Well, she convinced him; and from that moment had it all her own way, and carried out her plots and plans according to her own crafty fancy.  Lord Hartledon yielded; for the ascendency of Maude was strong upon him.  And yet—­and yet—­whilst he gave all sorts of hard names to Anne Ashton’s perfidy, lying down deep in his heart was a suspicion that the news was not true.  How he hated himself for his wicked assumption of belief in after-years!

“You will be free as air,” said the dowager, joyously.  “You and Maude shall get ahead of Miss Ashton and her colonel, and have the laugh at them.  The marriage shall be on Saturday, and you can go away together for months if you like, and get up your spirits again; I’m sure you have both been dull enough.”

Lord Hartledon was certainly caught by the words “free as air;” as he had been once before.  But he stared at the early day mentioned.

“Marriages can’t be got up as soon as that.”

“They can be got up in a day if people choose, with a special license; which, of course, you will have,” said the dowager.  “I’ll arrange things, my dear Val; leave it all to me.  I intend Maude to be married in the little chapel.”

“What little chapel?”

“Your own private chapel.”

Lord Hartledon stared with all his eyes.  The private chapel, built out from the house on the side next Calne, had not been used for years and years.

“Why, it’s all dust and rust inside; its cushions moth-eaten and fallen to pieces.”

“Is it all dust and rust!” returned the dowager.  “That shows how observant you are.  I had it put in order whilst you were in London; it was a shame to let a sacred place remain in such a state.  I should like it to be used for Maude; and mind, I’ll see to everything; you need not give yourself any trouble at all.  There’s only one thing I must enjoin on you.”

“What’s that?”

“Secrecy. Don’t let a hint of your intentions get abroad.  Whatever you do, don’t write a word to that Carr friend of yours; he’s as sharp as a two-edged sword.  As well let things be done privately; it is Maude’s wish.”

“I shall not write to him,” cried Hartledon, feeling a sudden heat upon his face, “or to any one else.”

“Here’s Maude.  Step this way, Maude.  Hartledon wants the ceremony to take place on Saturday, and I have promised for you.”

Lady Maude advanced; she had really come in by accident; her head was bent, her eyelashes rested on her flushed cheeks.  A fair prize; very, very fair!  The old dowager put her hand into Lord Hartledon’s.

“You will love her and cherish her, Percival?”

What was the young man to do?  He murmured some unintelligible assent, and bent forward to kiss her.  But not until that moment had he positively realized the fact that there would be any marriage.