Lady Ogram had begun to totter.  She let herself sink upon the sofa, and re-read the letter that shook in her hand.

“He says he has a sister ill.  Did you hear anything of that?”

“Nothing at all.”

The autocrat stared for a moment, as though trying to read Constance’s thoughts; then she waved her hand.

“Go back to your work.  Stay in the library till you hear from me again.”

Constance quivered with the impulse to make indignant reply, but prudence prevailed.  She bent her head to conceal wrathful features, and in silence went from the room.

Five minutes later, May Tomalin entered by the awful door.  She knew what was before her, and had braced her nerves, but at the first sight of Lady Ogram a sinking heart drew all the blood from her checks.  Encountering the bloodshot glare from those fleshless eye-caverns, she began to babble a “Good-morning, aunt!” But the words failed, and her frightened simper, meant for a smile, passed into mere blankness of visage.

“Come here, May.  Is it true that you have refused Lord Dymchurch?”

The voice was less terrifying than her aunt’s countenance had led her to expect.  She was able to recover her wits sufficiently to make the reply she had spent all the morning in preparing.

“Refused him?  I didn’t mean that.  He must have misunderstood me.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I hardly knew what Lord Dymchurch meant,” answered May, trying to look playfully modest.

“Let us have no nonsense,” sounded in stern accents.  “Lord Dymchurch writes me a letter, saying distinctly that he has proposed to you, and that you have refused him, and then he goes off without a word to anyone.  Did you know he was leaving this morning?”

“Certainly not,” answered the girl, with a bold plunge into mendacity.  “I expected to see him at breakfast.  Then I was told he was gone.  I don’t understand it at all.”

From the moment of entering the room, she had put away all thought of truthfulness.  This, plainly, was no time for it.  As soon as possible, she would let Dyce Lashmar know that they must feign and temporise:  the policy of courage looked all very well from a distance, but was quite another thing in the presence of the mistress of Rivenoak enraged.  Lashmar must caution Constance, who seemingly (much to May’s surprise) had submitted to his dictation at this juncture.  For a time, nothing could be done beyond cloaking what had really happened, and soothing Lady Ogram’s wrath with apparent submission.

“When did you see him last?” pursued the questioner.

“This morning, before breakfast, for a few minutes in the garden.”

Better to be veracious so far, thought May.  She might otherwise fall into self-contradiction.

“Was it an appointment?”

“No.  By chance.  I never thought of meeting him.”

“And what did he say to you?  Tell me his words.”