Our Friend the Charlatan

by

George Gissing

CHAPTER I

As he waited for his breakfast, never served to time, Mr. Lashmardrummed upon the window-pane, and seemed to watch a blackbird lunchingwith much gusto about the moist lawn of Alverholme Vicarage. But hisgaze was absent and worried. The countenance of the reverend gentlemanrarely wore any other expression, for he took to heart all humanmiseries and follies, and lived in a ceaseless mild indignation againstthe tenor of the age. Inwardly, Mr. Lashmar was at this moment ratherpleased, having come upon an article in his weekly paper which reviewedin a very depressing strain the present aspect of English life. He feltthat he might have, and ought to have, written the article himself aloss of opportunity which gave new matter for discontent. 

The Rev. Philip was in his sixty-seventh year; a thin, dry, round-shouldered man, with bald occiput, straggling yellowish beard, and a face which recalled that of Darwin. The resemblance pleased him. Privately he accepted the theory of organic evolution, reconciling itwith a very broad Anglicanism; in his public utterances he touched uponthe Darwinian doctrine with a weary disdain. This contradictioninvolved no insincerity; Mr. Lashmar merely held in contempt the commonunderstanding, and declined to expose an esoteric truth to vulgarmisinterpretation. Yet he often worried about it--as he worried overeverything. 

Nearer causes of disquiet were not lacking to him. For several yearsthe income of his living had steadily decreased; his glebe, upon whichhe chiefly depended, fell more and more under the influence ofagricultural depression, and at present he found himself, if notseriously embarrassed, likely to be so in a very short time. He was nota good economist; he despised everything in the nature of parsimony;his ideal of the clerical life demanded a liberal expenditure of moneyno less than unsparing personal toil. He had generously exhausted thegreater part of a small private fortune; from that source thereremained to him only about a hundred pounds a year. His charities mustneeds be restricted; his parish outlay must be pinched; domestic lifemust proceed on a narrower basis. And all this was to Mr. Lashmarsupremely distasteful. 

Not less so to Mr. Lashmar's wife, a lady ten years his junior, endowedwith abundant energies in every direction save that of household orderand thrift. Whilst the vicar stood waiting for breakfast, tappingdrearily on the window-pane, Mrs. Lashmar entered the room, and hervoice sounded the deep, resonant note which announced a familiarmorning mood. 

"You don't mean to say that breakfast isn't ready! Surely, my dear, youcould ring the bell?"

"I have done so, " replied the vicar, in a tone of melancholyabstraction. 

Mrs. Lashmar rang with emphasis, and for the next five minutes hercontralto swelled through the vicarage, rendering inaudible the repliesshe kept demanding from a half rebellious, half intimidated servant. She was not personally a coarse woman, and her manners did not grosslyoffend against the convention of good-breeding; but her nature wasself-assertive. She could not brook a semblance of disregard for herauthority, yet, like women in general, had no idea of how to rule. Thesmall, round face had once been pretty; now, with its prominent eyes, in-drawn lips, and obscured chin, it inspired no sympathetic emotion, rather an uneasiness and an inclination for retreat. In good humour orin ill, Mrs. Lashmar was aggressive. Her smile conveyed an amiabledefiance; her look of grave interest alarmed and subdued. 

"I have a line from Dyce, " remarked the vicar, as at length he appliedhimself to his lukewarm egg and very hard toast. "He thinks of runningdown. "

"When?"

"He doesn't say. "

"Then why did he write? I've no patience with those vague projects. Whydid he write until he had decided on the day?"

"Really, I don't know, " answered Mr. Lashmar, feebly. His wife, in thismood, had a dazing effect upon him. 

"Let me see the letter. "

Mrs. Lashmar perused the half-dozen lines in her son's handwriting. 

"Why, he _does_ say!" she exclaimed in her deepest and most disdainfulchord. "He says 'before long. '"

"True. But I hardly think that conveys--"

"Oh, please don't begin a sophistical argument He says when he iscoming, and that's all I want to know here's a letter, I see, from thatsilly Mrs. Barker--her husband has quite given up drink, and earns goodwages, sad the eldest boy has a place--pooh!"

"All very good news, it seems to me, " remarked the vicar, slightlyraising his eyebrows. 

But one of Mrs. Lashmar's little peculiarities was that, though shewould exert herself to any extent for people whose helplesscircumstances utterly subjected them to her authority, she lost allinterest in them as soon as their troubles were surmounted, and evenviewed with resentment that result of her own efforts. Worse still, from her point of view, if the effort had largely been that of thesufferers themselves--as in this case. Mrs. Barker, a washerwoman whohad reformed her sottish husband, was henceforth a mere offence in theeyes of the vicar's wife. 

"As silly a letter as ever I read!" she exclaimed, throwing aside thepoor little sheet of cheap note-paper with its illiterate gratitude. "Oh, here's something from Lady Susan--pooh! Another baby. What do Icare about her babies! Not one word about Dyce--not one word. Now, really!"

"I don't remember what you expected, " remarked the vicar, mildly. 

Mrs. Lashmar paid no heed to him. With a resentful countenance, she hadpushed the letters aside, and was beginning her meal. Amid all theso-called duties which she imposed upon herself--for, in her own way, she bore the burden of the world no less than did the Rev. Philip--Mrs. Lashmar never lost sight of one great preoccupation, the interests ofher son. He, Dyce Lashmar, only child of the house, now twenty-sevenyears old, lived in London, and partly supported himself as a privatetutor. The obscurity of this existence, so painful a contrast to thehopes his parents had nourished, so disappointing an outcome of all thethought that had been given to Dyce's education, and of the notinconsiderable sums spent upon it, fretted Mrs. Lashmar to the soul; attimes she turned in anger against the young man himself, accusing himof ungrateful supineness, but more often eased her injured feelings byaccusation of all such persons as, by any possibility, might have aidedDyce to a career. One of these was Lady Susan Harrop, a very remoterelative of hers. Twice or thrice a year, for half-a-dozen years atleast, Mrs. Lashmar had urged upon Lady Susan the claims of her son tosocial countenance and more practical forms of advancement; hithertowith no result--save, indeed, that Dyce dined once every season at theHarrops' table. The subject was painful to Mr. Lashmar also, but itaffected him in a different way, and he had long ceased to speak of it. 

"That selfish, frivolous woman!" sounded presently from behind thecoffee-service, not now in accents of wrath, but as the deliberateutterance of cold judgment. "Never in all her life has she thought ofanyone but herself. What right has such a being to bring children intothe world? What can be expected of them but meanness and hypocrisy?"

Mr. Lashmar smiled. He had just broken an imperfect tooth upon a pieceof toast, and, as usual when irritated, his temper became ironic. 

"Sweet are the uses of disappointment, " he observed. "How it clearsone's vision!"

"Do you suppose I ever had any better opinion of Lady Susan?" exclaimedhis wife. 

It was a principle of Mr. Lashmar's never to argue with a woman. Sadlysmiling, he rose from the table. 

"Here's an article you ought to read, " he said, holding out the weeklypaper. "It's fall of truth, well expressed. It may even have somebearing on this question. "

The vicar went about his long day's work, and took with him many uneasyreflections. He bad not thought of it before breakfast, but now itstruck him that much in that pungent article on the men of to-day mightperchance apply to the character and conduct of his own son. "A habitof facile enthusiasm, not perhaps altogether insincere, but totallywithout moral value . . . Convictions assumed at will, as a matter offashion, or else of singularity . . . The lack of stable purpose, saveonly in matters of gross self-interest . . . An increasing tendency toverbose expression . . . An all but utter lack of what old-fashionedpeople still call principle. . . . " these phrases recurred to hismemory, with disagreeable significance. Was that in truth a picture ofhis son, of the boy whom he had loved and watched over and so zealouslyhoped for? Possibly he wronged Dyce, for the young man's mind and hearthad long ceased to be clearly legible to him. "Worst, perhaps, of allthese frequent traits is the affectation of--to use a sillyword--altruism. The most radically selfish of men seem capable ofpersuading themselves into the belief that their prime motive is to'live for others. ' Of truly persuading themselves--that is the strangething. This, it seems to us, is morally far worse than the unconscioushypocrisy which here and there exists in professors of the oldreligion; there is something more nauseous about self-deceiving'altruism' than in the attitude of a man who, thoroughly worldly infact, believes himself a hopeful candidate for personal salvation. "Certain recent letters of Dyce appeared in a new light when seen fromthis point of view. It was too disagreeable a subject; the vicar stroveto dismiss it from his mind. 

In the afternoon, he had to visit a dying man, an intelligentshopkeeper, who, while accepting the visit as a proof of kindness, altogether refused spiritual comfort, and would speak of nothing butthe future of his children. Straightway Mr. Lashmar became thepractical consoler, lavish of kindly forethought. Only when he cameforth did he ask himself whether he could possibly fulfil half of whathe had undertaken. 

"It is easier, " he reflected, "to make promises for the world to come. Is it not also better? After all, can I not do it with a clearerconscience?"

He walked slowly, worrying about this and fifty other things, feeling avery Atlas under the globe's oppression. Rig way took him across afield in which there was a newly bourgeoned copse; he remembered that, last spring, he had found white violets about the roots of the trees. Adesire for their beauty and odour possessed him; he turned across thegrass. Presently a perfume guided him to a certain mossy corner wherepale sweet florets nestled amid their leaves. He bent over them, andstretched his hand to pluck, but in the same moment checked himself;why should he act the destroyer in this spot of perfect quietness andbeauty?

