Lady Ogram turned upon Lashmar, who met her eyes with defiance.

“You believe that?” he asked, in a quietly contemptuous tone.

She turned to Constance, whose face showed much the same expression.

“Is that true?”

“I shall answer no charge brought by Miss Tomalin,” was the cold reply.

“And you are right.”  Lady Ogram faced to May.  “I give you half an hour to pack your luggage and leave the house!  Be off!”

The girl burst into a hysterical laugh, and ran from the room.  For some moments, Lady Ogram sat looking towards the door; then, sinking together in exhaustion, she let her eyes move from one to the other of the two faces before her.  Lashmar and Constance had exchanged no look; they stood in sullen attitudes, hands behind them, staring at vacancy.

“I have something to say to you.”  The voice that broke the silence was so faint as to be but just audible.  “Come nearer.”

The two approached.

“That girl has gone.  She is nothing to me, and nothing to you.  Constance, are you willing to marry Mr. Lashmar?”

There came no reply.

“Do you hear?” whispered Lady Ogram, with a painful effort to speak louder.  “Answer me.”

“How can you expect me to be willing to marry him?” exclaimed Constance, in whom a violent struggle was going on.  Her cheeks were flushed, and tears of humiliation stood in her eyes.

“You!” Lady Ogram addressed Lashmar.  “Will you marry her?”

“How is it possible, Lady Ogram,” replied Dyce, in an agony of nervousness, “to answer such a question under these circumstances?”

“But you shall answer!” sounded in a choked sort of scream.  “I give you the choice, both of you.  Either you are married in three days from now, or you go about your business, like that lying girl.  You can get a license, and be married at once.  Which is it to be?  I give you three days, not an hour more.”

Lashmar had turned very pale.  He looked at his partner in the dilemma.

“Constance,” fell from his lips, “will you marry me?”

There came an answer which he could just hear, but which was inaudible to Lady Ogram.

“Speak, girl!  Yes or no!” croaked their tormentor.

“She has consented,” said Dyce.

“Then be off and get the license!  Don’t lose a minute.  I suppose you’ll have to go to London for it?—­Constance, give me your arm.  I must excuse myself to my guests.”

Constance bent to her, and Lady Ogram, clutching at the offered arm, endeavoured to rise It was in vain; she had not the strength to stand.

“Mr. Lashmar!” She spoke in a thick mumble, staring with wild eyes.  “Come—­other side—­”

She was drooping, falling.  Lashmar had only just time to catch and support her.

“What is it?” he asked, staring at Constance as he supported the helpless form.  “Has she fainted?”