In the doorway he shies violently at the figure of
CLARE, standing there in a dark-coloured dress, skids past her
and goes. CLARE comes into the gleam of sunlight, her white
face alive with emotion or excitement. She looks round her,
smiles, sighs; goes swiftly to the door, closes it, and comes
back to the table. There she stands, fingering the papers on
the table, smoothing MALISE's hat wistfully, eagerly, waiting.
MALISE. [Returning] You!
CLARE. [With a faint smile] Not very glorious, is it?
He goes towards her, and checks himself, then slews the armchair
round.
MALISE. Come! Sit down, sit down! [CLARE, heaving a long sigh,
sinks down into the chair] Tea's nearly ready.
He places a cushion for her, and prepares tea; she looks up at
him softly, but as he finishes and turns to her, she drops that
glance.
CLARE. Do you think me an awful coward for coming? [She has taken a
little plain cigarette case from her dress] Would you mind if I
smoked?
MALISE shakes his head, then draws back from her again, as if
afraid to be too close. And again, unseen, she looks at him.
MALISE. So you've lost your job?
CLARE. How did you----?
MALISE. Your brother. You only just missed him. [CLARE starts up]
They had an idea you'd come. He's sailing to-morrow--he wants you to
see your father.
CLARE. Is father ill?
MALI$E. Anxious about you.
CLARE.
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