She wrenched away from that. Dinner. Marvellous food. Mr. Crane telling Scotch stories very badly and laughing at them so heartily that it didn’t seem to matter whether anyone else laughed or not. A crowd of people whom she didn’t know. A fat man who wanted her to come and see the rose garden by moonlight, and who said “All the better” when she pointed out that there wasn’t any moon. Bridge – much wearisome bridge. And at last bed. She had dreamed about Dale – Dale looking at her – Dale’s eyes laughing into hers – Dale kissing her… She mustn’t think about that-

But whatever she thought about, it came back to Dale.

This morning, lovely, with the mist rolling up off the sea, dissolving, thinning away, clearing away from the pale, bright, perfect blue of the sky, and the sun so hot on her back where she stood in the shelter of the hedge.

A lucky accident for Dale-

It was no good. It all came back to that.

In the opposite corner Miss Silver had put down her knitting and had once more opened Ethel’s magazine. She looked at the same page which had engaged her attention before. It displayed the full-length photograph of a girl in a silver gown. Underneath, in italics, the legend, “Lovely Mrs. Dale Jerningham in her loveliest frock.” All round the photograph, in lines of varying length, there meandered a gossip letter which began with an italicised “Darling”, and ended with “Yours ever” and a large question mark. Anonymity may mean that you are either too well known or not known at all. It has certain advantages, and the writer of this letter exploited them to the full. Dale Jerningham became Dale as soon as his surname had been got on record. “A lucky man, not only because he owns Tanfield Court which costs the earth to keep up, but he has married two quite rich wives – oh, not both at once of course – that would be too much luck even for lucky Dale, and he really was a widower for a surprisingly long time. His first venture was poor Lydia Burrows who was killed climbing in Switzerland umpteen years ago. The present Mrs. Dale was Lisle van Decken. And has she got plenty of the needful? Oh, boy! She’s as pretty as her picture, or even a bit prettier. Father American and dead. That’s where the cash comes from. A Scandinavian grandmother. Hence the platinum hair which looks too good to be true, but isn’t really…”