Mrs. Octagon caught at a chair to stop herself from falling, and wiped away a tear.  “Dead!” she muttered, and dropped on to the sofa.

“He died two hours ago.  I am now Lord Caranby.”

“You won’t grace the position,” said Mrs. Octagon viciously, and then her face became gloomy.  “Dead!—­Walter Mallow.  Ah!  I loved him so.”

“You had a strange way of showing it then,” said Cuthbert, calmly, and he also took a seat.

Mrs. Octagon immediately rose.  “I forbid you to sit down in my house, Lord Caranby.  We are strangers.”

“Oh, no, we aren’t, Mrs. Octagon.  I came here to arrange matters.”

“What matters?” she asked disdainfully, and apparently certain he had nothing against her.

“Matters connected with my marriage with Juliet.”

“Miss Saxon, if you please.  She shall never marry you.”

“Oh, yes, she will.  What is your objection to the marriage?”

“I refuse to tell you,” said Mrs. Octagon violently, and then somewhat inconsistently went on: 

“If you must know, I hated your uncle.”

“You said you loved him just now.”

“And so I did,” cried the woman, spreading out her arms, “I loved him intensely.  I would have placed the hair of my head under his feet.  But he was never worthy of me.  He loved Selina, a poor, weak, silly fool.  But I stopped that marriage,” she ended triumphantly, “as I will stop yours.”

“I don’t think you will stop mine,” replied Cuthbert tranquilly, “I am not to be coerced, Mrs. Octagon.”

“I don’t seek to coerce you,” she retorted, “but my daughter will obey me, and she will refuse your hand.  I don’t care if you are fifty times Lord Caranby.  Juliet should not marry you if you had all the money in the world.  I hated Walter Mallow, your uncle.  He treated me shamefully, and I swore that never would any child of mine be connected with him.  Selina wished it, and forced me to agree while she was alive.  But she is dead and Lord Caranby is dead, and you can do nothing.  I defy you—­I defy you!”

“We may as well conduct this interview reasonably.”

“I shall not let you remain here any longer.  Go.”

She pointed to the door with a dramatic gesture.  Cuthbert took up his hat.

“I shall go if you insist,” he said, moving towards the door, “and I shall return with a policeman.”

Mrs. Octagon gave a gasp and went gray.  “What do you mean?”

“You know well what I mean.  Am I to go?”

“You have nothing against me,” she said violently, “stop, if you will, and tell me the reason of that speech.”

“I think you understand what I mean perfectly well,” said Mallow again, and returning to his seat.  “I know that your sister died years ago,” Mrs. Octagon gasped, “and that Emilia feigned to be Selina Loach.  And perhaps, Mrs. Octagon, you will remember how your sister died.”