"I can believe that," said May indulgently.
"When I saw that she was making herself ill about it, I took the resolve to speak frankly to Miss Bride. The result was—our pretended engagement."
"Was it your suggestion?" inquired the listener.
"Yes, it came from me," Dyce answered, with half real, half affected, embarrassment. "Of course I felt it to be monstrous impudence, but, as some excuse for me, you must remember that Miss Bride and I have known each other for many years, that we were friends almost in childhood. Perhaps I was rather a coward. Perhaps I ought to have told your aunt the truth, and taken the consequences. But Miss Bride, no less than I, felt afraid of them."
"What consequences?"
"We really feared that, in Lady Ogram's state of health—"
He broke off significantly. May dropped her eyes. The train roared through a station.
"But," said May at length, "I understand that you are to be married in October."
"That is Lady Ogram's wish. Of course it's horribly embarrassing. I needn't say that when our engagement is announced as broken off, I shall manage so that all the fault appears to be on my side. But I am hoping—that Lady Ogram may somehow be brought to change her mind. And I even dare to hope that—you will help us to that end."
"I? How could I, possibly?"