Rossiter
will let her marry any one she likes. She'll have plenty of money and
Peter's going to have a great career. After all it may be the best thing."
Bobby shook his head. "They're both egoists," he said. "Peter because he's
never had anything he wanted and Clare because she's always had everything
... it won't do."
But, after all, when May gave place to burning June, Bobby and Alice were
inevitably drawn into that romance. They yielded to an atmosphere that
both, by temperament, were too sentimental to resist.
Nearer and nearer was coming that intoxicating moment of Peter's final
plunge, and Clare--beautiful, these weeks, with all the excitement of the
wonderful episode--saw him as a young god who had leapt upon a submissive
London and conquered it.
Mrs. Rossiter and Mrs. Galleon played waiting chorus. Mrs. Launce from her
little house in Westminster, was, as usual, glowing with a piece of other
people's happiness. Bobby and Alice had surrendered to the atmosphere. All
were, of course, silent--until the word is spoken no movement must be
made--the little god is so easily alarmed.
At last towards the close of this hot June, Mrs. Launce proposed to Clare
a week-end at her Sussex cottage by the sea. She also told Peter that she
could put him up if he chose to come down at the same time. What could be
more delightful in this weather?
"Dear Clare, only the tiniest cottage as you know--no one else unless Peter
Westcott happens to come down--I suggested it, and you can see the sea from
your window and there's a common and a donkey, and you can roll in the
sand--" Mrs.
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