Sir Gerald's chauffeur was at the front door to drive it round to the garage after she had alighted, as the night was a wet one.
He had just driven off when Clare remembered some books which she had borrowed and had brought with her to return.
She called out, but the man did not hear her.
The butler ran out after the car.
So, for a minute or two, Clare was alone in the hall, close to the door of the drawing room, which the butler had just unlatched prior to announcing her.
Those inside the room, however, knew nothing of her arrival, and so it was that Vivien's voice, high-pitched - not quite the voice of a lady - rang out clearly and distinctly.
"Oh, we're only waiting for Clare Halliwell.
You must know her - lives in the village - supposed to be one of the local belles, but frightfully unattractive really.
She tried her best to catch Gerald, but he wasn't having any."
"Oh, yes, darling -" this in answer to a murmured protest from her husband. "She did - you mayn't be aware of the fact - but she did her very utmost.
Poor old Clare!
A good sort, but such a dump!"
Clare's face went dead white, her hands, hanging against her sides, clenched themselves in anger such as she had never known before.
At that moment she could have murdered Vivien Lee.
It was only by a supreme physical effort that she regained control of herself.
That, and the half-formed thought that she held it in her power to punish Vivien for those cruel words.
The butler had returned with the books.
He opened the door, announced her, and in another moment she was greeting a roomful of people in her usual pleasant manner.
Vivien, exquisitely dressed in some dark wine color that showed off her white fragility, was particularly affectionate and gushing.
They didn't see half enough of Clare.
She, Vivien, was going to learn golf, and Clare must come out with her on the links.
Gerald was very attentive and kind.
Though he had no suspicion that she had overheard his wife's words, he had some vague idea of making up for them.
He was very fond of Clare, and he wished Vivien wouldn't say the things she did.
He and Clare had been friends, nothing more - and if there was an uneasy suspicion at the back of his mind that he was shirking the truth in that last statement, he put it away from him.
After dinner the talk fell on dogs, and Clare recounted Rover's accident.
She purposely waited for a lull in the conversation to say:
"-so, on Saturday, I took him to Skippington."
She heard the sudden rattle of Vivien Lee's coffee cup on the saucer, but she did not look at her - yet.
"To see that man, Reeves?"
"Yes.
He'll be all right, I think.
I had lunch at the County Arms afterwards.
Rather a decent little pub." She turned now to Vivien. "Have you ever stayed there?"
If she had had any doubts, they were swept aside.
Vivien's answer came quick - in stammering haste. "I? Oh! N-no, no."
Fear was in her eyes.
They were wide and dark with it as they met Clare's.
Clare's eyes told nothing.
They were calm, scrutinizing.
No one could have dreamed of the keen pleasure that they veiled.
At that moment Clare almost forgave Vivien for the words she had overheard earlier in the evening.
She tasted in that moment a fullness of power that almost made her head reel. She held Vivien Lee in the hollow of her hand.
The following day, she received a note from the other woman.
Would Clare come up and have tea with her quietly that afternoon?
Clare refused.
Then Vivien called on her.
Twice she came at hours when Clare was almost certain to be at home.
On the first occasion, Clare really was out; on the second, she slipped out by the back way when she saw Vivien coming up the path.
"She's not sure yet whether I know or not," she said to herself. "She wants to find out without committing herself.