Elsie looks embarrassed, but Lady Clive comes to the rescue.
"We did not mean that you should know, dear," she says, "but I might have guessed that you would never rest until you knew. So I will tell you. It was Philip."
Lady Vera turns from deathly white to rosy red at that magic name.
"But he went away," she says, wonderingly.
"I know—he was down in the country visiting a friend. Last night he came in after you had retired, and he expected to go in the morning before you came down."
"Next to Elsie, I owe him my life," Lady Vera says, softly, as if there were a subtle pleasure in the thought, "and that dreadful woman—is she gone?"
"Marcia Cleveland? No, indeed. She is in the dressing-room, securely bound, and guarded by Philip and Sir Harry."
"I should like to see her," Lady Vera observes, after a moment's thought. "But first, Elsie, I should like my dressing-gown and slippers."
And wrapped in the soft, blue robe, with her splendid, golden hair floating loosely over her shoulders, like a shining veil, Lady Vera enters the presence of her enemy, closely followed by Lady Clive and Elsie, who guard her with nervous care on either side.
Marcia Cleveland, crouching like a baffled tigress, in the bonds they have cast around her, lifts her eyes and glowers with deadly rage and hate at the beautiful young girl.