"Dyce would not care much about them, " was another thought that cameinto his mind. 

He rose from his stooping posture with ache of muscles and creaking ofjoints. Alas for the days when he ran and leapt and knew not pain!Walking slowly away, he worried himself about the brevity of life. 

By a stile he passed into the highroad, at the lower end of the longvillage of Alverholme. He had an appointment with his curate at thechurch school, and, not to be unpunctual, he quickened his pace in thatdirection. At a little distance behind him was a young lady whom he hadnot noticed; she, recognizing the vicar, pursued with light, quickstep, and soon overtook him. 

"How do you do, Mr. Lashmar!"

"Why--Miss Bride!" exclaimed the vicar. "What a long time since we sawyou! Have you just come?"

"I'm on a little holiday. How are you? And how is Mrs. Lashmar?"

Miss Bride had a soberly decisive way of speaking, and an aspect whichcorresponded therewith; her figure was rather short, well-balanced, aptfor brisk movement; she held her head very straight, and regarded theworld with a pair of dark eyes suggestive of anything but a sentimentalnature. Her grey dress, black jacket, and felt hat trimmed with alittle brown ribbon declared the practical woman, who thinks about hercostume only just as much as is needful; her dark-brown hair was coiledin a plait just above the nape, as if neatly and definitely put out ofthe way. She looked neither more nor less than her age, which was eightand twenty. At first sight her features struck one as hard andunsympathetic, though tolerably regular; watching her as she talked orlistened, one became aware of a mobility which gave largeexpressiveness, especially in the region of the eyebrows, which seemedto move with her every thought. Her lips were long, and ordinarilycompressed in the line of conscious self-control. She had a veryshapely neck, the skin white and delicate; her facial complexion wasadmirably pure and of warmish tint. 

"And where are you living, Miss Bride?" asked Mr. Lashmar, regardingher with curiosity. 

"At Hollingford; that is to say, near it. I am secretary to LadyOgram--I don't know whether you ever heard of her?"

"Ogram? I know the name. I am very glad indeed to hear that you havesuch a pleasant position. And your father? It is very long since Iheard from him. "

"He has a curacy at Liverpool, and seems to be all right. My motherdied about two years ago. "

The matter-of-fact tone in which this information was imparted causedMr. Lashmar to glance at the speaker's face. Though very little of anobserver, he was comforted by an assurance that Miss Bride's featureswere less impassive than her words. Indeed, the cold abruptness withwhich she spoke was sufficient proof of feeling roughly subdued. 

Some six years had now elapsed since the girl's father, after actingfor a short time as curate to Mr. Lashmar, accepted a living in anothercounty. The technical term, in this case, was rich in satiric meaning;Mr. Bride's incumbency quickly reduced him to pauperism. At the end ofthe first twelvemonth in his rural benefice the unfortunate cleric madea calculation that he was legally responsible for rather more thantwice the sum of money represented by his stipend and the offertories. The church needed a new roof; the parsonage was barely habitable forlong lack of repairs; the church school lost its teacher throughdefault of salary--and so on. With endless difficulty Mr. Bride escapedfrom his vicarage to freedom and semi-starvation, and deemed himselfvery lucky indeed when at length he regained levitical harbourage. 

These things had his daughter watched with her intent dark eyes;Constance Bride did not feel kindly disposed towards the Church ofEngland as by law established. She had seen her mother sink underpenury and humiliation and all unmerited hardship; she had seen herfather changed from a vigorous, hopeful, kindly man to an embitteredpessimist. As for herself, sound health and a good endowment of brainsenabled her to make a way in the world. Luckily, she was a sole child:her father managed to give her a decent education till she was oldenough to live by teaching. But teaching was not her vocation. Lookinground for possibilities, Constance hit upon the idea of studyingpharmaceutics and becoming a dispenser; wherein, with long, steadyeffort, she at length succeeded. This project had already been shapedwhilst the Brides were at Alverholme; Mrs. Lashmar had since heard ofConstance as employed in the dispensary of a midland hospital. 

"Hollingford?" remarked the vicar, as they walked on. "I think Iremember that you have relatives there. "

"I was born there, and I have an old aunt still living in the town--shekeeps a little baker's shop. "

Mr. Lashmar, though a philosopher, was not used to this bluntness ofrevelation; it gave him a slight shock, evinced in a troublous rollingof the eyes. 

"Ha! yes!--I trust you will dine with us this evening, Miss Bride?"

"Thank you, I can't dine; I want to leave by an early evening train. But I should like to see Mrs. Lashmar, if she is at home. "

"She will be delighted. I must beg you to pardon me for leaving you--anappointment at the schools; but I will get home as soon as possible. Pray excuse me. "

"Why, of course, Mr. Lashmar. I haven't forgotten the way to thevicarage. "

She pursued it, and in a few minutes rang the bell. Mrs. Lashmar was inthe dining-room, busy with a female parishioner whose self-will in thetreatment of infants' maladies had given the vicar's wife a great dealof trouble. 

"It's as plain as blessed daylight, mum, " the woman was exclaiming, "that this medicine don't agree with her. "

"Mrs. Dibbs, " broke in the other severely, "you will allow me to be abetter judge--_what_ is it?"

The housemaid had opened the door to announce Miss Bride. 

"Miss Bride?" echoed the lady in astonishment. "Very well; show herinto the drawing-room. "

The visitor waited for nearly a quarter of an hour. She had placedherself on one of the least comfortable chairs, and sat there in a verystiff attitude, holding her umbrella across her knees. After a rathernervous survey of the room, (it had changed very little in appearancesince her last visit six years ago), she fell into uneasythoughtfulness, now and then looking impatiently towards the door. Whenthe hostess at length appeared, she rose with deliberation, her lipsjust relaxed in a half-smile. 

"So it is really you!" exclaimed Mrs. Lashmar, in a voice of forcedwelcome. "I thought you must have altogether forgotten us. "

"It's the first time I have returned to Alverholme, " replied the other, in a contrasting tone of calmness. 

"And what are you doing? Where are you living? Tell me all aboutyourself. Are you still at the hospital? You did get a place at ahospital, I think? We were told so. "

Mrs. Lashmar's patronage was a little more patronizing than usual, hercondescension one or two degrees more condescending. She had variousreasons for regarding Constance Bride with disapproval, the least ofthem that sense of natural antipathy which was inevitable between twosuch women. In briefest sentences Miss Bride made known that she hadgiven up dispensing two years ago, and was now acting as secretary to abaronet's widow. 

"A baronet's widow?" repeated the hostess, with some emphasis of candidsurprise. "Row did you manage that? Who is she?"

"An old friend of my family, " was the balanced reply. "Lady Ogram, ofRivenoak, near Hollingford. "

"Oh! Indeed! I wasn't aware--"

Mrs. Lashmar thought better of her inclination to be trenchantly rude, and smoothed off into commonplaces. Presently the vicar entered, andfound his wife conversing with the visitor more amiably than he hadexpected. 

"You have seen Miss Bride already, " said Mrs. Lashmar. "I am trying topersuade her to stay over-night with us. Is it really impossible?"

Constance civilly but decidedly declined. Addressing herself to thevicar, she spoke with more ease and friendliness than hitherto;nevertheless, it was obvious that she counted the minutes dictated bydecency for the prolongation of her stay. Once or twice her lookwandered to a certain part of the wall where hung a framedphotograph--a portrait of Dyce Lashmar at the age of one and twenty;she regarded it for an instant with cold fixity, as though itinterested her not at all. Just as she was on the point of rising, there came a sound of wheels on the vicarage drive. 

"Who's that, I wonder?" said Mrs. Lashmar. "Why--surely it isn't--?"

A voice from without had reached her ears; surprise and annoyancedarkened her countenance. 

"It's certainly Dyce, " said the vicar, who for his part, recognized thevoice with pleasure. 

"Impossible! He said he was coming in a week's time. "

Mr. Lashmar would not have cared to correct this statement, and remarkwas rendered superfluous by the opening of the door and the appearanceof Dyce himself. 

"Afraid I'm taking you rather at unawares, " said the young man, in asuave Oxford voice. "Unexpectedly I found myself free--"

His eyes fell upon Constance Bride, and for a moment he was mute; thenhe stepped towards her, and, with an air of peculiar frankness, ofcomrade-like understanding, extended his hand. 

"How do you do, Miss Connie! Delighted to find you here--Mother, gladto see you. " Re touched Mrs. Lashmar's forehead with his lips. "Well, father? Uncommonly pleasant to be at the vicarage again!"

Miss Bride had stood up, and was now advancing towards the hostess. 

"You _must_ go?" said Mrs. Lashmar, with her most agreeable smile. 

"What, going?" exclaimed Dyce. "Why? Are you staying in the village?"

"No. I must catch a train. "

"What train?"

"'The six forty-five. "

"Why, then you have plenty of time! Mother, bid Miss Connie be seated;I haven't had a moment's talk with her; it's absurd. Six forty-five?You needn't leave here for twenty minutes. What a lucky thing that Icame in just now. "

For certain ticks of the clock it was a doubtful matter whether MissBride would depart or remain. Glancing involuntarily at Mrs. Lashmar, she saw the gloom of resentment and hostility hover upon that lady'scountenance, and this proved decisive. 

