Lashmar had turned very pale. He looked at his partner in the dilemma.
"Constance," fell from his lips, "will you marry me?"
There came an answer which he could just hear, but which was inaudible to Lady Ogram.
"Speak, girl! Yes or no!" croaked their tormentor.
"She has consented," said Dyce.
"Then be off and get the license! Don't lose a minute. I suppose you'll have to go to London for it?—Constance, give me your arm. I must excuse myself to my guests."
Constance bent to her, and Lady Ogram, clutching at the offered arm, endeavoured to rise. It was in vain; she had not the strength to stand.
"Mr. Lashmar!" She spoke in a thick mumble, staring with wild eyes. "Come—other side—"
She was drooping, falling. Lashmar had only just time to catch and support her.
"What is it?" he asked, staring at Constance as he supported the helpless form. "Has she fainted?"