"I may possibly have to go to the Deanery this afternoon," he said, and then he paused too.

"Very well," said Lady Dashwood. They both were painfully aware that this also was not what he wanted to say.

"Please let me have my lunch early, at a quarter to one," he said.

"I have asked Mr. Bingham here to dinner on Sat.u.r.day, he seemed to interest May, and, well, of course, it is not a lively holiday for her just now."

Lady Dashwood's eyes were on him as she spoke. He seemed not to hear. He went up to his desk and turned over some papers, nervously, and he was a man who rarely showed any nervousness in his movements.

Then he suddenly said: "Gwendolen has practically accepted my offer."

And he did not turn round and look at his sister.

It had come! She knew it was coming, and yet it was as keenly painful as if she had been wholly unprepared.

"I can't delay our engagement," he said. "I must speak to her to-day--some time."

Then he moved so as to face his sister, and their eyes met. Misery was plainly visible in hers, in his the fixed determination to ignore that misery.

"May I ask you one question?" she began in a shaky voice.

He made no reply, but waited in silence for the question.

"When did it happen? I've no right to ask, dear, but tell me when did it happen?"

There was a strange look of conflict in his face that he was unable to control. "On Monday, just before dinner," he said, and he took some papers from the desk as if he were about to read them. Then he put them down again and took out his cigar case.

Lady Dashwood walked slowly to the door. When she reached it, she turned.

"No man," she said, still with an unsteady voice, "is bound to carry out a promise made in a reckless moment, against his better judgment, a promise which involves the usefulness of his life. As to Belinda, I suppose I must endure the presence of that woman next week; I must endure it, because I hadn't the sense--the foresight--to prevent her putting a foot in this house."

The Warden's face twitched.

"Am I expecting too much from you, Lena?" he asked.

"Expecting too much!" Lady Dashwood made her way blindly to the door. "I have wrecked your life by sheer stupidity, and I am well punished." At the door she stayed. "Of course, Jim, I shall now back you up, through thick and thin."

She went out and stood for a moment, her head throbbing. She had said all. She had spoken as she had never spoken in her life before, she had said her last word. Now she must be silent and go through with it all unless--unless--something happened--unless some merciful accident happened to prevent it. She went downstairs again and crossed the hall to the door of the breakfast-room. May was still there, holding a newspaper in her hands, apparently reading it.

Lady Dashwood walked straight in, and then said quietly: "They are practically engaged." She saw the paper in May's hand quiver.

"Yes," said May, without moving her paper. "Of course."

Her voice sounded small and hard. Lady Dashwood moved about as if to arrange something, and then stood at the dull little window looking out miserably, seeing nothing.

"I wonder--I hope, you won't be vexed with me. Aunt Lena," began May.

"You won't be angry----"

"I couldn't be angry with you," said Lady Dashwood briefly, "but----"

She did not move, she kept her back to her niece.

"I want you to let me go away rather earlier than Monday," said May, and speaking without looking towards her aunt. "I think I ought to go. The fact is----"

Lady Dashwood turned round and came to her niece. "Do you think I am a selfish woman?" she asked. There was a strange note of purpose in her voice.

May shook her head and tried to smile. She did smile at last.

"Then, May," said Lady Dashwood, "I am going to be selfish now. I ask you to stop till Monday, and help me to get through what I have to get through, even if you stay at some sacrifice to yourself. Jim has decided, so I must support him. That's clear."

May stared hard at the paper that was still in her hand, though she had ceased to read it.

"As you wish, dear aunt," she said, and turned away.

"Thanks," said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice. "I shall be ready to start in a few minutes," she went on, looking at her watch. Then she added bitterly, "I'm not going to talk about it any more, but I must say one thing. When you first shook hands with Jim he was already a pledged man.

He is capable of yearning for the moon, but he has decided to put up with a penny bun;" here she laughed a hard painful laugh. "n.o.body cares but I," she added. "I have said all I can say to him, and I am now going to be silent."

The door of the breakfast-room was slightly open and they could hear the sound of steps outside in the hall, steps they both knew.

The Warden was in the hall. Lady Dashwood listened, and then called out to him: "Jim!" Her voice now raised was a little husky, but quite calm.

They could hear the swish of a gown and the Warden was there, looking at them. He was in his gown and hood, and held his cap in his hand. He was at all times a notable figure, but the long robe added to the dignity of his appearance. His face was very grave.

"May has not seen the cathedral," said Lady Dashwood quietly, as if she had forgotten their interview in the library, "and we shall be close to Christ Church. Our Sale, you know."

"Oh," said May, slowly and doubtfully, and not looking as if she were really concerned in the matter.

"May ought to see the cathedral, Jim," said Lady Dashwood, "so, if you do happen to be going to Christ Church, would you have time to take her over it and make the proper learned observations on it, which I can't do, to save my life?"

The Warden's eyes were now fixed on May. "You would like to see it?" he asked.

"You, May," said Lady Dashwood. It seemed necessary to make it very clear to May that they were both talking about her.

"I?" said May, with her eyes downcast. "Oh, please don't trouble. You mustn't when you're so busy. I can see the cathedral any time. I really like looking at churches--quite alone."

The Warden's blue eyes darkened, but May did not see them, she had raised her paper and was smiling vaguely at the print.

The Warden said, "As you like, Mrs. Dashwood. But I am not too busy to show you anything in Oxford you want to see."

"Thank you," said May, vaguely. "Thanks so much! Some time when you are less busy, I shall ask you to show me something."

The Warden looked at her for a more definite reply. She seemed to be unaware that he was waiting for it, and when she heard the movement of his robes, and his steps and then the hall-door close, she looked round the room and said "Oh!" again vaguely, and then she raised her eyebrows as if surprised.

Lady Dashwood made no remark, she left the room and went into the hall.

The irony of the situation was growing more and more acute, but there was nothing to be done but to keep silence.

Another step was coming down the stairs, steps made by a youthful wearer of high heels. It was Gwendolen.

She looked just a little serious, but otherwise there was no trace on her blooming countenance of last night's tragedy. A little lump on her head was all that remained to prove that she really had been frightened and really and truly had stupidly thought there was something to be frightened of. Gwen constantly put her finger up to feel the lump on her head, and as she did so she thought agreeably of the Warden.

"You see I'm not a bit frightened," she said, and her cheeks dimpled.