She plucks that journal from out of the armchair and hands it to
CLARE, who sits doom again unhappily to brood. MRS. MILER makes
a pass or two with a very dirty duster, then stands still. No
longer hearing sounds, CLARE looks up.
MRS. MILER. I wouldn't interrupt yer with my workin,' but 'e likes
things clean. [At a sound from the inner room] That's 'im; 'e's cut
'isself! I'll just take 'im the tobaccer!
She lifts a green paper screw of tobacco from the debris round
the armchair and taps on the door. It opens. CLARE moves
restlessly across the room.
MRS. MILER. [Speaking into the room] The tobaccer. The lady's
waitin'.
CLARE has stopped before a reproduction of Titian's picture
"Sacred and Profane Love." MRS. MILER stands regarding her with
a Chinese smile. MALISE enters, a thread of tobacco still
hanging to his cheek.
MALISE. [Taking MRS. MILER's hat off the table and handing it to
her] Do the other room.
[Enigmatically she goes.]
MALISE. Jolly of you to come. Can I do anything?
CLARE. I want advice-badly.
MALISE. What! Spreading your wings?
CLARE. Yes.
MALISE. Ah! Proud to have given you that advice. When?
CLARE. The morning after you gave it me . . .
MALISE. Well?
CLARE. I went down to my people. I knew it would hurt my Dad
frightfully, but somehow I thought I could make him see. No good.
He was awfully sweet, only--he couldn't.
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