know what to say. But she won't speak; she knows I read the first
sentences of her mother's letter, and being the daughter of her
mother--that is, having no understanding of 'honour'--she will take for
granted that I read more--that I read that letter through."

May remained silent. Just then the dressing gong sounded, and Lady
Dashwood went to the door.

"May, I am going to dress," she said. "I shall fight this affair; for if
it hadn't been for me, Jim would still be a free man."

May looked at her again fixedly.

"What shall you say to Lady Belinda?" she asked.

"I shall say nothing to Belinda--just now," said Lady Dashwood. "The
letter may be--a lie!"

"Suppose she comes on Saturday?" said May.

Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't come on Saturday," she said
slowly. "There is no room for her, while you are here; the other
bedrooms are not furnished. You"--here Lady Dashwood's voice became
strangely cool and commanding--"you stay here, May, till Monday! I must
go and dress."

May did not reply. Lady Dashwood paused to listen to her silence--a
silence which was assent, and then she left the room as rapidly and
quietly as she had entered.

Outside, the familiar staircase looked strange and unsympathetic, like
territory lost to an enemy and possessed by that enemy--ruined and
distorted to some disastrous end. Some disastrous end! The word "end"
made Lady Dashwood stop and to think about it. Would this engagement
that threatened to end in marriage, affect her brother's career in
Oxford?

It might! He might find it impossible to be an efficient Warden, if
Gwendolen was his wife! There was no telling what she might not do to
make his position untenable.

Lady Dashwood went up the short stair that led to the other bedrooms.
She passed Gwendolen's door. What was the girl inside that room thinking
of? Was she triumphant?

Had Lady Dashwood been able to see within that room, she would have
found Gwendolen moving about restlessly. She had thrown her hat and
outdoor things on the bed and was vaguely preparing to dress for dinner.
Mrs. Potten had not said one word about asking her to come on
Monday--not one word; but it didn't matter--no, not one little bit!
Nothing mattered now!

A letter lay on her dressing-table. From time to time Gwendolen came up
to the dressing-table and glanced at the letter and then glanced at her
own face in the mirror.

The letter was as follows:--

"My Darling little gi