urch leave?"

"Whilst we were at breakfast," Constance answered, with a great effort
at self-command. "He saw nobody."

"Then you lied to me when you came up before?"

"I think, Lady Ogram," said Constance, standing rigid and with white
face, "you might give me credit for good intentions. It was nothing to
me whether you heard this news then or later; but I knew that you had
passed a sleepless night, and that the doctor had been sent for."

"You knew--you knew!" cried the listener, with savage scorn. "Did you
know why Lord Dymchurch had gone?"

"I took it for granted that--it had something to do with Miss Tomalin."

"Answer me in plain words, without a lie, and without shiftiness. Do
you know that Lord Dymchurch has proposed to May, and been refused?"

"I did not know it."

"You suspected as much."

"I thought it possible. But the business was none of mine, and I gave
very little heed to it."

Lady Ogram had begun to totter. She let herself sink upon the sofa, and
re-read the letter that shook in her hand.

"He says he has a sister ill. Did you hear anything of that?"

"Nothing at all."

The autocrat stared for a moment, as though trying to read Constance's
thoughts; then she waved her hand.

"Go back to your work. Stay in the library till you hear from me again."

Constance quivered with the impulse to make indignant reply, but
prudence prevailed. She bent her head to conceal wrathful features, and
in silence went from the room.

Five minutes later, May Tomalin entered by the awful door. She knew
what was before her, and had braced her nerves, but at the first sight
of Lady Ogram a sinking heart drew all the blood from her checks.
Encountering the bloodshot glare from those fleshless eye-caverns, she
began to babble a "Good-morning, aunt!" But the words failed, and her
frightened simper, meant for a smile, passed into mere blankness of
visage.

"Come here, May. Is it true that you have refused Lord Dymchurch?"

The voice was less terrifying than her aunt's countenance had led her
to expect. She was able to recover her wits sufficiently to make the
reply she had spent all the morning in preparing.

"Refused him? I didn't mean that. He must have misunderstood me."

"What _did_ you mean, then?"

"I hardly knew what Lord Dymchurch meant," answered May, trying to look
playfully modest.

"Let us have no nonsense," sounded in stern accents. "Lord Dymchurch
writes me a letter, saying distinctly that