It was not within this woman’s power to resist him.  She tried to draw away from him, but could not.  She was breathing quickly.  The mocking light quivered on her face only because it had been there so long.  If it went out she would be helpless.  He put his hands on her shoulders, and she was helpless.  It brought her mouth nearer his.  She was offering him her mouth.

“No,” said Tommy, masterfully.  “I won’t kiss you until you say it.”

If there had not been a look of triumph in his eyes, she would have said it.  As it was, she broke from him, panting.  She laughed next minute, and with that laugh his power fell among the heather.

“Really,” said Lady Pippinworth, “you are much too stout for this kind of thing.”  She looked him up and down with a comic sigh.  “You talk as well as ever,” she said condolingly, “but heigh-ho, you don’t look the same.  I have done the best I could for you for the sake of old times, but I forgot to shut my eyes.  Shall we go on?”

And they went on silently, one of them very white.  “I believe you are blaming me,” her Ladyship said, making a face, just before they overtook the others, “when you know it was your own fault for”—­she suddenly rippled—­“for not waiting until it was too dark for me to see you!”

They strolled with some others of the party to the flower-garden, which was some distance from the house, and surrounded by a high wall studded with iron spikes and glass.  Lady Rintoul cut him some flowers for Grizel, but he left them on a garden-seat—­accidentally, everyone thought afterwards in the drawing-room when they were missed; but he had laid them down, because how could those degraded hands of his carry flowers again to Grizel?  There was great remorse in him, but there was a shrieking vanity also, and though the one told him to be gone, the other kept him lagging on.  They had torn him a dozen times from each other’s arms before he was man enough to go.

It was gloaming when he set off, waving his hat to those who had come to the door with him.  Lady Pippinworth was not among them; he had not seen her to bid her good-bye, nor wanted to, for the better side of him had prevailed—­so he thought.  It was a man shame-stricken and determined to kill the devil in him that went down that long avenue—­so he thought.

A tall, thin woman was standing some twenty yards off, among some holly-trees.  She kissed her hand mockingly to him, and beckoned and laughed when he stood irresolute.  He thought he heard her cry, “Too stout!” He took some fierce steps towards her.  She ran on, looking over her shoulder, and he forgot all else and followed her.  She darted into the flower-garden, pulling the gate to after her.  It was a gate that locked when it closed, and the key was gone.  Lady Pippinworth clapped her hands because he could not reach her.  When she saw that he was climbing the wall she ran farther into the garden.

He climbed the wall, but, as he was descending, one of the iron spikes on the top of it pierced his coat, which was buttoned to the throat, and he hung there by the neck.  He struggled as he choked, but he could not help himself.  He was unable to cry out.  The collar of the old doctor’s coat held him fast.