"I'll have some tea, please, " cried the young man, cheerfully, asConstance with some abruptness resumed her seat. "How is your father, Miss Connie? Well? That's right. And Mrs. Bride?"

"My mother is dead, " replied the girl, quite simply, looking away. 

A soft murmur of pain escaped Dyce's lips; he leaned forward, utteredgently a "Pray forgive me!" and was silent. The vicar interposed with aharmless remark about the flight of years. 

CHAPTER II

In the moments when Dyce Lashmar was neither aware of being observednor consciously occupied with the pressing problems of his ownexistence, his face expressed a natural amiability, inclining topensiveness. The features were in no way remarkable; they missed thevigour of his father's type without attaining the regularity which hadgiven his mother a claim to good looks. Such a visage falls to the lotof numberless men born to keep themselves alive and to propagate theirinsignificance. But Dyce was not insignificant. As soon as hiscountenance lighted with animation, it revealed a character rich invarious possibility, a vital force which, by its bright indefiniteness, made some appeal to the imagination. Often he had the air of a lyricenthusiast; often, that of a profound thinker; not seldom there cameinto his eyes a glint of stern energy which seemed a challenge to theworld. Therewithal, nothing perceptibly histrionic; look or speak as hemight, the young man exhaled an atmosphere of sincerity, and persuadedothers because he seemed so thoroughly to have convinced himself. 

He did not give the impression of high breeding. His Oxford voice, hiseasy self-possession, satisfied the social standard, but left a defectto the finer sense. Dyce had not the self-oblivion of entire courtesy;it seemed probable that he would often err in tact; a certainawkwardness marred his personal bearing, which aimed at the modernideal of flowing unconstraint. 

Sipping the cup of tea which his mother had handed to him, Dyce talkedat large. Nothing, he declared, was equal to the delight of leavingtown just at this moment of the year, when hedge and meadow weredonning their brightest garments and the sky gleamed with its purestblue. He spoke in the tone of rapturous enjoyment, and yet one mighthave felt a doubt whether his sensibility was as keen as he professedor imagined; all the time, he appeared to be thinking of somethingelse. Most of his remarks were addressed to Miss Bride, and with thatmanner of intimate friendliness which he alone of the family usedtowards their visitor. He inquired about the events of her life, andmanifested a strong interest in the facts which Constance brieflyrepeated. 

"Let me walk with you as far as the station, " he said, when the timecame for her departure. 

"Please don't trouble, " Constance replied, with a quick glance at Mrs. Lashmar's face, still resentful under the conventional smile. 

Dyce, without more words, took his hat and accompanied her; the vicarwent with them to the garden gate, courteous but obviously embarrassed. 

"Pray remember me to your father, Miss Bride, " he said. "I should muchlike to hear from him. "

"It's chilly this evening, " remarked Dyce, as he and his companionwalked briskly away. "Are you going far?"

"To Hollingford. "

"But you'll be travelling for two or three hours. What about yourdinner?"

"Oh, I shall eat something when I get home. "

"Women are absurd about food, " exclaimed Dyce, with laughingimpatience. "Most of you systematically starve yourselves, and wonderthat you get all sorts of ailments. Why wouldn't you stay at thevicarage to-night? I'm quite sure it would have made no difference ifyou had got back to Hollingford in the morning. "

"Perhaps not, but I don't care much for staying at other people'shouses. "

Dyce examined his companion's face. She did not meet his look, and boreit with some uneasiness. In the minds of both was a memory which wouldhave accounted for much more constraint between them than apparentlyexisted. Six years ago, in the days of late summer, when Dyce Lashmarwas spending his vacation at the vicarage, and Connie Bride was makingready to go out into the world, they had been wont to see a good dealof each other, and to exhaust the topics of the time in longconversations, tending ever to a closer intimacy of thought andsentiment. The companionship was not very favourably regarded by Mr. Lashmar, and to the vicar's wife was a source of angry apprehension. There came the evening when Dyce and Constance had to bid each othergood-bye, with no near prospect of renewing their talks and ramblestogether. What might be in the girl's thought, she alone knew; theyoung man, effusive in vein of friendship, seemed never to glancebeyond a safe borderline, his emotions satisfied with intellectualcommunion. At the moment of shaking hands, they stood in a field behindthe vicarage; dusk was falling and the spot secluded. --They parted, Constance in a bewilderment which was to last many a day; for Dyce hadkissed her, and without a word was gone. 

There followed no exchange of letters. From that hour to this the twohad in no way communicated. Mr. Bride, somewhat offended by what he hadseen and surmised of Mr. And Mrs. Lashmar's disposition, held nocorrespondence with the vicar of Alverholme; his wife had never been onfriendly terms with Mrs. Lashmar. How Dyce thought of that singularincident it was impossible to infer from his demeanour; Constance mightwell have supposed that he had forgotten all about it. 

"Is your work interesting?" were his next words. "What does Lady Ogramgo in for?"

"Many things. "

"You prefer it to the other work?"

"It isn't so hard, and it's much more profitable. "

"By the bye, who is Lady Ogram?" asked Dyce, with a smiling glance. 

"A remarkable old lady. Her husband died ten years ago; she has nochildren, and is very rich. I shouldn't think there's a worse-temperedperson living, yet she has all sorts of good qualities. By birth, shebelongs to the working class; by disposition she's a violentaristocrat. I often hate her; at other times, I like her very much. "

Dyce listened with increasing attention. 

"Has she any views?" he inquired. 

"Oh, plenty!" Constance answered, with a dry little laugh. 

"About social questions--that kind of thing?"

"Especially. "

"I shouldn't be surprised if she called herself a socialist. "

"That's just what she does--when she thinks it will annoy people shedislikes. "

Dyce smiled meditatively. 

"I should like to know her. Yes, I should very much like to know her. Could you manage it for me?"

Constance did not reply. She was comparing the Dyce Lashmar of to-daywith him of the past, and trying to understand the change that had comeabout in his talk, his manner. It would have helped her had she knownthat, in the ripe experience of his seven and twentieth year, Dyce hadarrived at certain conclusions with regard to women, and thereupon hadbased a method of practical behaviour towards them. Women, he held, hadnever been treated with elementary justice. To worship them was no lessunfair than to hold them in contempt. The honest man, in our day, should regard a woman without the least bias of sexual prejudice;should view her simply as a fellow-being, who, according tocircumstances, might or not be on his own plane. Away with all emptyshow and form, those relics of barbarism known as chivalry! He wishedto discontinue even the habit of hat-doffing in female presence. Wasnot civility preserved between man and man without such idle form? Whynot, then, between man and woman? Unable, as yet, to go the entirelength of his principles in every-day life, he endeavoured, at allevents, to cultivate in his intercourse with women a frankness ofspeech, a directness of bearing, beyond the usual. He shook hands aswith one of his own sex, spine uncrooked; he greeted them with levelvoice, not as one who addresses a thing afraid of sound. To a girl ormatron whom he liked, he said, in tone if not in phrase, "Let us becomrades. " In his opinion this tended notably to the purifying of thesocial atmosphere. It was the introduction of simple honesty intorelations commonly marked--and corrupted--by every form ofdisingenuousness. Moreover, it was the great first step to thatreconstruction of society at large which every thinker saw to beimperative and imminent. 

But Constance Bride knew nothing of this, and in her ignorance couldnot but misinterpret the young man's demeanor. She felt it to bebrusque; she imagined it to imply a purposed oblivion of things in thepast. Taken together with Mrs. Lashmar's way of receiving her at thevicarage, it stirred in her heart and mind (already prone tobitterness) a resentment which, of all things, she shrank frombetraying. 

"Is Lady Ogram approachable?" Dyce asked, when his companion had walkeda few paces without speaking. "Does she care to make new acquaintances?"

"It depends. She likes to know interesting people. "

"Well"--Dyce murmured a laugh--"perhaps she might think me interesting, in a way. Her subject is mine. I'm working at sociology; have been fora long time. I'm getting my ideas into shape, and I like to talk aboutthem. "

"Do you write?" asked the girl, without raising her eyes to his. 

"No. People write too much; we're flooded with print. I've grown out ofmy old ambitions that way. The Greek philosophers taught by word ofmouth, and it was better. I want to learn how to talk--to talk well--tocommunicate what I have to say in a few plain words. It saves time andmoney; I'm convinced, too, that it carries more weight. Everyonenowadays can write a book, and most people do; but how many can talk?The art is being utterly forgotten. Chatter and gabble and mumble--anabuse of language. What's your view?"

"I think perhaps you are right. "

"Come, now, I'm glad to hear you say that. If I had time, I would tellyou more; but here's the station, and there's the smoke of the train. We've cut it rather close. Across the line; you'll have to run--sharp!"

They did so, reaching the platform as the train drew up. Dyce allowedhis companion to open a carriage-door for herself. That was quite inaccord with his principles, but perhaps he would for once haveneglected them had he been sure by which class Miss Bride would travel. She entered the third. 

"You wouldn't care to introduce me to Lady Ogram?" he said, standing bythe window, and looking straight into the girl's eyes. 

