After church, she went straight home and to her room. No “little chat” with Miss Frisk today. Within minutes-he hadn’t even taken the others back up the hill, but had come to her directly from the church-there was a knock at her door. She had scarcely taken off her hat and hung up her pelisse. She assumed it would be Miss Frisk, big with the news that Lord deVigne awaited her belowstairs, but she was wrong. It was deVigne himself standing there, hat in hand, filling the small door frame with his size. “May I come in?” he asked.

“I’m not allowed gentlemen callers in my rooms,” she told him. “We can go downstairs.”

“I have spoken to Miss Frisk,” he replied and, bending his head, stepped in.

“Oh-in that case…” It was unnecessary to extend any invitation. He was already inside, glancing around her apartment.

Never had her little rooms looked so bleak as they did today, as she imagined how they must appear to one accustomed to elegance. The shabby, threadbare rug, where dim outlines of flowers were all that remained of a once lively pattern, her homemade curtains and cushions, their unfaded yellow and blue stripes only strengthening the age of the rest, the worn settee to which she must lead him-all spoke of poverty and meager living. A vase of wilting flowers, weeds really, sat forlornly on the sofa table, and if he glanced through to her kitchen, he would see the breakfast dishes unwashed on the counter, for on Sundays she slept in and cleaned up after church.

“Pray be seated, milord,” she invited, in the lofty tones of a duchess.

He sat on the settee, while she took up the one chair beside it. “You know why I am here?” he began at once.

“I heard the announcement in church. Mr. Grayshott is ill-worse, I presume.”

“Dying. He has caught pneumonia. There is no hope of a recovery. I have come to repeat my request of a few weeks ago. Will you marry him now?”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right. I can’t marry a dying man.”

“Your excuse-reason-on the last occasion I spoke to you on the matter was that I could not guarantee his death, I can now guarantee it, absolutely.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“It was your meaning. You said you couldn’t marry him because he might recuperate. He is now beyond hope of it. All the advantages I outlined to you at that time still exist. You would be removed from this-place,” he said, with a flutter of shapely hands, substituting a milder term than the word “hovel,” which had first occurred to him. “You would no longer be required to work so hard for your living. For a few days spent as Mr. Grayshott’s wife, you would achieve independence.”

“It’s not right. Marriage is a sacrament. You should love the person. I can’t marry for those reasons you give-for self-advancement.”

“Marriage is also a legal contract. Think of it in that context. You would agree to take on the care of Roberta in exchange for a home and some security. It is a better position than the one you now hold.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head in confusion, for, while she felt bound to object, there had sprung up, back in the church, a strong regret that she had first refused. “How would it look to the villagers? I marry him one day, and two days later he is dead.”

“You will have no trouble with the villagers. When you are seen to be under my family’s protection, on intimate terms with us, they will not bother you. There will be a little unavoidable gossip, of course, but these things blow over quickly.”

“On intimate terms with us.” It was the most forceful argument he could have used. Her whole being longed to accept, but conscience held out. It wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right to do such a monstrous thing as marry Mr. Grayshott. She tried, in a disjointed way, to put these thoughts into words. He nodded, but impatiently, frowning.

“Yes, yes, I understand your scruples. It is not the marriage any young lady would dream of, certainly, but still, it would be no bad thing for you. You needn’t consider it as selling yourself, as you mentioned previously, the other time I spoke to you. It would be a job-you would have charge of Roberta, you would be working still, in a way. She needs a mother. That poor child has been badly neglected. She needs the care of a conscientious woman like yourself, someone to take a real and lasting interest in her welfare. She is scarcely ever allowed to come to us. She was with us today only because her father is so ill. It would be an act of charity on your part, certainly not taking advantage of anyone. No one loses anything by your accepting. Even Clancy Grayshott will be happy enough to have the girl off his hands. He only takes her to keep her from me. He will not be sorry to see her placed with an objective third party like yourself. Roberta gains a mother, you a good position in life, and you will be saving me a long and costly court battle.” He spoke quickly, urgently, and convincingly, but still she was not quite talked over.

