Doris hesitated, then she raised her eyes, and with the happy feeling of one applying the scourge, in the name of Justice, she said with careful mildness:—
"I hope you will forgive me for telling you—but I feel as if I oughtn't to keep back anything—Mr. Dunstable said to me: 'My mother might have prevented it—but—she was never interested in me.'"
Another indignant exclamation from Lady Dunstable. Doris hurried on. "Only this is the important point! At last I got his promise, and I got it in writing. I have it here."
Dead silence. Doris opened her little handbag, took out a letter, in an open envelope, and handed it to Lady Dunstable, who at first seemed as if she were going to refuse it. However, after a moment's hesitation, she lifted her long-handled eyeglass and read it. It ran as follows:
DEAR MRS. MEADOWS,—I do not know whether I ought to do what you ask
me. But you have asked me very kindly—you have really been awfully
good to me, in taking so much trouble. I know I'm a stupid
fool—they always told me so at home. But I don't want to do
anything mean, or to go back on a woman who once did me a good turn;
with whom also once—for I may as well be quite honest about it—I
thought I was in love. However, I see there is something in what you
say, and I will wait a week before marrying Miss Flink. But if you
tell my people—I suppose you will—don't let them imagine they can
break it off—except for that one reason. And I shan't lift a
finger to break it off. I shall make no inquiries—I shall go on
with the lawyers, and all that. My present intention is to marry
Miss Flink—on the terms I have stated—in a week's time. If you do
see my people—especially my father—tell them I'm awfully sorry to
be such a nuisance to them. I got myself into the mess without
meaning it, and now there's really only one way out. Thank you
again.
Yours gratefully,
HERBERT DUNSTABLE.
Lady Dunstable crushed the letter in her hand. All pretence of incredulity was gone. She began to walk stormily up and down. Doris sank back in her chair, watching her, conscious of the most strangely mingled feelings, a touch of womanish triumph indeed, a pleasing sense of retribution, but, welling up through it, something profound and tender. If he should ever write such a letter to a stranger, while his mother was alive!
Lady Dunstable stopped.
"What chance is there of saving my son?" she said, peremptorily. "You will, of course, tell us all you know. Lord Dunstable must go to town at once." She touched an electric bell beside her.
"Oh no!" cried Doris, springing up. "He mustn't go, please, until we have some more information. Miss Wigram is coming—this afternoon."
Rachel Dunstable stood stupefied—with her hand on the bell.