Heiress Jane Gilbert calls herself ""selfish and rather greedy,"" but when sweetheart Clive returns from the Great War with amnesia, she agrees to marry him anyway (""it wasn't his fault"") and goes to Pencarnan, Clive's ancestral home off the coast of Wales. There she finds a chilly--not to say menacing--reception from his domineering aunt and her scowling companion, while Clive seems to be--well--not Clive at all. It's a good thing the real Clive shows up because Jane would never figure it ali out for herself. (And why she does not hightail it out of there once people start trying to slide her off cliffs is, as ever in the du Maurier line, the real mystery.) Genuinely suspenseful nonetheless, cleanly written, even while being improbable beyond the usual allowances.