Miss Chressham brought herself to address Rose's wife.
"Your maid came to me," she said, with pallid lips, "and informed me of this visit. She is below now, waiting for you, my lady."
The Countess Lavinia laughed.
"What manner of woman do you think I am, madam?" she cried. "You do not know me."
"I did not think of you at all, madam," answered Miss Chressham quietly, "for, as you say, I do not know you; but Captain Lyndwood I do know, and to him have I come to appeal."
He stood unnaturally still, with slightly parted lips and averted eyes. The lace falling round the hand he rested on the spinet shook noticeably.
The Countess, braced by hatred of the other woman, inspired by the fury of this interference, stepped into the centre of the room, a slender, almost childish figure in the clinging white dress.
"Will you begone, madam?" she said thickly. "This is no affair of yours."
"No affair of mine, madam?" answered Miss Chressham proudly. "I, my lady, am of the house of Lyndwood."
"And I am not," cried the Countess; "but a tradesman's daughter."