“I must have a little time to think, to consider it. I am sure there is something wrong with it. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Time is what we do not have. Andrew is dying. While we sit here talking, he might be drawing his last breath.” He leaned forward from the settee, looking with those commanding eyes at her, pinning her to her chair, and his voice increased in pace, in urgency.

“Think of yourself! Such a chance as this is not likely to come to you again, Miss Sommers. You live alone, and lonely I should think, in this crabbed little room. What company can there possibly be for a woman like you in this village? Whom do you see nights? The fishermen and their wives? What do you do for entertainment, relaxation? You are an educated, cultured lady, one prepared for better than this menial existence you lead. Your short life is being squandered away in this place. Come to us, to your own sort of people, and lead a normal life. There are times when we must act with promptness and decision. This is one of those times for you, Miss Sommers. Come with me now, or I think you will regret it all the rest of your life.”

How had he known so accurately the points of her life to mention? She knew she would regret refusing. She swallowed and looked at him, uncertain, wavering.

“Come, there isn’t a moment to spare,” he said urgently, as he arose.

“Well, I’ll come, then,” she said, and she too got up, in a sort of trance, carried along by his words, his authoritative voice, by his very presence-the lord of the village. I still don’t have to marry him, she thought to herself. I can think about it while we drive to Grayshott’s house. If I change my mind, they can’t make me marry him.

“Get your things together,” he said.

“Oh-it will take a while. Can you come back later?”

“I’ll wait. Where are your bags?”

She had only one, stored under her bed. She went into the bedroom and whisked her garments from closet and bureau in five minutes. Made a quick trip into the tiny parlor to pick up a few oddments, books, really nothing to show for her life’s work, and was ready to go in ten minutes.

“I’ll take your case.” He picked up her bag, a large, square straw case, as easily as though it were empty, and very strange it looked, to see Lord deVigne carrying such a shabby article.

“I’d better say good-bye to Miss Frisk,” she said.

“There will be plenty of time for that later. You can come back and call on her. Do you owe her any money?”

“No, I have paid for the month in advance.” Just paid for December as well, but perhaps I’ll be back, she added to herself.

At the door, he beckoned towards his carriage. A footboy sprinted forward and took her case. “See Miss Sommers to the carriage. I’ll be with you directly,” he added to Delsie, then stepped back inside the house. In less than two minutes, he joined her in the carriage.

“I explained to Miss Frisk,” he said briefly.

“Explained in two minutes!” she objected.

“It would have taken a lady ten, which is why I chose to do it myself. I told her you would be calling on her soon.”

“You take a great deal on yourself, milord!” That he had commandeered her life was atrocious, but it was this straw of his arrogance that broke her temper. He would explain to Miss Frisk. He would decide that she would call soon.

“Forgive me,” he said, with no trace of penance. “These are exceptional circumstances. You will not always find me so overbearing.”

He placed a fur rug over her knees, and the horses bolted forward. It was an exhilarating experience, being inside, a carriage, for once. To see others staring in at her, their eyes widening as they recognized her. She could almost read their lips. “It’s Miss Sommers, the schoolteacher!”

“We’ll go directly to the Cottage,” he told her. “That’s what we call Mr. Grayshott’s place. The wedding will have to take place immediately, while he’s still conscious.”

“No-not so soon! I wanted time to consider it.”

“You have had a month in which to consider it, ma’am. Did you not regret your former decision? Tell me truthfully now, as you plodded to school in the early morning, or lay in your bed at night, did you not feel you had been overly hasty? Under this new circumstance of Andrew’s imminent death, are you not agreeable to marry him?”

Was the man a mind reader? She looked at him, much struck at his percipience. But when she spoke, she uttered an irrelevance. “How did the rest of the family get home? Surely you didn’t leave them at Questnow?”

“No, Sir Harold brought his coach today as well. I knew mine would be required to bring you and your effects to us.”

“You knew that, did you?” she asked ironically.

“Hoped,” he modified, with no more shame when it was needed than humility at his former arrogance.