Lawrence let himself out by the back stairs again and the kitchen —­now in a state of great activity, the gas ring lit and preparations for lunch going on apace—­and forth into the yard.  Out in the open air he drew a long breath:  safe in tweeds and a felt hat, he was his own man again, but he felt as though he had been wading in mud.  The mystified Catherine followed him at a sign into the drive.  There Hyde stood still.  “Take that path to the left.  You’ll find your mistress waiting for you.  Help her to dress, and tell her I shall be at the lodge gates when she’s ready.  And, Catherine—­”

He paused, feeling an almost insuperable distaste for his job.  But it had to be done, the girl must not find him tight with his money:  that she would hold her tongue was beyond expectation, but if well tipped at least she might not invent lies.  It went against the grain of his temper to bribe one of Bernard’s maids, but fate was not now consulting his likes or dislikes.  He thrust his hand into his pocket—­“Look after your mistress, will you?”

The respectably brought up Catherine turned scarlet.  She put her hand behind her back.  “I’m sure, sir, I don’t want your money to make me do that!”

“If you prick us shall we not bleed?” It was the first time that Lawrence had ever discovered a servant to be a human being:  and his philosophical musings were chequered, till he moved out of earshot, by the clamour of Catherine’s irrepressible dismay.  “Oh madam!” he heard, and, “Well, if I ever-!” and then in a tone suddenly softened from horror to sympathy, “there now, there, let me get your dress off . . . .”  From Mrs. Clowes came no answer, or none audible to him.

Laura joined him in ten minutes’ time, neatly dressed, gloved, and veiled, her hair smoothed—­it had never been rough so far as Lawrence could observe—­her complexion regulated by Catherine’s powder puff.  “Are you better?” said Lawrence, examining her anxiously:  “able to walk as far as the vicarage?”

“The vicarage?”

“Wharton’s too far off.  You’re dead tired:  You’ll have to lie down and keep quiet.  Isabel will look after you.”  It speaks to the complete overthrow of Lawrence’s ideas that for the last hour he had not recollected Isabel’s existence.  “And we shall have to wait till Bernard raises the siege:  one can’t bawl explanations through a keyhole.  Besides, I must wire to Lucian.”  He slipped his hand under her arm.  “Would you like this good girl of yours to come with you?”

“I will come, madam, directly I’ve fetched my hat,” said Catherine eagerly.  “You must have some one to look after you, and your hair never brushed and all.”

But Laura shook her head, Catherine must not defy her master.  “If you want to please me,” she said not without humour “—­I can’t help it, Lawrence—­try to look after Major Clowes.  You had better not go near him yourself, because as you know he isn’t very pleased with me just now, but see that Mrs. Fryar sends him in a nice lunch and ask Barry to try to get him to eat it.  I ordered some oysters to come this morning, and Major Clowes will enjoy those when he won’t touch anything else.”