"Clare!" that soul whispered, "not gone! It's not possible--it can't be--it
can't be!"
Peter, without moving, spoke to her.
"It's you that have sent her away. It's all your doing--all your doing--"
She scarcely seemed to realise him, although her eyes never left his
face--she came up to Bobby, her hands out:
"Bobby--please, please--tell me. This is absurd--there's a mistake. Clare,
Clare would never do a thing like that--never leave me like that--why--"
and her voice rose--"I've loved her--I've loved her as no mother ever loved
her girl--she's been everything to me. She knows it--why she often says
that I'm the only one who loves her. She'd never go--"
Then Peter came forward from the wall, muttering, waving his hands at
her--"It's you! You! You! You've driven her to this--you and your cursed
interference. You took her from me--you told her to deceive me in
everything. You taught her to lie and trick. She loved me before you came
into it. Now be proud, if you like--now be proud. God damn you, for making
your daughter into a whore--That's what you've done, you with your flat
face, your filthy flat face--you've made your daughter a whore, I tell
you--and it's nothing but you--you--you--!"
He lifted his hand as though he would strike her across the face. She said
nothing but started back with her hands up as though to protect herself.
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