“And the Claverings?” “They are a bit tired of it. Shall we all go back together to the hotel and have supper?” “I'd sooner we were alone together, Thornton dear--this evening.” He made a little gesture of impatience. “Of course we won't ask them if you don't want to. But then we must stay this thing out.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at the mass of heads in the opposite tiers, vague in the dimness, and drummed with his fingers on the rails of his chair. “Sh!” said Mrs. Clavering. “That's one of your old tricks. You never seem to think that people have nerves.” Clytie caught the words, although they were whispered. She turned her head round quickly and stared at the stage for the rest of the act. When it was over Mrs. Clavering solved the question of departure. “I think we all want to go,” she said, rising. “My husband is suffering acutely, and yours I know is not very musical. When shall we see you again, Mrs. Hammerdyke? Will you come and dine with us some evening, quietly--when we can talk better? I'll let you know what evenings we are free. Will that do? That is your wife's cloak, not mine, Mr. Hammerdyke.” A few minutes later Thornton and Clytie were driving back to their hotel in the pleasant Paris victoria. It seemed a superb night. A slight breeze had risen, and the leaves in the Champs Elysées rustled pleasantly. Clytie leaned back with a sense of relief, physical and moral. They had both been rather silent since they left the opera house. “Don't let us go in,” said Clytie suddenly. “Let us drive about a little, along the quays--anywhere.” “I was just going to suggest it,” said Thornton. He gave the order to the coachman, who turned back through the Place de la Concorde and took them past the Tuileries and the great mass of the Louvre and along the quays in the direction of Auteuil. “What do you think of the Clavering woman?” asked Thornton. “Not much, eh?” “I can't say that I like her. Perhaps I oughtn't to say it, as she is a friend of yours, but--she doesn't please me.” “Well, I can't say that she does me now. She never was a beauty, but she has sadly fallen off the last few years. She thinks herself so deuced superior. And she isn't, by Jove! Still she is amusing, you know, and that is a quality that covers a multitude of sins. But other women can't understand her. She was loathed by them all in Cairo, so you are not alone in your antipathy.” There was a long silence. Thornton drew her closer to his side and took her hand in his. Clytie felt somewhat hurt. It was not flattering to be grouped with the other women in Cairo, however estimable they may have been in their non-appreciation of Mrs. Clavering. They drove on, and began to talk of different subjects, disconnectedly, without much interest. Finally Thornton came back to the Claverings. “By the way, I suppose you'll dine with them, as they were civil enough to ask us.”