“

We seem to be just in time, Mr. Hurd,” Wilhelmina said. “Do you mind coming back for a moment into your study? Mr. Macheson and I have something to say to you.”

He glanced at his watch. He was wholly unable to conceal his annoyance at their appearance.

“I am afraid,” he said, with strained civility, “that I can only spare a couple of minutes.”

“You are going to town?” she asked, as he reluctantly followed her.

“Yes!” he answered. “Mr. White wished to see me early to-morrow morning about the new leases, and I have to go before the committee about this Loughborough water scheme.”

“These are my affairs,” she said, “so if you should miss your train, the responsibility will be mine.”

“I can spare five minutes,” he answered, “but I cannot miss that train. I have some private engagements. And, madam,” he continued, struggling with his anger, “I beg that you will not forget that even if I am in your employ, this is my house, and I will not have that man in it!”

He pointed to Macheson, who was standing upon the threshold. Wilhelmina stood between the two.

“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “please control yourself. There is no reason why we should any of us quarrel. Mr. Macheson and I are here to speak to you of a matter in which he has become concerned. I asked him to come here with me. We have come to see you about Letty!”

“What about her?” he demanded, with some attempt at bravado.

“We find that there is an impression in the village that Mr. Macheson is responsible for her disappearance.”

Hurd seized his opportunity without a second’s hesitation.

“How do you know that it isn’t the truth?” he demanded. “He wouldn’t be the first of these psalm-singing missioners who have turned out to be hypocrites!”

Macheson never flinched. Wilhelmina only shrugged her shoulders.

“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “we will not waste time. Mr. Macheson and I are both perfectly aware that you are responsible for Letty’s disappearance.”

“It’s—it’s false!” he declared, swallowing with an effort a more obnoxious word. “Why, I haven’t left the village since the day she went away.”

“But you are going—to-night,” Wilhelmina remarked.

He flushed.

“I’m going away on business,” he answered. “I don’t see why it should be taken for granted that I’m going to see her.”

“Nevertheless,” Wilhelmina said quietly, “between us three there isn’t the slightest doubt about it. I tell you frankly that the details of your private life in an ordinary way do not interest me in the least. But, on the other hand, I will not have you playing the Don Juan amongst the daughters of my tenants. You have been very foolish and you will have to pay for it. I do not wish to make you lose your train to-night, but you must understand that if you ever return to Thorpe, you must bring back Letty Foulton as your wife.”

He stared at her incredulously.

“As my—wife!” he exclaimed.

“Precisely,” Wilhelmina answered. “I will give her a wedding present of a thousand pounds, and I will see that your own position here is made a permanent one.”

He had the appearance of a man beside himself with anger. Was this to be the end of his schemes and hopes! He, to marry the pretty uneducated daughter of a working farmer—a girl, too, who was his already for the asking. He struggled with a torrent of ugly words.

“I—I must refuse!” he said, denying himself more vigorous terms with an effort.

She looked at him steadily.

“Better think it over, Mr. Hurd,” she said. “I am in earnest.”

He hesitated for a moment, and then, with a glance at the clock, moved towards the door.

“Very well,” he said, “I will think it over. I will let you know immediately I return from London.”

She shook her head.

“You can take as long as you like to reflect,” she answered, “but it must be here in this room. Mr. Macheson and I will wait.”

He turned towards her.

“Miss Thorpe-Hatton,” he said, “will you allow me to speak to you alone for two minutes?”

She shook her head.

“It is not necessary,” she answered. “Mr. Macheson does not count. You can say whatever you will before him.”

A smile that was half a sneer curved his lips. He was like a rat in a corner, and he knew that he must fight. He must use the weapon which he had feared with a coward’s fear.

“The matter on which I wish to speak to you,” he said, looking straight at her, “is not directly connected with the affair which we have been discussing. If you will give me two minutes, I think I can make you understand.”

She met his challenge without flinching. She was a shade paler, perhaps; the little glow which the walk through the enchanted twilight had brought into her cheeks had faded away. But her gaze was as cool and contemptuous as before. She showed no sign of any fear—of any desire to conciliate.

“I think,” she said, “that I can understand without. You can consider that we are alone. Whatever you may have to say to me, I should prefer that Mr. Macheson also heard.”

Macheson looked from one to the other uneasily.

“Shall I wait in the passage?” he asked. “I should be within call.”

“Certainly not,” she answered. “This person,” she continued, indicating Stephen with a scornful gesture, “is, I believe, about to make a bungling attempt to blackmail me! I should much prefer that you were present.”

Stephen Hurd drew a sharp breath. Her words stung like whips.

“I don’t know—about blackmail,” he said, still holding himself in. “I want nothing from you. I only ask to be left alone. Stop this nonsense about Letty Foulton and let me catch my train. That’s all I want.”

Wilhelmina shrugged her shoulders.

“You are a very wearisome person,” she declared. “Did you ever know me to change my mind? Every word I have said to you I absolutely mean. No more, no less!”

One of the veins at his temple was protruding. He was passionately angry.

“You think it wise,” he cried threateningly, “to make an enemy of me!”

