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 close over her bare neck.

“What I should like best, Lawrence, would be for you to go home with Isabel and make our excuses to Mr. Stafford.  Would you mind?  Or is it too much to ask before you get out of your evening dress?”

“I should be delighted,” said Lawrence, feeling and indeed looking entirely the reverse.  “But Miss Isabel has her brother to take care of her, she doesn’t want me.”  Isabel gave that indefinable start which is the prelude of candour, but remained dumb.  “I don’t like to leave you to walk up to Wanhope alone.”  This, was as near as in civilized life he could go to saying “to face Clowes alone.”

“The length of the drive?” said Laura smiling.  “I should prefer it.  You know what Berns is.”  This was what Lawrence had never known.  “If he’s put out I’d rather you weren’t there.”

“Why, you can’t imagine I should care what Bernard said?”

Laura struck her hands together.-"There!  There!” she turned to Val, “can you wonder Bernard feels it?”

“I beg your pardon,” said Lawrence from his heart.

“No, the contrast is poignant,’’ said Val coldly.

“Dear Val, you always agree with me,” said Laura.  “Take Captain Hyde home and give him some breakfast.  I’d rather go alone, Lawrence:  it will be easier that way, believe me.”

It was impossible to argue with her.  But while Val wheeled and turned in the wide cross, before they took their upward bend under the climbing beechwood, Lawrence glanced over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Clowes still standing by the gate of Wanhope, solitary, a wan gleam of sunlight striking down over her gold embroideries and ivory coat, a russet leaf or two whirling slowly round her drooping head:  like a butterfly in winter, delicate, fantastic, and astray.