Dinah went, every nerve in her body tingling, her face and hands cold as ice.

Mrs. Bathurst glanced at her with a contemptuous smile.  “Sit down, you little fool!” she said.  “Now, you take that pen and write at my dictation!”

Dinah shrank at the rough words.  She felt like a child about to receive corporal punishment.  The vindictive force of the woman seemed to beat her down.  Writhe and strain as she might, she was bound to suffer both the pain and the indignity to the uttermost limit; for she lacked the strength to break free.

She did not sit down however.  She remained standing by the little table.

“Mother,” she said through her white lips, “what do you want me to do?”

She could scarcely keep her teeth from chattering, and Mrs. Bathurst noted the fact with another grim smile.

“What am I going to make you do would be more to the purpose, my girl, wouldn’t it?” she said.  “Sit down there, and you’ll find out!”

Dinah leaned upon the little table to steady herself.  “Tell me what it is I am to do!” she said.

“Ah!  That’s better.”  A note of bitter humour sounded in Mrs. Bathurst’s voice.  “Sit down!”

She thrust out a bony hand, and gripped her by the shoulder, forcing her downwards.

Dinah dropped into the chair, and sat motionless.

“Take your pen!” Mrs. Bathurst commanded.

She hesitated; and instantly, with a violent movement, her mother snatched it up and held it in front of her.

“Take it!”

Dinah took it with fingers so numb that they were almost powerless.

“Now,” said Mrs. Bathurst, “I will tell you what you are going to do.  You are going to write to Sir Eustace at my dictation, and tell him that you are very sorry, you have made a mistake, and beg him to forget it and marry you to-morrow as arranged.”

“Mother!  No!” Dinah started as if at a blow; the pen dropped from her fingers.  “Oh no!  I can’t indeed—­indeed!”

“You will!” said Mrs. Bathurst.

Her hand gripped the slender shoulder with cruel force.  She bent, bringing her harsh features close to her daughter’s blanched face.

“Just you remember one thing!” she said, her voice low and menacing.  “You’ve never succeeded in defying me yet, and you won’t do it now.  I’ll conquer you—­I’ll break you—­if it takes me all night to do it!”

Dinah recoiled before the unshackled fury that suddenly blazed in the gipsy eyes that looked into hers.  Sheer horror sprang into her own.

“Oh, but I can’t—­I can’t!” she reiterated in an agony.  “I don’t love him.  He knows it.  I ought to have found out before, but I didn’t.  Mother—­Mother—­” piteously she began to plead—­“you—­you can’t want to make me marry a man I don’t love?  You—­you would never—­surely—­have done such a thing yourself!”

Mrs. Bathurst made a sharp gesture as if something had pierced her.  She shook the shoulder she grasped.  “Love!” she said.  “Oh, don’t talk to me of love!  Do you imagine—­have you ever imagined—­that I married that fox-hunting booby—­for love?”