"I will if you wish, " she answered, meeting his look with hardsteadiness and a frown as of pain. 

"Many thanks! Rivenoak, Hollingford, the address? Suppose I call in afew days?"

"If you like. "

The train moved. Dyce bared his head, and, as he turned away, thoughthow contemptible was the practice. 

Walking briskly against a cold wind, he busied his imagination aboutLady Ogram. The picture he made to himself of this wealthy and originalold lady was very fertile of suggestion; his sanguine temper bore himto heights of brilliant possibility. Dyce Lashmar had a genius for airyconstruction; much of his time was spent in deducing imaginary resultsfrom some half presented opportunity. As his fancy wrought, he walkedfaster and faster, and he reached the vicarage in a physical glow whichcorresponded to his scintillating state of mind. 

Of Constance Bride he thought hardly at all. She did not interest him;her proximity left him cold. She might be a useful instrument; apartfrom his "method, " that was the light in which he regarded all thewomen he knew. Experience had taught him that he possessed a certainpower over women of a certain kind; it seemed probable that Constancebelonged to the class; but this was a fact which had no emotionalbearing. With a moment's idle wonder he remembered the circumstances oftheir former parting. He was then a boy, and who shall account for aboy's momentary impulses? Constance was a practical sort of person, andin all likelihood thought no more of that foolish incident than he did. 

"Why are you so eccentric in your movements, Dyce?" said Mrs. Lashmar, irritably, when he entered the drawing-room again. "You write one daythat you're coming in a week or two, and on the next here you are. Howcould you know that it was convenient to us to have you just now?"

"The Woolstan boy has a cold, " Dyce replied, "and I found myself freefor a few days. I'm sorry to put you out. "

"Not at all. I say that it _might_ have done. "

Dyce's bearing to his mother was decently respectful, but in no wayaffectionate. The knowledge that she counted for little or nothing withhim was an annoyance, rather than a distress, to Mrs. Lashmar. Withtenderness she could dispense, but the loss of authority wounded her. 

Dinner was a rather silent meal. The vicar seemed to be worrying aboutsomething even more than usual. When they had risen from table, Mrs. Lashmar made the remark which was always forthcoming on these occasions. 

"So you are still doing nothing, Dyce?"

"I assure you, I'm very busy, " answered the young man, as one indulgentto an inferior understanding. 

"So you always say. When did you see Lady Susan?"

"Oh, not for a long time. "

"What vexes me is, that you don't make the slightest use of youropportunities. It's really astonishing that, with your talents, youshould be content to go on teaching children their A. B. C. You have noenergy, Dyce, and no ambition. By this time you might have been in thediplomatic service, you might have been in Parliament. Are you going towaste your whole life?"

"That depends on the view one takes of life, " said Dyce, in aphilosophical tone which he sometimes adopted--generally after dinner. "Why should one always be thinking about 'getting on?' It's the vice ofthe time. Why should I elbow and hustle in a vulgar crowd? A friend ofmine, Lord Dymchurch--"

"What! You have made friends with a lord?" cried Mrs. Lashmar, her faceillumined. 

"Why not?--I was going to say that Dymchurch, though he's poor, anddoes nothing at all, is probably about the most distinguished man inthe peerage. He is distinguished by nature, and that's enough for him. You'd like Dymchurch, father. "

The vicar looked up from a fit of black brooding, and said "Ah! nodoubt. " Mrs. Lashmar, learning the circumstances of Lord Dymchurch, took less pride in him, but went on to ask questions. Had his lordshipno interest, which might serve a friend? Could he not present Dyce tomore influential people. 

"I should be ashamed to hint that kind of thing to him, " answered Dyce. "Don't be so impatient, mother. If I am to do anything--in your senseof the word the opportunity will come. If it doesn't, well, fate hasordered it so. "

"All I know is, Dyce, that you might be the coming man, and you'recontent to be nobody at all. "

Dyce laughed. 

"The coming man! Well, perhaps, I _am_; who knows? At all events, it'ssomething to know that you believe in me. And it may be that you arenot the only one. "

Later, Dyce and his father went into the study to smoke. The young manbrought with him a large paperbacked volume which he had taken out ofhis travelling bag. 

"Here's a book I'm reading. A few days ago I happened to be at Williams& Norgates'. This caught my eyes, and a glance at a page or twointerested me so much that I bought it at once. It would please you, father. "

"I've no time for reading nowadays, " sighed the vicar. "What is it?"

He took the volume, a philosophical work by a French writer, bearingrecent date. Mr. Lashmar listlessly turned a few pages, whilst Dyce wasfilling and lighting his pipe. 

"It's uncommonly suggestive, " said Dyce, between puffs. "The bestsocial theory I know. He calls his system Bio-sociology; a theory ofsociety founded on the facts of biology--thoroughly scientific andconvincing. Smashing socialism in the common sense that is, socialdemocracy; but establishing a true socialism in harmony with thearistocratic principle. I'm sure you'd enjoy it. I fancy it's just yourview. "

"Yes--perhaps so--"

"Here's the central idea. No true sociology could be established beforethe facts of biology were known, as the one results from the other. Inboth, the ruling principle is that of association, with the evolutionof a directing power. An animal is an association of cells. Everyassociation implies division of labour. Now, progress in organicdevelopment means the slow constitution of an organ--the brain--whichshall direct the body. So in society--an association of individuals, with slow constitution of a directing organ, called the Government. Theproblem of civilisation is to establish government on scientificprinciples--to pick out the fit for rule--to distinguish between theMultitude and the Select, and at the same time to balance theirworking. It is nonsense to talk about Equality. Evolution is engaged in_cephalising_ the political aggregate--as it did the aggregate of cellsin the animal organism. It makes for the differentiation of the Selectand of the Crowd--that is to say, towards Inequality. "

"Very interesting, " murmured the vicar, who listened with an effortwhilst mechanically loading his pipe. 

"Isn't it? And the ideas are well marked out; first thebio-sociological theory, --then the psychology and ethics which resultfrom it. The book has given me a stronger impulse than anything I'veread for years. It carries conviction with it. It clears one's mind ofall sorts of doubts and hesitations. I always kicked at the democraticidea; now I know that I was right. "

"Ah! Perhaps so. These questions are very difficult--By the bye, Dyce, I want to speak to you about a matter that has been rather troubling meof late. Let us get it over now, shall we?"

Dyce's animated look faded under a shadow of uneasiness. He regardedthe vicar steadily, with eyes which gathered apprehension. 

"It's very disagreeable, " pursued Mr. Lashmar, after puffing a pipeunlit. "I'm afraid it'll be no less so to you than to me. I'vepostponed the necessity as long as I could. The fact is, Dyce, I'mgetting pinched in my finances. Let me tell you just how matters stand. "

The son listened to an exposition of his father's difficulties; he hadhis feet crossed, his head bent, and the pipe hanging from his mouth. At the first silence, he removed his pipe and said quietly:

"It's plain that my allowance must stop. Not another word about that, father. You ought to have spoken before; I've been a burden to you. "

"No, no, my dear boy! I haven't felt it till now. But, as you see, things begin to look awkward. Do you think you can manage?"

"Of course I can. Don't trouble about me for a moment. I have myhundred and fifty a year from Mrs. Woolstan, and that's quite enoughfor a bachelor. I shall pick up something else. In any case, I've noright to sponge on you; I've done it too long. If I had had theslightest suspicion--"

A sense of virtue lit up Dyce's countenance again. Nothing was moreagreeable to him than the uttering of generous sentiments. Havingreassured his father, he launched into a larger optimism. 

"Don't Suppose that I have taken your money year after year withoutthinking about it. I couldn't have gone on like that if I hadn't feltsure that some day I should pay my debt. It's natural enough that youand mother should feel a little disappointed about me, I seem to havedone nothing, but, believe me, I am not idle. Money-making, I admit, has never been much in my mind; all the same, I shall have money enoughone of these days, and before very long. Try to have faith in me. If itwere necessary, I shouldn't mind entering into an obligation to furnishsuch and such a sum yearly by when I am thirty years old. It's a thingI never said to anyone, but I know perfectly well that acareer--perhaps rather a brilliant one--is opening before me. I knowit--just as one knows that one is in good health; it's an intimatesense, needing no support of argument. "

"Of course I'm glad to hear you speak like that, " said the vicar, venturing only a glance at his son's face. 

"Don't, I beg, worry about your affairs, " pursued Dyce, with kindlingeye. "Cut off my supplies, and go quietly on. " He stretched out asoothing hand, palm downwards. "The responsibility for the future ismine; from to-night I take it upon myself. "

Much more in the same vein did Dyce pour forth, obviously believingevery word he said, and deriving great satisfaction from the sound ofhis praises. He went to bed, at length, in such a self-approving frameof mind that no sooner had he laid his head on the pillow than sweetsleep lapped him about, and he knew nothing more till the sunlightshimmered at his window. 

A letter awaited him at the breakfast table; it had been forwarded fromhis London address, and he knew at a glance that it came from Mrs. Woolstan, the mother of his pupil. The lady, dating from a house atWest Hampstead, wrote thus:

"Dear Mr. Lashmar, "You will be surprised to hear from me so soon again. I particularlywant to see you. Something has happened which we must talk over atonce. I shall be alone tomorrow afternoon. Do come if you possibly can. 

