The supper-party is getting still more boisterous, and there comes a long view holloa, and a blast of the horn.

Young man.  But I say, what about your people?  You must have people of some sort.

     He is fast becoming fascinated, for her cheeks have begun to
     flush and her eyes to shine.

Clare.  Oh, yes; I’ve had people, and a husband, and—­everything——­ And here I am!  Queer, isn’t it? [She touches her glass] This is going to my head!  Do you mind?  I sha’n’t sing songs and get up and dance, and I won’t cry, I promise you!

Young man. [Between fascination and chivalry] By George!  One simply can’t believe in this happening to a lady.

Clare.  Have you got sisters? [Breaking into her soft laughter] My brother’s in India.  I sha’n’t meet him, anyway.

Young man.  No, but—­I say-are you really quite cut off from everybody? [Clare nods] Something rather awful must have happened?

She smiles.  The two gentlemen have returned.  The blond one is again staring fixedly at Clare.  This time she looks back at him, flaming; and, with a little laugh, he passes with his friend into the corridor.

Clare.  Who are those two?

Young man.  Don’t know—­not been much about town yet.  I’m just back from India myself.  You said your brother was there; what’s his regiment?

Clare. [Shaking her head] You’re not going to find out my name.  I haven’t got one—­nothing.

     She leans her bare elbows on the table, and her face on her
     hands.

Clare.  First of June!  This day last year I broke covert—­I’ve been running ever since.

Young man.  I don’t understand a bit.  You—­must have had a—­a—­some one——­

But there is such a change in her face, such rigidity of her whole body, that he stops and averts his eyes.  When he looks again she is drinking.  She puts the glass down, and gives a little laugh.

Young man. [With a sort of awe] Anyway it must have been like riding at a pretty stiff fence, for you to come here to-night.

Clare.  Yes.  What’s the other side?

     The young man puts out his hand and touches her arm.  It is
     meant for sympathy, but she takes it for attraction.

Clare. [Shaking her head] Not yet please!  I’m enjoying this.  May I have a cigarette?

     [He takes out his case, and gives her one]

Clare. [Letting the smoke slowly forth] Yes, I’m enjoying it.  Had a pretty poor time lately; not enough to eat, sometimes.

Young man.  Not really!  How damnable!  I say—­do have something more substantial.

     Clare gives a sudden gasp, as if going off into hysterical
     laughter, but she stifles it, and shakes her head.