“Not until I am spoken to.... Good-night, Clare.”
“Well, if you must be going—” said Clare uneasily.
Madge Vernon stood for a moment at the door and smiled back at her friend. “You will remember, won’t you?”
“What?”
“The Eighth Year,” said Madge. With that parting shot she whisked out of the room.
Gerald Bradshaw breathed a sigh of relief. Then he went across to Clare and kissed her hands.
“I can’t stand that creature. A she-devil!”
“She is my friend,” said Clare.
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Gerald Bradshaw.
Clare Heywood drooped her eyelashes before his bold, smiling gaze.