May bent her head in assent. Neither of them was thinking of the Club. They could hear the Warden close the door behind him. Then Lady Dashwood rose and casting a silent look at May, went out of the room. In the library a fitful sunshine was coming and going from a clouded sky. The curtains were drawn back and there seemed nothing in the room that could have justified even a hysterical girl in imagining a ghost. The Warden had left the door open, for he heard his sister coming up the stairs behind him. Lady Dashwood came in, and she began speaking at once to cover her apprehension of the interview. "A funny sort of a day," she began. "I hope it will keep up for this afternoon." The Warden had gone to one of the windows, and he moved at the sound of her voice. "Mrs. Harding," she said, "has written to ask us to come in to tea, as she's so near. It is convenient, as we shall only have to walk a few steps from our Sale, so I am going to accept by telephone." The Warden came towards her, and taking a little case from his pocket, handed her some notes. "Will you spend that for me at your Sale?" That was not his reason for the interview! Lady Dashwood took the notes and put them into her bag, and then waited a moment. "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 Saturday, 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.