With the curious little movement of one who sees something he does not like to see, he goes.  Clare is leaning her forehead against the mantel-shelf, seemingly unconscious that she is not alone.  Mrs. Fullarton approaches quietly till she can see Clare’s face.

Mrs. Fullarton.  My dear sweet thing, don’t be cross with met [Clare turns from her.  It is all the time as if she were trying to get away from words and people to something going on within herself] How can I help wanting to see you saved from all this ghastliness?

Clare.  Please don’t, Dolly!  Let me be!

Mrs. Fullarton.  I must speak, Clare!  I do think you’re hard on George.  It’s generous of him to offer to withdraw the suit—­ considering.  You do owe it to us to try and spare your father and your sisters and—­and all of us who care for you.

Clare. [Facing her] You say George is generous!  If he wanted to be that he’d never have claimed these damages.  It’s revenge he wants—­I heard him here.  You think I’ve done him an injury.  So I did—­when I married him.  I don’t know what I shall come to, Dolly, but I shan’t fall so low as to take money from him.  That’s as certain as that I shall die.

Mrs. Fullarton.  Do you know, Clare, I think it’s awful about you!  You’re too fine, and not fine enough, to put up with things; you’re too sensitive to take help, and you’re not strong enough to do without it.  It’s simply tragic.  At any rate, you might go home to your people.

Clare.  After this!

Mrs. Fullarton.  To us, then?

Clare.  “If I could be the falling bee, and kiss thee all the day!”
No, Dolly!

     Mrs. Fullarton turns from her ashamed and baffled, but her quick
     eyes take in the room, trying to seize on some new point of
     attack.

Mrs. Fullarton.  You can’t be—­you aren’t-happy, here?

Clare.  Aren’t I?

Mrs. Fullarton.  Oh!  Clare!  Save yourself—­and all of us!

Clare. [Very still] You see, I love him.

Mrs. Fullarton.  You used to say you’d never love; did not want it—­ would never want it.

Clare.  Did I?  How funny!

Mrs. Fullarton.  Oh! my dear!  Don’t look like that, or you’ll make me cry.

Clare.  One doesn’t always know the future, does one? [Desperately]
I love him!  I love him!

Mrs. Fullarton. [Suddenly] If you love him, what will it be like for you, knowing you’ve ruined him?

Clare.  Go away!  Go away!

Mrs. Fullarton.  Love!—­you said!

Clare. [Quivering at that stab-suddenly] I must—­I will keep him. 
He’s all I’ve got.