"Mr. Ellis will go with you. You'll probably find some one in the
parlor, or they'll come when you begin to play."
Clara's expression was not cordial, but she rose as if to go. Ellis was
in a quandary. If she went through the hall, the chances were at least
even that she would see Delamere. He did not care a rap for
Delamere,--if he chose to make a public exhibition of himself, it was
his own affair; but to see him would surely spoil Miss Pemberton's
evening, and, in her frame of mind, might lead to the suspicion that
Ellis had prearranged the exposure. Even if she should not harbor this
unjust thought, she would not love the witness of her discomfiture. We
had rather not meet the persons who have seen, even though they never
mention, the skeletons in our closets. Delamere had disposed of himself
for the evening. Ellis would have a fairer field with Delamere out of
sight and unaccounted for, than with Delamere in evidence in his present
condition.
"Wouldn't you rather take a stroll on the beach, Miss Clara?" he asked,
in the hope of creating a diversion.
"No, I'm going to the parlor. _You_ needn't come, Mr. Ellis, if you'd
rather go down to the beach. I can quite as well go alone."
"I'd rather go with you," he said meekly.
They were moving toward the door opening into the hall, from which the
broad staircase ascended. Ellis, whose thoughts did not always respond
quickly to a sudden emergency, was puzzling his brain as to how he
should save her from any risk of seeing Delamere.
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