"Sincerely yours, "IRIS WOOLSTAN. "

Dyce had come down in a mood less cheerful than that of over-night. Ashappened sometimes, he had slept too soundly; his head was not quiteclear, and his nerves felt rather unsteady. This note from Mrs. Woolstan, he knew not why, caused him uneasiness; a vague prevision ofill was upon him as he read. 

He had intended passing the day at Alverholme, and, on the morrow, travelling to Hollingford. Now he felt no inclination to hazard a callupon Lady Ogram; he would return to London forthwith. 

"No bad news, I hope?" said his father, when this purpose was announced. 

"Mrs. Woolstan wants me back sooner than I expected, that's all. "

His mother's lips curled disdainfully. To be at the beck and call of aMrs. Woolstan, seemed to her an ignoble thing. However, she had learntthe tenor of Dyce's discourse of the evening before, and tried oncemore to see a radiance in his future. 

CHAPTER III

Hair the hue of an autumn elm-leaf; eyes green or blue, as the lightfell upon them; a long, thin face, faintly freckled over its creamypallor, with narrow arch of eyebrow, indifferent nose, childlike lipsand a small, pointed chin;--thus may one suggest the portrait of IrisWoolstan. When Dyce Lashmar stepped into her drawing-room, she had theair of one who has been impatiently expectant. Her eyes widened in asmile of nervous pleasure; she sprang up, and offered her hand beforethe visitor was near enough to take it. 

"So kind of you to come! I was half afraid you might have gone out oftown not that it would have mattered. I did really want to see you assoon as possible, but Monday would have done just as well. "

She spoke rapidly in a high, but not shrill, voice, with a drawing-inof the breath before and after her speech, and a nervous little pantbetween the sentences, her bosom fluttering like that of a frightenedbird. 

"As a matter of fact, " cried Lashmar, with brusque cordiality, droppinginto a chair before his hostess was seated, "I _had_ gone out of town. I got your letter at Alverholme, and came back again sooner than Iintended. "

"Oh! Oh!" panted Mrs. Woolstan, on her highest note, "I shall neverforgive myself! Why _didn't_ you telegraph--or just do nothing at all, and come when you were ready? Oh! When there wasn't the least hurry. "

"Then why did you write as if something alarming had happened?" criedthe other, laughing, as he crossed his legs, and laid his silk hataside. 

"Oh, did I? I'm sure I _didn't_ mean to. There's nothing alarming atall--at least--that is to say--well, it's something troublesome anddisagreeable and very unexpected, and I'm rather afraid you won't likeit. But we've plenty of time to talk about it. I'm at home to nobodyelse--It was really unkind of you to come back in a hurry! Besides, it's against your principles. You wouldn't have done that if I had beena man. "

"A man would have said just what he meant, " replied Dyce, smiling ather with kindly superiority. "He wouldn't have put me in doubt. "

"No, no! But did I really write like that? I thought it was just aplain little business-like note--indeed I did! It will be a lesson tome--indeed it will! And how did you find your people? All well, I hope?"

"Well in one way; in another--but I'll tell you about that presently. "

Dyce had known Mrs. Woolstan for about a couple of years; it was in thesecond twelvemonth of their acquaintance that he matured his methodwith regard to women, and since then he had not only practised itfreely, but had often discussed it, with her. Iris gave the method herentire approval, and hailed it as the beginning of a new era for hersex. She imagined that her own demeanour was no less direct andunconstrained than that of the philosopher himself; in reality, thedifference was considerable. Though several years older than Dyce--herage being thirty-four--she showed nothing of the seniority in hermanner towards him, which, for all its impulsiveness, had a noticeabledeference, at moments something of subdued homage. 

"You don't mean to say you have bad news?" she exclaimed, palpitating. "You, too?"

"Why, then _you_ have something of the same kind to tell me?" saidDyce, gazing at her anxiously. 

"Tell me your's first--please do!"

"No. It's nothing very important. So say what you've got to say, and bequick about it--come!"

Mrs. Woolstan's bosom rose and fell rapidly as she collected herthoughts. Unconventional as were the terms in which Lashmar addressedher, they carried no suggestion of an intimacy which passed the limitsof friendship. When his eyes turned to her, their look was unemotional, purely speculative, and in general spoke without looking at her at all. 

"It's something about Mr. Wrybolt, " Iris began, with a face ofdistress. "You know he is my trustee--I told you, didn't I? I see himvery seldom, and we don't take much interest in each other; he'snothing but a man of business, the kind I detest; he can't talk ofanything but money and shares and wretched things of that sort. But youknow him you understand. "

The name of Wrybolt set before Dyce's mind a middle-aged man, red-necked, heavy of eyelid, with a rather punctilious hearing andauthoritative mode of speech. They had met only once, here at Mrs. Woolstan's house. 

"I'm sure I don't know why, but just lately he's begun to makeinquiries about Len, and to ask when I meant to send him to school. Ofcourse I told him that Len was doing very well indeed, and that Ididn't see the slightest necessity for making a change at all eventsjust yet. Well, yesterday he came, and said he wanted to see the boy. Len was in bed--he's in bed still, though his cold's much better andMr. Wrybolt would go up to his room, and talk to him. When he came downagain, you know I'm going to tell you the whole truth, and of courseyou won't mind it--he began talking in a very nasty way--he _has_ anasty way when he likes. 'Look here, Mrs. Woolstan, ' he said, 'Leonarddoesn't seem to me to be doing well at all. I asked him one or twoquestions in simple arithmetic, and he couldn't answer. ' 'Well, ' Isaid, 'for one thing Len isn't well, and it isn't the right time toexamine a boy; and then arithmetic isn't his subject; he hasn't thatkind of mind. ' But he wouldn't listen, and the next thing he said wasstill nastier. 'Do you know, ' he said, 'that the boy is being taught_atheism_?'--Well, what could I answer? I got rather angry, and saidthat Len's religious teaching was my own affair, and I couldn't seewhat _he_ had to do with it; and besides, that Len _wasn't_ beingtaught atheism, but that people who were not in the habit of thinkingPhilosophically couldn't be expected to understand such things. I thinkthat was rather good, wasn't it? Didn't I put it rather well?"

Iris panted in expectation of approval. But merely a nod was vouchsafedto her. 

"Go on, " said Dyce, drily. 

"You're not vexed, I hope? I'm going to be quite frank, you know, justas you like people to be. Well, Mr. Wrybolt went on, and would have itthat Len was badly taught and altogether led in the wrong way, and thathe'd grow up an immoral and an irreligious man. 'You must remember, Mr. Wrybolt, ' I said, rather severely, 'that people's ideas about moralityand religion differ very much, and I can't think you have sufficientlystudied the subject to be capable of understanding my point ofview'--It was rather severe, wasn't it? But I think it was rather wellput. "

"Go on, " said Dyce, with another nod. 

"Well now, I'm quite sure you'll understand me. We _do_ generallyunderstand each other. You see, I was put into a most difficultposition. Mr. Wrybolt is my trustee, and he has to look afterLen--though he's never given a thought to him till now--and he's a manof influence; that is to say, in his own wretched, vulgar world, butunfortunately it's a kind of influence one's obliged to think about. Len, you know, is just eleven, and one has to begin to think about hisfuture, and it isn't as if he was going to be rich and could do as heliked. I'm sure you'll understand me. With a man like Mr. Wrybolt--"

"Not so many words, " interposed the listener, smiling ratherdisdainfully. "I see the upshot of it all. You promised to send Len toschool. "

Mrs. Woolstan panted and fluttered and regarded Lashmar with eyes ofagitated appeal. 

"If you think I ought to have held out--please say just what youthink--let us be quite frank and comradelike with each other--I canwrite to Mr. Wrybolt. "--

"Tell me plainly, " said Dyce, leaning towards her. "What was yourreason for giving way at once? You really think, don't you, that itwill be better for the boy?"

"Oh, how _could_ I think so, Mr. Lashmar! You _know_ what a highopinion--"

"Exactly. I am quite ready to believe all that. But you will be easierin mind with Len at school, taught in the ordinary way? Now behonest--make an effort. "

"I--perhaps--one has to think of a boy's future--"

The pale face was suffused with rose, and for a moment looked pretty inits half-tearful embarrassment. 

"Good. That's all right. We'll talk no more of it. "

There was a brief silence. Dyce gazed slowly about him. His eyes fellon nothing of particular value, nothing at all unusual in thedrawing-room of a small house of middle-suburb type. There wereautotypes and etchings and photographs; there was good, comfortablefurniture; the piano stood for more than mere ornament, as Mrs. Woolstan had some skill in music. Iris's widowhood was of five years'duration. At two and twenty she had married a government-office clerk, a man nearly twice her age, exasperated by routine and lack ofadvancement; on her part it was a marriage of generosity; she did notlove the man, but was touched by his railing against fate, and fanciedshe might be able to aid his ambitions. Woolstan talked of a possiblesecretaryship under the chief of his department; he imagined himselfgifted for diplomacy, lacking only the chance to become a power instatecraft. But when Iris had given herself and her six hundred a year, she soon remarked a decline in her husband's aspiration. PresentlyWoolstan began to complain of an ailment, the result of arduous labourand of disillusion, which might make it imperative for him to retirefrom the monotonous toil of the Civil Service; before long, he withdrewto a pleasant cottage in Surrey, where he was to lead a studious lifeand compose a great political work. The man had, in fact, an organicdisorder, which proved fatal to him before he could quite decidewhether to write his book on foolscap or on quarto paper. Mrs. Woolstandevoted herself to her child, until, when Leonard was nine, sheentrusted him to a tutor very highly spoken of by friends of hers, ayoung Oxford man, capable not only of instructing the boy in the mostefficient way, but of training whatever force and originality hischaracter might possess. She paid a hundred and fifty pounds a year forthese invaluable services--in itself not a large stipend, but large inproportion to her income. And Iris had never grudged the expenditure, for in Dyce Lashmar she found, not merely a tutor for her son, but adirector of her own mind and conscience. Under Dyce's influence she hadread or tried to read--many instructive books; he had fostered, guided, elevated her native enthusiasm; he had emancipated her soul. These, atall events, were the terms in which Iris herself was wont to describethe results of their friendship, and she was eminently a sincere woman, ever striving to rise above the weakness, the disingenuousness, of hersex. 

