He went up, feeling a desperate man.  To those of his temperament having to make a disagreeable communication such as this is almost as cruel as parting with life.

No one was in the drawing-room but Lady Kirton—­stretched upon a sofa and apparently fast asleep.  Val crossed the carpet with softened tread to the adjoining rooms:  small, comfortable rooms, used by the dowager in preference to the more stately rooms below.  Maude had drawn aside the curtain and was peering out into the frosty night.

“Why, how soon you are up!” she cried, turning at his entrance.

“I came on purpose, Maude.  I want to speak to you.”

“Are you well?” she asked, coming forward to the fire, and taking her seat on a sofa.  In truth, he did not look very well just then.  “What is it?”

“Maude,” he answered, his fair face flushing a dark red as he plunged into it blindfold:  “I am a rogue and a fool!”

Lady Maude laughed.  “Elster’s folly!”

“Yes.  You know all this time that we—­that I—­” (Val thought he should never flounder through this first moment, and did not remain an instant in one place as he talked)—­“have been going on so foolishly, I was—­almost as good as a married man.”

“Were you?” said she, quietly.  “Married to whom?”

“I said as good as married, Maude.  You know I have been engaged for years to Miss Ashton; otherwise I would have knelt to ask you to become my wife, so earnestly should I desire it.”

Her calm imperturbability presented a curious contrast to his agitation.  She was regarding him with an amused smile.

“And, Maude, I have come now to ask you to release me.  Indeed, I—­”

“What’s all this about?” broke in the countess-dowager, darting upon the conference, her face flushed and her head-dress awry.  “Are you two quarrelling?”

“Val was attempting to explain something about Miss Ashton,” answered Maude, rising from the sofa, and drawing herself up to her stately height.  “He had better do it to you instead, mamma; I don’t understand it.”

She stood up by the mantelpiece, in the ray of the lustres.  They fell across her dark, smooth hair, her flushed cheeks, her exquisite features.  Her dress was of flowing white crepe, with jet ornaments; and Lord Hartledon, even in the midst of his perplexity, thought how beautiful she was, and what a sad thing it was to lose her.  The truth was, his senses had been caught by the girl’s beauty although his heart was elsewhere.  It is a very common case.

“The fact is, ma’am,” he stammered, turning to the dowager in his desperation, “I have been behaving very foolishly of late, and am asking your daughter’s pardon.  I should have remembered my engagement to Miss Ashton.”

“Remembered your engagement to Miss Ashton!” echoed the dowager, her voice becoming a little shrill.  “What engagement?”

Lord Hartledon began to recover himself, though he looked foolish still.  With these nervous men it is the first plunge that tells; get that over and they are brave as their fellows.