s face,
and how astonished he looked. He turned away instantly."

"Well, what does it matter?" exclaimed Dyce, who was quivering with
excitement. "What do I care? What need you care? Haven't we perfect
liberty to meet? After all, what _does_ it matter?"

"But you forget," said May, "that he knows of your engagement."

"My engagement! Let him know, and let him think what he likes! My
engagement, indeed! Why, I haven't once thought of it since I left
London--not once! There'll have to be an end to this intolerable state
of things. Dymchurch isn't likely to tell anyone what he sees; he's a
gentleman."

"I must go in at once," cried May, losing her head. "Somebody else may
come. Go away, please! Don't stay another minute."

"But it's impossible. We have to come to an understanding. Listen to
me, May!"

He grasped her hand, passed his other arm around her. There was
resistance, but Dyce used his strength in earnest. The girl's beauty
fired him; he became the fervid lover, leaving her no choice between
high resentment and frank surrender. Indignation was dying out of May's
look. She ceased to struggle, she bent her head to his shoulder.

"Isn't that much better?" he whispered, laughingly. "Isn't that the way
out of our difficulties?"

May allowed him to breathe a few more such soothing sentences, then
spoke with troubled accent.

"But you don't understand. What must Lord Dymchurch think of
me--believing that you are engaged?"

"I'll tell him the truth. I'll go and tell him at once."

"But still you don't understand. My aunt wants me to marry him."

"I know she does, and know she'll be disappointed," cried Dyce,
exultantly.

"But do you suppose that Lord Dymchurch will stay here any longer? He
will leave this very morning, I'm sure he will. My aunt will want to
know what it means. There'll be dreadful explanations."

"Keep calm, May. If we lose our courage, it's all over with us. We have
to deal boldly with Lady Ogram. Remember that she is very old and weak;
I'm perfectly sure she can't resist you and me if we speak to her in
the proper way--quietly and reasonably and firmly. We have made up our
minds, haven't we? You are mine, dearest May! There's no more doubt
about _that_!"

"Miss Bride will be our deadly enemy," said May, again yielding to his
caresses.

"Enemy!" Dyce exclaimed. "Why?"

"Surely you don't need to be told. She dislikes me already (as I do
her), and now she will hate me. She'll do her b