He divined her sufficiently to answer:  ’It concerns a piece of injustice done by you, madam, and which I can help you to set right.’

Lady Jocelyn stared somewhat.  ‘Follow me into my dressing-room,’ she said, and led the way.

Escape was no longer possible.  He was on the march to execution, and into the darkness of his brain danced John Raikes, with his grotesque tribulations.  It was the harsh savour of reality that conjured up this flighty being, who probably never felt a sorrow or a duty.  The farce Jack lived was all that Evan’s tragic bitterness could revolve, and seemed to be the only light in his mind.  You might have seen a smile on his mouth when he was ready to ask for a bolt from heaven to crush him.

‘Now,’ said her ladyship, and he found that the four walls enclosed them, ‘what have I been doing?’

She did not bid him be seated.  Her brevity influenced him to speak to the point.

‘You have dismissed Mr. Laxley, my lady:  he is innocent.’

‘How do you know that?’

’Because,’—­a whirl of sensations beset the wretched youth, ’because I am guilty.’

His words had run ahead of his wits; and in answer to Lady Jocelyn’s singular exclamation he could but simply repeat them.

Her head drew back; her face was slightly raised; she looked, as he had seen her sometimes look at the Countess, with a sort of speculative amazement.

‘And why do you come to tell me?’

‘For the reason that I cannot allow you to be unjust, madam.’

‘What on earth was your motive?’

Evan stood silent, flinching from her frank eyes.

‘Well, well, well!’ Her ladyship dropped into a chair, and thumped her knees.

There was lawyer’s blood in Lady Jocelyn’s veins she had the judicial mind.  A confession was to her a confession.  She tracked actions up to a motive; but one who came voluntarily to confess needed no sifting.  She had the habit of treating things spoken as facts.

‘You absolutely wrote that letter to Mrs. Evremonde’s husband!’

Evan bowed, to avoid hearing his own lie.

’You discovered his address and wrote to him, and imitated Mr. Laxley’s handwriting, to effect the purpose you may have had?’

Her credulity did require his confirmation of it, and he repeated:  ’It is my deed.’

‘Hum!  And you sent that premonitory slip of paper to her?’

‘To Mrs. Evremonde?’

‘Somebody else was the author of that, perhaps?’

‘It is all on me.’

’In that case, Mr. Harrington, I can only say that it’s quite right you should quit this house to-morrow morning.’

Her ladyship commenced rocking in her chair, and then added:  ’May I ask, have you madness in your family?  No?  Because when one can’t discern a motive, it’s natural to ascribe certain acts to madness.  Had Mrs. Evremonde offended you? or Ferdinand—­but one only hears of such practices towards fortunate rivals, and now you have come to undo what you did!  I must admit, that taking the monstrousness of the act and the inconsequence of your proceedings together, the whole affair becomes more incomprehensible to me than it was before.  Would it be unpleasant to you to favour me with explanations?’