‘If you could help me, ma’am, I should be very grateful—­indeed I should—­’

Her voice all but broke into a sob.  That ‘ma’am’ cost her a terrible effort; the sound of it seemed to smack her on the ears.

‘If you will go in-to the servants’ hall and wait,’ the housekeeper deigned to say, after reflecting, ‘I’ll see what can be done.’

And Miss Rockett submitted.  In the servants’ hall she sat for a long, long time, observed, but never addressed.  The hour of her train went by.  More than once she was on the point of rising and fleeing; more than once her smouldering wrath all but broke into flame.  But she thought of her father’s pale, pain-stricken face, and sat on.

At something past eleven o’clock a footman approached her, and said curtly, ‘You are to go up to my lady; follow me.’  May followed, shaking with weakness and apprehension, burning at the same time with pride all but in revolt.  Conscious of nothing on the way, she found herself in a large room, where sat the two ladies, who for some moments spoke together about a topic of the day placidly.  Then the elder seemed to become aware of the girl who stood before her.

‘You are Rockett’s elder daughter?’

Oh, the metallic voice of Lady Shale!  How gratified she would have been could she have known how it bruised the girl’s pride!

‘Yes, my lady—­’

‘And why do you want to see me?’

’I wish to apologise—­most sincerely—­to your ladyship—­for my behaviour of last evening—­’

‘Oh, indeed!’ the listener interrupted contemptuously.  ’I am glad you have come to your senses.  But your apology must be offered to Miss Shale—­if my daughter cares to listen to it.’

May had foreseen this.  It was the bitterest moment of her ordeal.  Flushing scarlet, she turned towards the younger woman.

’Miss Shale, I beg your pardon for what I said yesterday—­I beg you to forgive my rudeness—­my impertinence—­’

Her voice would go no further; there came a choking sound.  Miss Shale allowed her eyes to rest triumphantly for an instant on the troubled face and figure, then remarked to her mother—­

’It’s really nothing to me, as I told you.  I suppose this person may leave the room now?’

It was fated that May Rockett should go through with her purpose and gain her end.  But fate alone (which meant in this case the subtlest preponderance of one impulse over another) checked her on the point of a burst of passion which would have startled Lady Shale and Miss Hilda out of their cold-blooded complacency.  In the silence May’s blood gurgled at her ears, and she tottered with dizziness.

‘You may go,’ said Lady Shale.

But May could not move.  There flashed across her the terrible thought that perhaps she had humiliated herself for nothing.

’My lady—­I hope—­will your ladyship please to forgive my father and mother?  I entreat you not to send them away.  We shall all be so grateful to your ladyship if you will overlook—­’