“Why this morning?”

“For the reason I began by explaining.  I have to come here to lunch.”

“Would it surprise you, when you do come, to be met with the news that Lord Dymchurch has proposed to Miss Tomalin and been accepted?”

“Indeed,” Dyce answered, smiling, “it would surprise me very much.”

“Which is as much as to say that I was right, just now, in refusing to believe you.  Do you know,” Constance added, with fresh acerbity, “that you cut a very poor figure?  As a diplomatist, you will not go very far.  As an ordinary politician, I doubt whether you can make your way with such inadequate substitutes for common honesty.  Perhaps you do represent the coming man.  In that case, we must look anxiously for the coming woman, to keep the world from collapse.—­Be so good, now, as to answer a plain question.  You will do so, simply because you know that I have but to speak half-a-dozen words to Lady Ogram, and you would be spared the trouble of coming here to lunch.  What is your scheme?  If I had been so pliant as you expected, what would you have asked of me?”

“Merely to use your influence with Lady Ogram when she is vexed by learning that May Tomalin is not to marry Dymchurch.  What could be simpler and more straightforward?  Scheme there is none.  I have done with that kind of thing.  I wish to marry this girl, for her own sake, but if I can keep Lady Ogram’s good-will at the same time, I suppose there’s nothing very base in wishing to do so?”

“You speak of ‘vexation.’  Do you really imagine that that word will describe Lady Ogram’s state of mind if she learns that Lord Dymchurch is rejected?”

“Of course there will be a scene.  We can’t help that.  We must face it, and hope in Lady Ogram’s commonsense.”

“Answer another question.  How do you know that May Tomalin will refuse Lord Dymchurch?”

“I had better refuse to answer.  You talk much of honour.  If you know what it means, you will accept my refusal as the only thing possible under the circumstances.”

Constance stood in hesitation.  It seemed as if she might concede this point, but at the critical moment jealous wrath again seized her, extinguishing the better motive.

“You will answer my question.  You will tell me what has passed.”

She glared at him, and it was Lashmar’s turn to betray indecision.

“You are at my mercy,” Constance exclaimed, “and you will do as I bid you.”

Lashmar yielded to exasperation.

“I have enough of this,” he cried angrily.  “Go and do as you please!  Take your silly feminine revenge, and much good may it do you!  I have no more time to waste.”

He caught up his hat, and left the room.

Passing the foot of the staircase, he saw someone descending.  It was May.  Involuntarily he stopped; the girl’s gesture of alarm, bidding him be off, was disregarded.  He waved to her, and she joined him.