Lady Dashwood's hand that held the letter was trembling, and her eyes shifted from the lines. She clung to them desperately, and read on:

"I must try and not be jealous of Dr. Middleton. I must be very 'dood.' But just at the moment it is rather sudden and overpowering and difficult to realise. I had always thought of my little Gwen, with her great beauty and attractiveness, mated to some one in the big world; but perhaps it was a selfish ambition (excusable in a mother), for the Fates had decreed otherwise, and one must say 'Kismet!' I long to come and see you all. It is impossible for me to get away to-morrow, but I could come on Sat.u.r.day. Would that suit you? It seems like a dream--a very real dream of happiness for Gwen and for--I suppose I must call him 'Jim.' And I must (though I shouldn't) congratulate you on so cleverly getting my little treasure for your brother. I know how dear he is to you.

"Yours affectionately,

"Belinda Scott."

Lady Dashwood laid the letter on her knees and sat thinking, with the pulses in her body throbbing. A dull flush had come into her cheeks, and just below her heart was a queer, empty, weak feeling, as if she had had no food for a long, long while.

She moved at last and stood upon her feet.

"I will not bear it," she said aloud.

Her voice strayed through the empty room. The face of the portrait stared out remorselessly at her with its cynical smile. All the world had become cynical and remorseless. Lady Dashwood moved to the door and went into the corridor. She pa.s.sed Gwen's room and went to May Dashwood's. There she knocked on the door. May's voice responded. She had already begun to dress.

"Aunt Lena!" she exclaimed softly, as Lady Dashwood closed the door behind her without a word and came forward to the fireplace, "what has happened?"

Lady Dashwood held towards her a letter. "Read that," she said, and then she turned to the fire and leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and clasped her hot brow in her hands. She did not look at the tall slight figure with its aureole of auburn hair near her, and the serious sweet face reading the letter. What she was waiting for was--help--help in her dire need--help! She wanted May to say, "This can't be, must not be. _I_ can help you"; and yet, as the silence grew, Lady Dashwood knew that there was no help coming--it was absurd to expect help.

May Dashwood stood quite still and read the letter through. She read it twice, and yet said nothing.

"Well!" said Lady Dashwood, her voice m.u.f.fled. As no reply came, she glanced round. "You have read the letter?" she asked.

"Yes," said May, "I've read it," and she laid the letter on the mantelpiece. There was a curious movement of her breathing--as if something checked it; otherwise her face was calm and she showed no emotion.

"What's to be done?" demanded Lady Dashwood.

"Nothing can be done," said May, and she spoke breathlessly.

"Nothing!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "May!"

"Nothing, not if it is his wish," said May Dashwood, and she cleared her throat and moved away.

"If he knew, it would not be his wish," said Lady Dashwood. "If he knew about the other letter; if he knew what those women were like! Of course," she went on, "men are such fools, that he might think he was rescuing her from Belinda! But," she burst out suddenly, yet very quietly, "can't he see that Gwen has no moral backbone? Can't he see that she's a lump of jelly? No, he can't see anything;" then she turned round again to the fire. "Society backs up fraud in marriage. People will palm off a girl who drinks or who shows signs of inherited insanity with the shamelessness of horse-dealers. 'The man must look out for himself,' they say. Very well," said Lady Dashwood, pulling herself up to her full height, "I am going to do--whatever can be done." But she did not _feel_ brave.

May had walked to the dressing-table and was taking up brushes and putting them down again without using them. She took a stopper out of a bottle, and then replaced it.

Lady Dashwood stood looking at her, looking at the bent head silently.

Then she said suddenly: "This letter was posted when?" She suddenly became aware that the envelope was missing. She had thrown it into the fire in the drawing-room or dropped it. It didn't matter--it was written last night. "Gwen must have posted her news at the latest yesterday morning by the first post. Then when could it have happened? He never saw her for a moment between dinner on Monday, when you arrived, and when she must have posted her letter." Lady Dashwood stared at her niece. "It must have happened before you arrived."

"No," said May. "He must have _written_--you see;" and she turned round and looked straight at Lady Dashwood for the first time since she read that letter.

"Written that same night, Monday, after Mr. Boreham left?"

May moved her lips a moment and turned away again.

"I don't believe it," said Lady Dashwood.

"If it is his wish--if he is in love," said May slowly, "you can do nothing!"

"He is not in love with her," said Lady Dashwood, with a short bitter laugh. "If she speaks to me about it before his return, I--well, I shall 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 Sat.u.r.day?" said May.

Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't come on Sat.u.r.day," 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 a.s.sent, 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 pa.s.sed 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 girl,

"What you tell me puts me in a huge whirl of surprise and excitement.

I suppose I am a very vain mother when I say that I am not one little bit astonished that Dr. Middleton proposes to marry you. But you must not imagine for a moment that I think you were foolish in listening to his offer. For many reasons, a very young pretty girl is safer under the protection and care of a man a good deal older than herself. Dr. Middleton in his prominent position in Oxford would not promise to share his life and his home with you unless he really meant to make you very, very happy, darling. May your future life as mistress of the Lodgings be a veritable day-dream. Tell him how much I long to come; but I can't till Sat.u.r.day as I have promised to help Bee with a concert on Friday; it is an engagement of honour, and you know one must play up trumps. I rush this off to the post. My love, darling,

"Your own

"Mother."

Gwen had found a slip of paper folded in the letter, on which was written in pencil, "Of course you are engaged. Dr. Middleton is pledged to you. Tear up this slip of paper as soon as you have read it, and give my letter to you to the Warden to read. This is all-important. Let me know when you have given it to him."