"If you knew how it pains me!" she murmured, stealing a glance atLashmar. "But of course it won't make any difference--between us. "

"Oh, I hope not. Why should it?" said Dyce, absently. "Now I'll tellyou something that has happened since I saw you last. "

"Yes--yes--your own news! Oh, I'm afraid it is something bad!"

"Perhaps not. I rather think I'm at a crisis in my life--probably _the_crisis. I shouldn't wonder if these things prove to have happened justat the right time. My news is this. Things are going rather badly downat the vicarage. There's serious diminution of income, which I knewnothing about. And the end of it is, that I mustn't count on any moresupplies; they have no more money to spare for me. You see, I _am_thoroughly independent. "

He laughed; but Mrs. Woolstan gazed at him in dismay. 

"Oh! Oh! How very serious! What a dreadful thing!"

"Pooh! Not at all. That's a very feminine way of talking. "

"I'm afraid it is. I didn't mean to use such expressions. Butreally--what are you going to do?"

"That'll have to be thought about. "

Iris, with fluttering bosom, leaned forward. 

"You'll talk it over with me? You'll treat me as a real friend--justlike a man friend? You know how often you have promised to. "

"I shall certainly ask your advice. "

"Oh! that's kind, that's good of you! We'll talk it over _very_seriously. "

How many hours had they spent in what Iris deemed "serious"conversation? When Dyce stayed to luncheon, as he did about once aweek, the talk was often prolonged to tea-time. Subjects oftranscendent importance were discussed with the most hopeful amplitude. Mrs. Woolstan could not be satisfied with personal culture; herconscience was uneasy about the destinies of mankind; she took toherself the sorrows of the race, and burned with zeal for the greatcauses of civilisation. Vast theories were tossed about between them;they surveyed the universe from the origin to the end of all things. Ofcourse it was Dyce who led the way in speculation; Iris caught ateverything he propounded with breathless fervour and a resoluteliberality of mind, determined to be afraid of no hypothesis. Oh, theafternoons of endless talk! Iris felt that this was indeed to live thehigher life. 

"By the bye, " fell from Lashmar, musingly, "did you ever hear of a LadyOgram?"

"I seem to know the name, " answered Mrs. Woolstan, keenly attentive. "Ogram?--Yes, of course; I have heard Mrs. Toplady speak of her; but Iknow nothing more. Who is she? What about her?"

A maidservant entered with the tea-tray. Dyce lay back in his chair, gazing vacantly, until his hostess offered him a cup of tea. As he bentforward to take it, his eyes for a moment dwelt with unusual intentnesson the face and figure of Iris Woolstan. Then, as he sipped, he againgrew absent-minded. Iris, too, was absorbed in thought. 

"You were speaking of Lady Ogram, " she resumed, gently. 

"Yes. A friend of mine down at Alverholme knows her very well, andthought I might like to meet her. I half think I should. She lives atHollingford; a rich old woman, going in a good deal for socialquestions. A widow, no children. Who knows?" he added, raising his, eyebrows and looking straight at Iris. "She might interest herselfin--in my view of things. "

"She might, " replied the listener, as if overcoming a slightreluctance. "Of course it all depends on her own views. "

"To be sure, I know very little about her. It's the vaguest suggestion. But, you see, I'm at the moment, when any suggestion, however vague, has a possible value. One point is certain; I shan't take any morepupils. Without meaning it, you have decided this question for me; it'stime I looked to other things. "

"I _felt_ that!" exclaimed Mrs. Woolstan, her eyes brightening. "Thatwas what decided me; I see now that it was--though perhaps. I hardlyunderstood myself at the time. No more pupils! It is time that yourserious career began. "

Lashmar smiled, nodding in reflective approval. His eyes wandered, withan upward tendency; his lips twitched. 

"Opportunity, opportunity, " he murmured. "Of course it will come. I'mnot afraid. "

"Oh it will come!" chanted his companion. "Only make yourself known topeople of influence, who can appreciate you. "

"That's it. " Dyce nodded again. "I must move about. For the present, Ihave read and thought enough; now I have to make myself felt as aforce. "

Mrs. Woolstan gazed at him, in a rapture of faith. His countenance woreits transforming light; he had passed into a dream of conquest. Byconstitution very temperate in the matter of physical indulgence, Lashmar found exciting stimulus even in a cup of tea. For the grosserdrinks he had no palate; wine easily overcame him; tea and coffee werethe chosen aids of his imagination. 

"Yes, I think I shall go down to Hollingford. "

"Who, " asked Iris, "is the friend who promised to introduce you?"

There was a scarcely perceptible pause before his reply. 

"A parson--once my father's curate, " he added, vaguely. "Aliberal-minded man, as so many parsons are nowadays. "

Iris was satisfied. She gave the project her full approval, andlaunched into forecast of possible issues. 

"But it's certain, " she said presently, in a lower voice, "that afterthis I shall see very little of you. You won't have time to come here. "

"If you think you are going to get quite rid of me so easily, " answeredDyce, laughing--his laugh seldom sounded altogether natural--"you'remuch mistaken. But come now, let us talk about Len. Where are you goingto send him? Has Wrybolt chosen a school?"

During the conversation that followed, Dyce was but half attentive. Once and again his eyes fell upon Mrs. Woolstan with peculiarobservancy. Not for the first time, he was asking himself what might bethe actual nature and extent of her pecuniary resources, for he hadnever been definitely informed on that subject. He did not face thequestion crudely, but like a civilised man and a philosopher; therewere reasons why it should interest him just now. He mused, too, on thequestion of Mrs. Woolstan's age, regarding which he could arrive at buta vague conclusion; sometimes he had taken her for hardly more thanthirty, sometimes he suspected her of all but ten years more. But, after all, what were these things to him? The future beckoned, and hepersuaded himself that its promise was such as is set only beforefortune's favourites. 

Before leaving, he promised to come and lunch in a day or two, for thepurpose of saying good-bye to Leonard. Yet what, in truth, did he careabout the boy? Leonard was a rather precocious child, inclined to workhis brain more than was good for a body often ailing. Now and then Dycehad been surprised into a feeling of kindly interest, when Len showedhimself peculiarly bright, but on the whole he was tired of histutorial duties, and not for a moment would regret the parting. 

"I'm sorry, " he said, in a moved voice. "I hoped to make a man of him, after my own idea. Well, well, we shall often see each other again, andwho knows whether I mayn't be of use to him some day. "

"What a fine sensibility he has, together with his great intelligence!"was Iris Woolstan's comment in her own heart. And she reproachedherself for not having stood out against Wrybolt. 

As he walked away from the house, Dyce wondered why he had told thatlie about the friend at Alverholme. Would it not have been better, fromevery point of view, to speak plainly of Connie Bride? Where was theharm? He recognised in himself a tortuous tendency, not to be overcomeby reflection and moral or utilitarian resolve. He could not, much ashe desired it, be an entirely honest man. His ideal was honesty, evenas he had a strong prejudice in favour of personal cleanliness. Butoccasionally he shirked the cold tub; and, in the same way, he found itdifficult at times to tell the truth. 

CHAPTER IV

In the morning he had a letter from Mrs. Woolstan. Opening ithurriedly, he was pleased, but not surprised, to discover a chequefolded in the note-paper. Iris wrote that, as a matter of course, shewished to pay what was owing to him in respect of his tutorialengagement so abruptly brought to an end. "Even between friends, onemust be businesslike. You ought to have received a quarter's notice, and, as it is now nearly the end of April, you must allow me to reckonmy debt as up to the quarterday in September. If you say a word aboutit, I shall be angry, So _no nonsense, please_!"

The phrase underlined was a quotation from Dyce himself, who often usedit, in serio-joking tone, when he had occasion to reprove Mrs. Woolstanfor some act or word which jarred with his system. He was glad to havethe cheque, and knew quite well that he should keep it, but a certainuneasiness hung about his mind all the morning. Dyce had his ideal ofmanly independence; it annoyed him that circumstances made the nobleline of conduct so difficult. He believed himself strong, virile, yetso often it happened that he was constrained to act in what seemedrather a feeble and undignified way. But, after all, it was temporary;the day of his emancipation from paltry necessities would surely come, and all the great qualities latent in him would have ample scope. 

