'He wants to patronise Charles,' thought Clara, and then she decided that for once in a way it would be a good thing for Charles to submit to it. It must be either that or his chosen interminable procedure by committee. She decided to take a walk to think it over, and as she moved along Piccadilly towards the Green Park, where she proposed to ponder her problem, she had a distressing idea that she was followed. Several times she turned and stopped, but she could see no one who could be pursuing her. Men stared at her, but none dared molest so purposeful a young woman.... She stayed for some time in the Green Park, turning over and over in her mind how best she could engage Sir Henry's interest without aggravating his hostility to Charles, and still she was aware of eyes upon her.... She walked away very fast, but as she turned out into the roadway in front of Buckingham Palace she turned, stopped, and was accosted by a little dark woman with a smouldering fury in her eyes. 'Are you Mrs Mann?' said the woman. 'Yes,' said Clara, at once on her guard. 'So am I,' rejoined the other woman. 'Oh, no!' said Clara, with a smile that barely concealed the catch at her heart. 'Oh, yes,' replied the other woman. 'I should think I was married to him before you were born. And I wasn't the only one. He left the country----' Clara turned on her heel and walked away. The other woman followed her breathing heavily and gasping out details. 'You horrible woman,' cried Clara, unable at last to bear any more. 'Go away...' And in her heart she said-- 'It is my fault. I made him marry me.' Still the other woman was at her heels, babbling and gasping out her sordid little tragedy---two children, no money, her mother to keep. Clara was stunned and so nauseated that she could not speak. Only in her mind the thought went round and round,-- 'It is my fault.... It is my fault.' But Charles ought to have told her. He ought not to have been so will-less, so ready to fall in with every suggestion she made. 'I must have this out at once,' she said, and hailing a taxi she bundled the other woman into it and drove home. Charles was out. She ordered tea, and quickly had the whole story out--the lodgings in Birmingham, the intrigue, the ultimatum, Charles's catastrophic collapse and inertia, years of poverty in London going from studio to studio, lodging to lodging: his flight--with another woman: her struggles, her present hand to mouth existence on the outskirts of the musical comedy theatre. 'I wouldn't have spoken,' said Kitty, 'if you hadn't been so young.' 'I should have thought that was a reason for keeping quiet,' replied Clara, who was now almost frozen with horror. 'You were bound to hear sooner or later.' Charles came in followed by Mr Clott. He was in the highest spirits and called out,-- 'Darling, Lord Verschoyle is interested.'