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Mrs. Blunt declared that she would be offended if they thought of going before Calder came. Agatha rose in despair: the confession must be put off. She held out her hand to her hostess. At this moment the door-bell rang.

“That’s him,” said Victor.

“Sit down again for a minute, dear,” urged Mrs. Blunt.

There was renewed hope for the confession. Agatha sat down. But hardly had she done so before the strangest presentiment came over her. She heard the door below open and shut, and it was borne in upon her mind that two men had entered. How she guessed it, she could not tell, but, as she sat there, she had no doubt at all that Charlie Merceron had come with Calder Went worth. Escape was impossible, but she walked across to the window and stood there, with her back to the door.

“Mr. Wentworth!” she heard, and then, cutting the servant short, came Calder’s voice.

“I took the liberty—” he began: and she did not know how he went on, for her head was swimming.

“Agatha! Agatha, dear!” called Mrs. Blunt.

Perforce she turned, passing her hand quickly across her brow. Yes! It was so. There he stood by Calder’s side, and Calder was saying, “My dear Agatha, this is Charlie Merceron.”

She would not look at Charlie. She moved slowly forward, her eyes fixed on Calder, and bowed with a little set smile. Luckily people pay slight attention to one another’s expressions on social occasions, or they must all have noticed her agitation. As it was, only Calder Wentworth looked curiously at her before he turned aside to shake hands with Uncle Van.

Then she felt Charlie Merceron coining nearer, and, a second later, she heard his voice.

“Is it possible that it’s you?” he asked, in a low tone.

Then she looked at him. His face was pale and his eyes eagerly straining to read what might be in hers.

“Hush!” she whispered. “Yes. Hush! hush!”

“But–but he told me your name was Glyn?”

“Yes.”

“And he says you’re engaged to him.”

Agatha clasped her hands, and Calder’s voice broke in, between them: “Come along, Merceron, we’re waiting for you.”

“They’ve got into antiquities already,” smiled Mrs. Blunt. “You must come again, Mr. Merceron, and meet Miss Glyn. Mustn’t he, Agatha?”

Agatha threw one glance at him.

“If he will,” she said.

Charlie pulled himself together, muttered something appropriate, and shuffled out tinder his uncle’s wing. Mr. Vansittart was surprised to find him a trifle confused and awkward in society.

Outside the house, Charlie ranged up beside Calder “Wentworth, leaving Uncle Van and Sutton together.

“Well, what do you think of her?” asked Calder.

Charlie gave no opinion. He asked just one question:

“How long have you been engaged to her?”

“How long? Oh, let’s see. About–yes, just about a year. I never knew that there was a sort of connection between you and her–sort of relationship, you know. I ain’t strong on the Peerage.”

“A sort of connection!” There was that in more senses than the one Calder had been told of by Uncle Van. There was a connection that poor Charlie thought Heaven itself had tied on those summer evenings by the Pool, which to strengthen and confirm forever he had sallied from his home, like a knight in search of his mistress the world over in olden days. And he found her–such as this girl must be! Stay! He did not know all yet. Perhaps she had been forced into a bond she hated. He knew that happened. Did not stories tell of it, and moralists declaim against it? This man–this creature, Calder Wentworth–was buying her with his money, forcing himself on her, brutally capturing her. Of course! How could he have doubted her? Charlie dropped Calder’s arm as though it had been made of red-hot iron.

“Hullo!” exclaimed that worthy fellow, unconscious of offence.

Charlie stopped short. “I can’t come,” he said. “I–I’ve remembered an engagement;” and without more he turned away and shot out of sight round the nearest corner.