Plainly, he must do something. He could live for the next few months, but, after that, had no resources to count upon. Such hopes as he hadtried to connect with the name of Lady Ogram might be the veriestdream, but for the moment no suggestion offered in any other quarter. It would be better, perhaps, to write to Connie Bride before going downto Hollingford. Yes, he would write to Connie. 

Having breakfasted, he stood idly at the window of his sitting-room. His lodgings were in Upper Woburn Place, nearly opposite the church ofSt. Pancras. He had read, he knew not where, that the crowning portionof that remarkable edifice was modelled on the Temple of the Winds atAthens, and, as he gazed at it this morning, he suffered from thethought of his narrow experience in travel. A glimpse of theNetherlands, of France, of Switzerland, was all he could boast. Hisincome had only just covered his expenditure; the holiday season alwaysfound him more or less embarrassed, and unable to go far afield. WhatCan one do on a paltry three hundred a year? Yet he regretted that hehad not used a stricter economy. He might have managed in cheaperrooms; he might have done without this and the other little luxury. Tohave travelled widely would now be of some use to him; it gave a man acertain freedom in society, added an octave to the compass of hisdiscourse. Acquaintance with books did not serve the same end; and, though he read a good deal, Dyce was tolerably aware that not by forceof erudition could he look for advancement. He began to perceive it asa misfortune that he had not earlier in life become clear as to thenature of his ambition. Until a couple of years ago he had scarcelybeen conscious of any aim at all, for the literary impulses which usedto inspire his talk with Connie Bride were merely such as stir in everyyouth of our time; they had never got beyond talk, and, on fading away, left him without intellectual motive. Now that he knew whither hisdesires and his abilities tended, he was harassed by consciousness ofimperfect equipment. Even academically he had not distinguishedhimself; he had made no attempt at journalism; he had not broughthimself into useful contact with any political group. All he couldclaim for encouragement was a personal something which drew attention, especially the attention of women, in circles of theliberal-minded--that is to say, among people fond of talking more orless vaguely about very large subjects. For talk he never found himselfat a loss, and his faculty in this direction certainly grew. But as yethe had not discovered the sphere which was wholly sympathetic and atthe same time fertile of opportunity. 

Among the many possibilities of life which lie before a young andintelligent man, one never presented itself to Dyce Lashmar'smeditation. The thought of simply earning his living by conscientiousand useful work, satisfied with whatever distinction might come to himin the natural order of things, had never entered his mind. Everyproject he formed took for granted his unlaborious pre-eminence in atoiling world. His natural superiority to mankind at large was, withDyce, axiomatic. If he used any other tone about himself, he affectedit merely to elicit contradiction; if in a depressed mood he thoughtotherwise, the reflection was so at conflict with his nature that itserved only to strengthen his self-esteem when the shadow had passed. 

The lodgings he occupied were just like any other for which a man paysthirty shillings a week. Though he had lived here for two or threeyears, there was very little to show that the rooms did not belong tosome quite ordinary person; Dyce spent as little time at home aspossible, and, always feeling that his abode in such poor quarters mustbe transitory, he never troubled himself to increase their comfort, orin any way to give character to his surroundings. His library consistedonly of some fifty volumes, for he had never felt himself able topurchase books; Mudie, and the shelves of his club, generally suppliedhim with all he needed. The club, of course, was an indispensableluxury; it gave him a West-end address, enabled him to have a friend tolunch or dine in decent circumstances without undue expense, andsupplied him with very good stationery for his correspondence. Moreover, it pleasantly enlarged his acquaintance. At the club he hadgot to know Lord Dymchurch, a month or two ago, and this connection hedid not undervalue. His fellow members, it is true, were not, for themost part, men of the kind with whom Dyce greatly cared to talk; asyet, they did not seem much impressed with his conversational powers;but Lord Dymchurch promised to be an exception, and of him Dyce hadalready a very high opinion. 

After an hour or so of smoking and musing and mental vacillation, hesat down to write his letter. "Dear Miss Connie, " he began. It was thename by which he addressed Miss Bride in the old days, and it seemedgood to him to preserve their former relations as far as possible; forConstance, though a strange sort of girl, nowadays decidedly cold anddry, undeniably had brains, and might still be capable of appreciatinghim. "Yesterday I had to come back to town in a hurry, owing to thereceipt of some disagreeable news, so of necessity I postponed my visitto Hollingford. It occurs to me that I had better ask whether you wereserious in your suggestion that Lady Ogram might be glad to make myacquaintance. I know nothing whatever about her, except what you toldme on our walk to the station, so cannot be sure whether she is likelyto take any real interest in my ideas. Our time together was too shortfor me to explain my stand-point; perhaps I had better say a word ortwo about it now. I am a Socialist--but not a Social-democrat;democracy (which, for the rest, has never existed) I look upon as anabsurdity condemned by all the teachings of modern science. I am aSocialist, for I believe that the principle of association is the onlyprinciple of progress. "

Here he paused, his pen suspended. He was on the point of referring tothe French book which he had read with so much profit of late, andwhich now lay on the table before him. It might interest Constance; shemight like to know of it. He mused for some moments, dipped his pen, and wrote on. 

"But association means division of labour, and that labour may beefficient there must be some one capable of directing it. What the trueSocialism has to keep in view is a principle of justice in the balanceof rights and duties between the few who lead and the multitude whofollow. In the history of the world hitherto, the multitude has hadless than its share, the ruling classes have tyrannised. At presentit's pretty obvious that we're in danger of just the opposite excess;Demos begins to roar alarmingly, and there'll be a poor look out for usif he gets all he wants. What we need above all things is a reform ineducation. We are teaching the people too much and too little. Thefirst duty of the State is to make citizens, and that can only be doneby making children understand from the beginning what is meant bycitizenship. When every child grows up in the knowledge that neithercan the State exist without him, nor he without the State--that noindividual can live for himself alone--that every demand one makes uponone's fellow men carries with it a reciprocal obligation--in otherwords, when the principle of association, of solidarity, becomes a partof the very conscience, we shall see a true State and a reallyprogressive civilisation. 

"I could point out to you the scientific (biological and zoological)facts which support this view, but very likely your own knowledge willsupply them. "

He paused to smile. That was a deft touch. Constance, he knew, tookpride in her scientific studies. 

"We shall talk all this over together, I hope. Enough at present toshow you where I stand. Is this attitude likely to recommend itself toLady Ogram? Do you think she would care to hear more about it? Write assoon as you have time, and let me know your opinion. "

On re-reading his letter, Dyce was troubled by only one reflection. Hehad committed himself to a definite theory, and, should it jar withLady Ogram's way of thinking, there would probably be little use in hisgoing down to Hollingford. Might he not have left the matter vague? Wasit not enough to describe himself as a student of sociology? In whichcase--

He did not follow out the argument. Neither did he care to dwell uponthe fact that the views he had been summarising were all taken straightfrom a book which he had just read. He had thoroughly adopted them;they exactly suited his temper and his mind--always premising that hespoke as one of those called by his author _L'Elite_, and by no meansas one of _la Foule_. Indeed, he was beginning to forget that he wasnot himself the originator of the bio-sociological theory ofcivilisation. 

Economy being henceforth imposed upon him, he lunched at home on a chopand a glass of ale. In the early afternoon, not knowing exactly how tospend his time, he walked towards the busy streets, and at lengthentered his club. In the library sat only one man, sunk in an easychair, busied with a book. It was Lord Dymchurch; at Lashmar'sapproach, he looked up, smiled, and rose to take the offered hand. 

"I disturb you, " said Dyce. 

"There's no denying it, " was the pleasant answer, "but I am quite readyto be disturbed. You know this, of course?"

He showed Spencer's "The Man versus the State. "

"Yes, " answered Dyce, "and I think it a mistake from beginning to end. "

"How so?"

Lord Dymchurch was about thirty, slight in build, rather languid in hismovements, conventionally dressed but without any gloss or scrupulousfinish, and in manners peculiarly gentle. His countenance, naturallygrave, expressed the man of thought rather than of action; its traits, at the same time, preserved a curious youthfulness, enhanced by thefact of his wearing neither moustache nor beard; when he smiled, it waswith an almost boyish frankness, irresistible in its appeal to the goodwill of the beholder. Yet the corners of his eyes were touched with thecrow's foot, and his hair began to be brindled, tokens which had theirconfirmation on brow and lip as often as he lost himself in musing. Hehad a soft voice, habitually subdued. His way of talking inclined tothe quietly humorous, and was as little self-assertive as man's talkcan be; but he kept his eyes fixed on anyone who conversed with him, and that clear, kindly gaze offered no encouragement to pretentiousnessor any other idle characteristic. Dyce Lashmar, it might have beennoticed, betrayed a certain deference before Lord Dymchurch, and wasnot wholly at his ease; however decidedly he spoke, his accent lackedthe imperturbable confidence which usually distinguished it. 

"The title itself I take to be meaningless, " was his reply to theother's question. "How can there possibly be antagonism between theindividual and the aggregate in which he is involved? What rights orinterests can a man possibly have which are apart from the rights andinterests of the body politic without which he could not exist? Onemight just as well suppose one of the cells which make up an organicbody asserting itself against the body as a whole. "

Lord Dymchurch reflected, playing, as he commonly did, with a seal uponhis watch-guard. 

