Harry drove to Grosvenor Square through the blinking lightning, and was shown up. Like Geoffrey, Lady Oxted was appalled at that drawn and haggard face; like Geoffrey, too, the question whether Evie had refused him suggested itself to her, but was instantly rejected.
"My dear boy, what is the matter?" she cried. "Have you bad news from Vail?"
Harry took a letter from his pocket, and folded it down so as to leave some ten lines of large, legible hand for her to read.
"Will you read that?" he said, giving it her.
She took it from him, and he sat down in the window.
"... must prepare yourself," it ran, "for a great shock. I saw with such pleasure your intimacy with Miss Aylwin, and I know--I am afraid I know--what you hoped. Harry, dear boy, you must not allow yourself any fond feelings there. She is already engaged, so I heard this morning, from a friend near Santa Margarita, to a young Italian marchese. So make a great effort, and cut her out of your life with a brave and unfaltering hand. She has treated you ..." and the exposed page ended.
Lady Oxted read it through, and tossed it back to Harry.
"There is not a word of truth in it," she said; "though it is true enough that a certain Italian marchese, not very young, fell in love with her last winter, and was refused. I suppose your correspondent has got hold of some muddled version of that."
Harry was white to the lips, but a gleam had returned to his eye.
"Are you sure?" he asked tremulously. "Are you quite sure? I trust very deeply the person who wrote this letter."
"I don't pretend not to guess whom it is from," said Lady Oxted, "but I am quite sure. If you don't believe me, ask Evie herself. Indeed," she added, looking suddenly at him, "I think that would be a most excellent plan, Harry."
Harry got up. There was no mistaking this, and Lady Oxted had not meant that there should be. Only last night she had told her husband that the two had been philandering quite long enough, and announced her intention of pushing Harry over the edge as quickly as possible. Her opportunity had not delayed its coming, and she meant to use it.
"Where is she?" asked Harry, almost in a whisper; "perhaps, perhaps----"
"She has just come in," said Lady Oxted, feeling a violent desire to take Harry by the scruff of the neck and hurl him into Evie's presence; "she is in the drawing-room."