“And mind this,” continued Lady Ogram, leaning towards him.  “Constance’s marriage alters nothing in what I had planned for her before I knew you.  She’ll have her duties quite apart from your interests and all you aim at.  I know her; I’m not afraid to trust her, even when she’s married.  She’s honest—­and that’s what can be said of few women.  This morning I had a talk with her.  She knows, now, the responsibility I want her to undertake, and she isn’t afraid of it.  I said nothing to her about you; not a word:  but, when you speak to her, she’ll understand what was in my mind.  So let us get things settled, and have no more bother about it.  On Saturday”—­it was three days hence—­“I go back to Rivenoak; I’ve enough of London; I want to be quiet.  You are to come down with us.  You’ve business at Hollingford on the 20th, and you ought to see more of the Hollingford people.”

Whatever Lady Ogram had proposed (or rather dictated) Dyce would have agreed to.  He was under the authority of her eye and voice.  The prospect of being down at Rivenoak, and there, of necessity, living in daily communication with May Tomalin, helped him to disregard the other features of his position.  He gave a cheerful assent.

“Now go away for half an hour,” said Lady Ogram.  “Then come back, and ask for Miss Bride, and you’ll find her here.”

She was at the end of her strength, and could barely make the last words audible.  Dyce pressed her hand silently, and withdrew.

After the imposed interval, he returned from a ramble in Piccadilly, where he had seen nothing, and was conducted again to the drawing-room.  There Constance sat reading.  She was perfectly calm, entirely herself, and, as Lashmar entered, she looked up with the usual smile.

“Have you been out this afternoon?” he began by asking.

“Yes.  Why?”

“You went on business of Lady Ogram’s?”

“Yes.  Why?”

Dyce gave no answer.  He laid aside his hat and stick, sat down not far from Constance, and looked at her steadily.

“I have something rather odd to say to you.  As we are both rational persons, I shall talk quite freely, and explain to you exactly the position in which I find myself.  It’s a queer position, to say the least.  When I was at Rivenoak, on the last day of my visit, Lady Ogram had a confidential talk with me; your name came prominently into it, and I went away with certain vague impressions which have kept me, ever since, in a good deal of uneasiness.  This afternoon, I have had another private conversation with Lady Ogram.  Again your name had a prominent part in it, and this time there was no vagueness whatever in the communication made to me.  I was bidden, in plain terms, to make you an offer of marriage.”

Constance drooped her eyes, but gave no other sign of disturbance.

“Now,” resumed Dyce, leaning forward with hands clasped between his knees, “before I say anything more about this matter as it concerns you, I had better tell you what I think about our friend.  I feel pretty sure that she has a very short time to live; it wouldn’t surprise me if it were a question of days, but in any case I am convinced she won’t live for a month.  What is your opinion?”