Clarehaven came into the room at this moment, and Dorothy rose to make her farewells.
"Good-by, Olive," she said. "We're going down to Clare Court to-morrow, and I don't expect we shall see each other again for a long time."
"I say," Clarehaven protested. "What rot, you know! Of course you'll meet again. Why, Olive must come down and recover from her next illness in Devonshire. We shall be pining for news of town by the spring, and—"
Lady Clarehaven looked at her husband, who was silent.
"Have you wired to your mother when we arrive to-morrow?" she asked.
"You're sure you won't drive down?"
"In January?" Dorothy exclaimed.
"Well, I've told the car to meet us at Exeter. That will only mean a seventy-mile drive—you won't mind that—and we'll get to Clare before dark."
"Forgive these family discussions in front of you," said Dorothy to her friend. Then shaking her hand formally, she went out of the room.
During the drive up to town, while Clarehaven was sitting back playing with his wife's wrist and looking fatuously content, he turned to her once and said: