at the door, and says mournfully] Good-bye, my child!  If you can——­

Then goes.  Clare, almost in a whisper, repeats the words:  “Love! you said!” At the sound of a latchkey she runs as if to escape into the bedroom, but changes her mind and stands blotted against the curtain of the door.  Malise enters.  For a moment he does not see her standing there against the curtain that is much the same colour as her dress.  His face is that of a man in the grip of a rage that he feels to be impotent.  Then, seeing her, he pulls himself together, walks to his armchair, and sits down there in his hat and coat.

Clare.  Well?  “The Watchfire?” You may as well tell me.

Malise.  Nothing to tell you, child.

     At that touch of tenderness she goes up to his chair and kneels
     down beside it.  Mechanically Malise takes off his hat.

Clare.  Then you are to lose that, too? [Malise stares at her] I know about it—­never mind how.

Malise.  Sanctimonious dogs!

Clare. [Very low] There are other things to be got, aren’t there?

Malise.  Thick as blackberries.  I just go out and cry, “Malise, unsuccessful author, too honest journalist, freethinker, co-respondent, bankrupt,” and they tumble!

Clare. [Quietly] Kenneth, do you care for me? [Malise stares at her] Am I anything to you but just prettiness?

Malise.  Now, now!  This isn’t the time to brood!  Rouse up and fight.

Clare.  Yes.

Malise.  We’re not going to let them down us, are we? [She rubs her cheek against his hand, that still rests on her shoulder] Life on sufferance, breath at the pleasure of the enemy!  And some day in the fullness of his mercy to be made a present of the right to eat and drink and breathe again. [His gesture sums up the rage within him] Fine! [He puts his hat on and rises] That’s the last groan they get from me.

Class.  Are you going out again? [He nods] Where?

Malise.  Blackberrying!  Our train’s not till six.

He goes into the bedroom.  Clare gets up and stands by the fire, looking round in a dazed way.  She puts her hand up and mechanically gathers together the violets in the little vase.  Suddenly she twists them to a buttonhole, and sinks down into the armchair, which he must pass.  There she sits, the violets in her hand.  Malise comes out and crosses towards the outer door.  She puts the violets up to him.  He stares at them, shrugs his shoulders, and passes on.  For just a moment Clare sits motionless.

Clare. [Quietly] Give me a kiss!