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gling bridesmaids and cake； Dudley Pickering was afraid with a terror that woke him sweating in the night。 His shyness shrank from the ceremony； his caution jibbed at the mysteries of married life。 So his attitude toward Claire； the only girl who had succeeded in bewitching him into the opening words of an actual proposal； was a little less cordial and affectionate than if she had been a rival automobile manufacturer。
Matters were in this state when Lady Wetherby； who； having danced classical dances for three months without a break； required a rest； shifted her camp to the house which she had rented for the summer at Brookport； Long Island； taking with her Algie； her husband； the monkey Eustace； and Claire and Mr Pickering； her guests。 The house was a large one； capable of receiving a big party； but she did not wish to entertain on an ambitious scale。 The only other guest she proposed to put up was Roscoe Sherriff； her press agent； who was to e down as soon as he could get away from his metropolitan duties。
It was a pleasant and romantic place； the estate which Lady Wetherby had rented。 Standing on a hill； the house looked down through green trees on the gleaming waters of the bay。 Smooth lawns and shady walks it had； and rustic seats beneath spreading cedars。 Yet for all its effect on Dudley Pickering it might have been a gasworks。 He roamed the smooth lawns with Claire； and sat with her on the rustic benches and talked guardedly of lubricating oil。 There were moments when Claire was almost impelled to forfeit whatever chance she might have had of being mistress of thirty million dollars and a flourishing business； for the satisfaction of administering just one whole…hearted slap on his round and thinly…covered head。
And then Roscoe Sherriff came down； and Dudley Pickering； who for days had been using all his resolution to struggle against the siren； suddenly found that there was no siren to struggle against。 No sooner had the press agent appeared than Claire deserted him shamelessly and absolutely。 She walked with Roscoe Sherriff。 Mr Pickering experienced the disfiting emotions of the man who pushes violently against an abruptly…yielding door； or treads heavily on the top stair where there is no top stair。 He was shaken； and the clamlike stolidity which he had assumed as protection gave way。
Night had descended upon Brookport。 Eustace； the monkey； was in his little bed； Lord Wetherby in the smoking…room。 It was Sunday； the day of rest。 Dinner was over； and the remainder of the party were gathered in the drawing…room； with the exception of Mr Pickering； who was smoking a cigar on the porch。 A full moon turned Long Island into a fairyland。
Gloom had settled upon Dudley Pickering and he smoked sadly。 All rather stout automobile manufacturers are sad when there is a full moon。 It makes them feel lonely。 It stirs their hearts to thoughts of love。 Marriage loses its terrors for them； and they think wistfully of hooking some fair woman up the back and buying her hats。 Such was the mood of Mr Pickering； when through the dimness of the porch there appeared a white shape； moving softly toward him。
'Is that you； Mr Pickering？'
Claire dropped into the seat beside him。 From the drawing…room came the soft tinkle of a piano。 The sound blended harmoniously with the quiet peace of the night。 Mr Pickering let his cigar go out and clutched the sides of his chair
Oi'llersing thee saw…ongs ov Arrabee；
Undah ta…ales of farrr Cash…mee…eere； Wi…ild tales to che…eat thee ovasigh
Und charrrrm thee to…oo a tear…er。
Claire gave a little sigh。
'What a beautiful voice Mr Sherriff has！'
Dudley Pickering made no reply。 He thought Roscoe Sherriff had a beastly voice。 He resented Roscoe Sherriff's voice。 He objected to Roscoe Sherriff's polluting this fair night with his cacophony。
'Don't you think so； Mr Pickering？'
'Uh…huh。'
'That doesn't sound very enthusiastic。 Mr Pickering； I want you to tell me something。 Have I done anything to offend you？'
Mr Pickering started violently。
'Eh？'
'I have seen so little of you these last few days。 A little while ago we were always together； having such interesting talks。 But lately it has seemed to me that you have been avoiding me。'
A feeling of helplessness swept over Mr Pickering。 He was vaguely conscious of a sense of being treated unjustly； of there being a flaw in Claire's words somewhere if he could only find it； but the sudden attack had deprived him of the free and unfettered use of his powers of reasoning。 He gurgled wordlessly； and Claire went on； her low； sad voice mingling with the moonlight in a manner that caused thrills to run up and down his spine。 He felt paralyzed。 Caution urged him to make some excuse and follow it with a bolt to the drawing…room； but he was physically incapable of taking the excellent advice。 Sometimes when you are out in your Pickering Gem or your Pickering Giant the car hesitates； falters； and stops dead； and your chauffeur； having examined the carburettor； turns to you and explains the phenomenon in these words： 'The mixture is too rich。' So was it with Mr Pickering now。 The moonlight alone might not have held him； Claire's voice alone might not have held him； but against the two bined he was powerless。 The mixture was too rich。 He sat and breathed a little stertorously； and there came to him that conviction that es to all of us now and then； that we are at a crisis of our careers and that the moment through which we are living is a moment big with fate。
The voice in the drawing…room stopped。 Having sung songs of Araby and tales of far Cashmere； Mr Roscoe Sherriff was refreshing himself with a ic paper。 But Lady Wetherby； seated at the piano； still touched the keys softly； and the sound increased the richness of the mixture which choked Dudley Pickering's spiritual carburettor。 It is not fair that a rather stout manufacturer should be called upon to sit in the moonlight while a beautiful girl； to the acpaniment of soft music； reproaches him with having avoided her。
'I should be so sorry； Mr Pickering； if I had done anything to make a difference between us'
'Eh？' said Mr Pickering。
'I have so few real friends over here。'
Claire's voice trembled。
'II get a little lonely； a little homesick sometimes'
She paused； musing； and a spasm of pity rent the bosom beneath Dudley Pickering's ample shirt。 There was a buzzing in his ears and a lump choked his throat。
'Of course； I am loving the life here。 I think America's wonderful； and nobody could be kinder than Lady Wetherby。 ButI miss my home。 It's the first time I have been away for so long。 I feel very far away sometimes。 There are only three of us at home： my mother； myself； and my little brotherlittle Percy。'
Her voice trembled again as she spoke the last two words； and it was possibly this that caused Mr Pickering to visualize Percy as a sort of little Lord Fauntleroy； his favourite character in English literature。 He had a vision of a small； delicate； wistful child pining away for his absent sister。 Consumptive probably。 Or curvature of the spine。
He found Claire's hand in his。 He supposed dully he must have reached out for it。 Soft and warm it