She laughed derisively, a laugh as soft as velvet, but to him maddening.

“My dear young man,” she said carelessly, “I think I should prefer you in that capacity. I should probably see less of you.”

He took a quick stride forward. He thrust his face almost into hers. She drew back with a gesture of disgust.

“You,” he cried, striking the table with his clenched fist, “to pretend to care what becomes of any fool of a girl who chooses to take a lover! Is it because you’re in love with this would-be saint here?”

He struck the table again. He was absolutely beside himself with rage. He seemed even to find a physical difficulty in speech. Wilhelmina raised her eyebrows.

“Go on,” she said coolly. “I am curious to hear the rest.”

Macheson suddenly intervened. He stepped between the two.

“This has gone far enough,” he said sternly. “Hurd, you are losing your head. You are saying things you will be sorry for afterwards. And I cannot allow you to speak like this to a woman—in my presence!”

“Let him go on,” Wilhelmina said calmly. “I am beginning to find him interesting.”

Hurd laughed fiercely.

“What!” he cried. “You want to hear of your ‘Apache’ lover, the man you took from the gutters of Paris into——”

Macheson struck him full across the mouth, but Wilhelmina caught at his arm. She had overestimated her courage or her strength—he was only just in time to save her from falling.

“Brute!” she muttered, and the colour fled from her cheeks like breath from a looking-glass.

Macheson laid her on the couch and rang the bell. Suddenly he realized that they were alone. From outside came the sound of wheels. He sprang up listening. Wilhelmina, too, opened her eyes. She waved him away feebly. He smiled back his comprehension.

“The servants are coming,” he said. “I can hear them. I promise you that if he catches the train, I will!”

He vaulted through the window which he had already opened. The sound of wheels had died away, but he set his face at once towards the station, running with long easy strides, and gradually increasing his pace. Stephen Hurd, with his handkerchief to his mouth, and with all his nerves tingling with a sense of fierce excitement, looked behind him continually, but saw nothing. Long before he reached the station he had abandoned all fear of pursuit. Yet during the last half-mile Macheson was never more than a few yards from him, and on St. Pancras platform he was almost the first person he encountered.

“Macheson! By God!”

He almost dropped the coat he was carrying. He looked at Macheson as one might look at a visitor from Mars. It was not possible that this could be the man from whom he had fled. Macheson smiled at him grimly.

“How did—how did you get here?” the young man faltered.

“By the same train as you,” Macheson answered. “How else? Where are you going to meet Letty?”

Hurd answered with a curse.

“Why the devil can’t you mind your own business?” he demanded.

“This is my business,” Macheson answered.

Then he turned abruptly round towards the hesitating figure of the girl who had suddenly paused in her swift approach.

“It is my business to take you home, Letty,” he said. “I have come to fetch you!”

Letty looked appealingly towards Stephen Hurd. What she saw in his face, however, only terrified her.

“Look here,” he said thickly, “I’ve had almost enough of this. You can go to the devil—you and Miss Thorpe-Hatton, too! I won’t allow any one to meddle in my private concerns. Come along, Letty.”

He would have led her away, but Macheson was not to be shaken off. He kept his place by the girl’s side.

“Letty,” he said, “are you married to him?”

“Not yet,” she answered hesitatingly. “But we are going to be.”

“Where are you going to now?”

She glanced towards Stephen.

“I am going to take her away with me,” he declared sullenly, “as soon as I can get my luggage on this cab.”

“Letty,” Macheson said, “a few hours ago Miss Thorpe-Hatton offered Stephen Hurd a dowry for you of a thousand pounds, if he would promise to bring you back as his wife. He refused. He has not the slightest intention of making you his wife. I am sorry to have to speak so plainly, but you see we haven’t much time for beating about the bush, have we? I want you to come with me to Berkeley Square. Mrs. Brown will look after you.”

She turned towards the young man piteously.

“Stephen,” she said, “tell Mr. Macheson that he is mistaken. We are going to be married, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he answered. “At least I always meant to marry you. What I shall do if every one starts bullying me I’m sure I don’t know. Cut the whole lot of you, I think, and be off to the Colonies.”

“You don’t mean that, Stephen,” she begged.

He pointed to the cab laden now with his luggage.

“Will you get in or won’t you, Letty?” he asked.

She shrank back.

“Stephen,” she said, “I thought that you were going to bring mother up with you.”

He laughed hardly.

“Your mother wasn’t ready,” he said. “We can send for her later.”

“Don’t you think, Stephen,” she pleaded, “that it would be nice for me to stay with Mrs. Brown until—until we are married?”

“If you go to Mrs. Brown,” he said gruffly, “you can stay with her. That’s all! I won’t be fooled about any longer. Once and for all, are you coming?”

She took a hesitating step forward, but Macheson led her firmly towards another hansom.

“No!” he answered, “she is not. You know where she will be when you have the marriage license.”

Stephen sprang into his cab with an oath. Even then Letty would have followed him, but Macheson held her arm.

“You stay here, Letty,” he said firmly.

She covered her face with her hands, but she obeyed.