“Now go and get to work,” she said at length, coming to an abrupt close.  “You’ve enough to occupy you all the morning.”

Constance had paid little attention to these commands, and, on returning to the library, she made no haste to begin upon her secretarial duties.  For more than an hour she sat brooding.  Only as a relief to her thoughts did she at length begin to write letters.  It was shortly before mid-day when again there came a summons from Lady Ogram; obeying it, Constance took Lord Dymchurch’s letter in her hand.

Lady Ogram had risen.  She was in the little drawing-room upstairs, reclining upon a sofa; the effort of walking thus far had exhausted her.

“I hear that Mr. Lashmar has called this morning,” she began, half raising herself, but at once sinking back again.  “What did he come about?  Can’t he come to lunch?”

“Yes, he will be here at one o’clock,” Constance replied.

“Then why did he come?  It was before nine.  What had he to say?”

“He wanted to speak to me in private.”

“Oh, I suppose that’s privileged,” returned the autocrat, smiling.  “What have you got there?  Something just come?”

“It’s a note for you from Lord Dymchurch.”

“From Lord Dymchurch?  Give it me at once, then.  Where is he?  Why couldn’t he wait till I came down?”

She tore the envelope with weak trembling hands.  Constance watched her as she read.  Of a sudden, the shrunk, feeble figure sprang upright, and stood as though supported by the vigorous muscles of youth.

“Do you know what this contains?” sounded a clear, hard voice, strangely unlike that which had just been speaking.

“I have no idea.”

“But you knew that he had left?”

“Yes, I knew.  I kept it from you till now, because I feared you were not well enough to bear the agitation.”

“And who,” cried the other fiercely, “gave you authority to detain letters addressed to me?  What have you to do with my health?  When did Lord Dymchurch leave?”

“Whilst we were at breakfast,” Constance answered, with a great effort at self-command.  “He saw nobody.”

“Then you lied to me when you came up before?”

“I think, Lady Ogram,” said Constance, standing rigid and with white face, “you might give me credit for good intentions.  It was nothing to me whether you heard this news then or later; but I knew that you had passed a sleepless night, and that the doctor had been sent for.”

“You knew—­you knew!” cried the listener, with savage scorn.  “Did you know why Lord Dymchurch had gone?”

“I took it for granted that—­it had something to do with Miss Tomalin.”

“Answer me in plain words, without a lie, and without shiftiness.  Do you know that Lord Dymchurch has proposed to May, and been refused?”

“I did not know it.”

“You suspected as much.”

“I thought it possible.  But the business was none of mine, and I gave very little heed to it.”