reakfast will damp the spirits of the most hardened, and
even Lawrence had an up-all-night expression which reddened his
eyelids and brought out the lines about his mouth. Isabel's hair
was rumpled and her fresh bloom all dimmed. Laura Clowes had
suffered least: there was not a thread astray in her satin waves,
and the finished grace of her aspect had survived a night in a
chair. But even she was very pale, though she contrived to smile
at Val.

"How's Bernard?" were her first words.

"All serene. He slept most of the time. I was with him, luckily.
We guessed what had happened. You missed your train?" In this
question Val included Lawrence.

"It was my fault," said Lawrence shortly. It was what he would
have said if it had not been his fault.

"It was nobody's fault!" cried Laura. "We were held up in the
traffic. But Lawrence is one of those people who will feel
responsible if they have ladies with them on the Day of Judgment,
won't you, Lawrence?"

"I ought to have left more time," said Lawrence impatiently.
"Let's get home."

In the car Val heard from Laura the details of their
misadventure. Selincourt had waited with the women while
Lawrence secured rooms for them in a Waterloo hotel: when they
were safe, Lawrence had gone to Lucian's rooms in Victoria
Street, where the men had passed what remained of the night in a
mild game of cards. They had all breakfasted together by
lamplight at the hotel, and Selincourt had seen his sister into
the Chilmark train. Nothing could have been more circumspect--
comically circumspect! between Selincourt and Isabel and the
chambermaid, malice itself was put to silence. But Lawrence was
fever-fretted by the secret sense of guilt.

At the lodge gates Val drew up. "It's preposterous, but I'm
under Bernard's express orders to drive Isabel straight home. I
don't know how to apologize for turning you and Hyde out of your
own car, Laura!" No apology was needed, Laura and Lawrence knew
too well how direct Bernard's orders commonly were to Val.
Lawrence silently offered his hand to Mrs. Clowes. The morning
air was fresh, fog was still hanging over the river, and the sun
had not yet thrown off an autumn quilting of cloud. Touched by
the chill of dawn, some leaves had fallen and lay in the dust,
their ribs beaded with dark dew: others, yellow and shrivelling,
where shaken down by the wind of the car and fluttered slowly in
the eddying air. Laura drew her sable scarf cl