“I’m very glad indeed to hear that, Lady Ogram!  It ruts my mind at rest.”

“I have talked with them both,” continued the reassuring voice, which struggled with hoarseness.  “That they told me the truth, I have no doubt; both of them know me too well to do anything else.  Constance, I understand, had your authority for speaking to me, so her part was easy.”

“She has a fine, generous spirit!” exclaimed Dyce, with the glow of genuine enthusiasm.

“Well for you that she has.  As for May, you had put her into a more difficult position.”

“I fear so.  But I am sure, Lady Ogram, that you dealt with her very kindly.”

“Exactly.”  The smile was very grim indeed, and the voice very hoarse.  “But the things I couldn’t ask May to tell me, I expect to hear from you.  Begin with this morning.  You met her, I understand, before you came to the house to see Constance.”

Dyce fell straight into the trap.  He spoke almost gaily.

“Yes; we met at eight o’clock.”

“Of course by appointment.”

“Yes, by appointment.”

“The best will be for you to begin at the beginning, and tell the story in your own way.  I’ve heard all my niece cared to tell me; now I give you the chance of telling your own tale.  All I ask is the truth.  Tell me the truth, from point to point.”

At the pass he had reached, Lashmar asked nothing better.  He was befooled and bedazzled.  Every trouble seemed of a sudden to be lifted from his mind.  Gratitude to Constance, who had proved so much better than her word, romantic devotion to May, who had so bravely declared her love, filled him with fervours such as he had never known.  He saw himself in a resplendent light; his attitude was noble, his head bent with manly modesty, and, when he began to speak, there was something in his voice which he had never yet been able to command, a virile music, to which he listened with delighted appreciation.

“I obey you, Lady Ogram; I obey you frankly and gladly.  I must go back to the day of Miss Tomalin’s return from London.  You will remember I told you that on that day I was in town, and in the afternoon, early, I called at Mrs. Toplady’s.”

Omitting the fact of his having told May about the relations between Miss Bride and himself, he narrated all else with perfect truth.  So pleasant was the sense of veracity, that he dwelt on unimportant particulars, and lengthened out the story in a way which would have made it intolerably tedious to any other hearer.  Lady Ogram, however, found it none too long.  The smile had died from her face; her lips were compressed, and from time to time her eyes turned upon the speaker with a fierce glare; but Lashmar paid no heed to these trifles.  He ended at length with beaming visage, his last sentences having a touch of emotion which greatly pleased him.

“Ring the bell,” said Lady Ogram, pointing to the electric button.