Claire walked slowly down the moonlit drive. She had removed
herself from her Dudley's embraces, for she wished to be alone, to
think. The engagement had been announced. All that part of it was
over--Dudley's stammering speech, the unrestrained delight of
Polly Wetherby, the facetious rendering of 'The Wedding Glide' on
the piano by Roscoe Sherriff, and it now remained for her to try
to discover a way of conveying the news to Bill.
It had just struck her that, though she knew that Bill was in
America, she had not his address.
What was she to do? She must tell him. Otherwise it might quite
easily happen that they might meet in New York when she returned
there. She pictured the scene. She saw herself walking with Dudley
Pickering. Along came Bill. 'Claire, darling!' ... Heavens, what
would Dudley think? It would be too awful! She couldn't explain.
No, somehow or other, even if she put detectives on his trail, she
must find him, and be off with the old love now that she was on
with the new.
She reached the gate and leaned over it. And as she did so someone
in the shadow of a tall tree spoke her name. A man came into the
light, and she saw that it was Lord Dawlish.
11
Lord Dawlish had gone for a moonlight walk that night because,
like Claire, he wished to be alone to think.
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