"That's suggestive, " he said. 

Dyce might have gone on to say that the suggestion, with reference tothis very book of Herbert Spencer's, came from a French sociologist hehad been reading; but it did not seem to him worth while. 

"You look upon the State as an organism, " pursued Lord Dymchurch. "Amere analogy, I suppose?"

"A scientific fact. It's the final stage of evolution. Just as cellscombine to form the physiological unit, so do human beings combine toform the social-political unit the State. Did it ever occur to you thatthe science of biology throws entirely new light on sociologicalquestions? The laws operating are precisely the same in one region asin the other. A cell in itself is blind motion; an aggregate of cellsis a living creature. A man by himself is only an animal with superiorpossibilities; men associated produce reason, civilisation, the bodypolitic. Could reason ever have come to birth in a man alone?"

Lord Dymchurch nodded and mused. From his look it was plain thatLashmar interested, and at the same time, puzzled him. In theirprevious conversations, Dyce had talked more or less vaguely, throwingout a suggestion here, a criticism there, and, though with the air ofone who had made up his mind on most subjects, preserving an attitudeof liberal scepticism; to-day he seemed in the mood for precision, andthe coherence of his arguments did not fail to impress the listener. His manner in reasoning had a directness, an eagerness, which seemed todeclare fervid conviction; as he went on from point to point, his eyesgleamed and his chin quivered; the unremarkable physiognomy wastransformed as though from within; illumined by unexpected radiance, and invested with the beauty of intellectual ardour. Very apt for thecontagion of such enthusiasm, Lord Dymchurch showed in his smile thathe was listening with pleasure; yet he did not wholly yield himself tothe speaker's influence. 

"One objection occurs to me, " he remarked, averting his eyes for amoment. "The organic body is a thing finished and perfect. Granted thatevolution goes on in the same way to form the body politic, theprocess, evidently, is far from complete--as you began by admitting. Won't the result depend on the nature and tendency of each being thatgoes to make up the whole? And, if that be so, isn't it the business ofthe individual to assert his individuality, so as to make the Statethat he's going to belong to the kind of State he would wish it to be?I express myself very awkwardly--"

"Not at all, not at all! In that sense, individualism is no doubt partof the evolutionary scheme; I quite agree with you. What I object to isthe idea, conveyed in Spencer's title, that the man as a man can haveinterests or rights opposed to those of the State as a State. Yourthorough individualist seems to me to lose sight of the fact that, butfor the existing degree of human association, he simply wouldn't behere at all. He speaks as if he had made himself, and had the right todispose of himself; whereas it is society, civilisation, theState--call it what you will--that has given him everything hepossesses, except his physical organs. Take a philosopher who prideshimself on his detachment from vulgar cares and desires, duties andtroubles, and looks down upon the world with pity or contempt. Supposethe world--that is to say, his human kind--revenged itself by refusingto have anything whatever to do with him, however indirectly; thephilosopher would soon find himself detached with a vengeance. Andsuppose it possible to go further than that; suppose the despised worldcould demand back from him all it had given, through the course of agesto his ancestors in him; behold Mr. Philosopher literally up a tree--anaked anthropoid, with a brain just capable of supplying his stomachand--perhaps--of saving him from wild beasts. "

Lord Dymchurch indulged a quiet mirth. 

"You've got hold of a very serviceable weapon, " he said, stretching hislegs before him, and clasping his hands behind his head. "I, for one, would gladly be convinced against individualism. I'm afraid it's mynatural point of view, and I've been trying for a long time to get ridof that old Adam. Go on with your idea about the organisation ofsociety. What ultimate form do you suppose nature to be aiming at?"

Dyce seemed to reflect for a moment. He asked himself, in fact, whetherLord Dymchurch was at all likely to come upon that French work which, pretty certainly, he had not yet read. The probability seemed slight. In any case, cannot a theory be originated independently by two minds?

His eye lighting up with the joy of clear demonstration--to Dyce it wasa veritable joy, his narrow, but acute, mind ever tending to sharp-cutsystem--he displayed the bio-sociological theory in its whole scope. More than interested, and not a little surprised, Lord Dymchurchfollowed carefully from point to point, now and then approving withsmile or nod. At the end, he was leaning forward, his hands graspinghis ankles, and his head nearly between his knees; and so he remainedfor a minute when Dyce had ceased. 

"I like that!" he exclaimed at length, the smile of boyish pleasuresunny upon his face. "There's something satisfying about it. It soundshelpful. "

Help amid the confusing problems of life was what Lord Dymchurchcontinually sought. In his private relations one of the most blamelessof men, he bore about with him a troubled conscience, for he felt thathe was living to himself alone, whereas, as a man, and still more asmember of a privileged order, he should have been justifying hisexistence and his position by some useful effort. At three and twentyhe had succeeded to the title--and to very little else; the family hadlong been in decline; a Lord Dymchurch who died in the early part ofthe nineteenth century practically completed the ruin of his house byan attempt to form a Utopia in Canada, and since then a rapidsuccession of ineffectual peers, _fruges consumere nati_, had steadilyreduced the dignity of the name. The present lord--Walter Erwin deGournay Fallowfield--found himself inheritor of one small farm in thecounty of Kent, and of funded capital which produced less than athousand a year; his ancestral possessions had passed into other hands, and, excepting the Kentish farm-house, Lord Dymchurch had not even adwelling he could call his own. Two sisters were his surviving kin;their portions being barely sufficient to keep them alive, he appliedto their use a great part of his own income; unmarried, and littlelikely to change their condition, these ladies lived together, veryquietly, at a country house in Somerset, where their brother spent somemonths of every year with them. For himself, he had rooms at HighgateGrove, not unpleasant lodgings in a picturesque old house, where hekept the books which were indispensable to him, and a few pictureswhich he had loved from boyhood. All else that remained from the slowDymchurch wreck was down in Somerset. 

He saw himself as one of the most useless of mortals. For his sisters'sake he would have been glad to make money, and one way of doing so wasalways open to him; he had but to lend his name to company promoters, who again and again had sought him out with tempting proposals. This, however, Lord Dymchurch disdained; he was fastidious in matters ofhonour, as on some points of taste. For the same reason he remainedunmarried; a penniless peer in the attitude of wooing seemed to himridiculous, and in much danger of becoming contemptible. Loving thelife of the country, studious, reserved, he would have liked best ofall to withdraw into some rustic hermitage, and leave the world asidebut this he looked upon as a temptation to be resisted; there must beduties for him to discharge, if only he could discover them. So he keptup his old acquaintances, and--though rarely made new; he strove tointerest himself in practical things, if perchance his opportunitymight meet him by the way; and always he did his best to obtain aninsight into the pressing questions of the time. Though in truth of avery liberal mind, he imagined himself a mass of prejudices; his Normanblood (considerably diluted, it is true) sometimes appeared to him as ahereditary taint, constituting an intellectual, perhaps a moral, disability; in certain moods he felt hopelessly out of touch with hisage. To anyone who spoke confidently and hopefully concerning humanaffairs, Lord Dymchurch gave willing attention. With Dyce Lashmar hecould not feel that he had much in common, but this rather loquaciousyoung man certainly possessed brains, and might have an inkling oftruths not easily arrived at. To-day, at all events, Lashmar's talkseemed full of matter, and it was none the less acceptable to LordDymchurch because of its anti-democratic tenor. 

"Not long ago, " he remarked, quietly, "I was reading Marcus Aurelius. You will remember that the idea of the community of human interestsruns through all his thought. He often insists that a man is nothingapart from the society he belongs to, and that the common good shouldbe our first rule in conduct. When you were speaking aboutindividualism a sentence of his came into my mind. 'What is not goodfor the beehive cannot be good for the bee. '"

"Yes, yes!" cried Dyce, eagerly. "Thank you very much for reminding me;I had quite forgotten it. "

They were no longer alone in the library; two other men had strolledin, and were seated reading; on this account, Lord Dymchurch subduedhis voice even more than usual, for he had a horror of appearing totalk pretentiously, or of talking at all when his words might fall uponindifferent ears. Respectful of this recognised characteristic, Lashmarturned the conversation for a minute to lighter themes, then rose andmoved away. He felt that he had made an impression, that Lord Dymchurchthought more of him than hitherto, and this sent him forth in buoyantmood. That evening, economy disregarded, he dined well at a favouriterestaurant. 

On the third day after posting his letter to Constance Bride, hereceived her reply. It was much longer than he had expected. Beginningwith a rather formal expression of interest in Dyce's views, Constancewent on to say that she had already spoken of him to Lady Ogram, whowould be very glad to make his acquaintance. He might call at Rivenoakwhenever he liked; Lady Ogram generally had a short drive in themorning, but in the afternoon she was always at home. The state of herhealth did not allow her to move much; her eyes forbade much reading;consequently, talk with interesting people was one of her chiefresources. 

"I say with _interesting_ people, and use the word advisedly. Anythingthat does _not_ interest her, she will not endure. Being franknessitself, she says exactly what she thinks, without the least regard forothers' feelings. If talk is (or seems to her) dull, she declares thatshe has had enough of it. I don't think there is any need to warn youof this, but it may be as well that you should know it. 

"Whilst I am writing, I had better mention one or two otherpeculiarities of Lady Ogram. At the first glance you will see that sheis an invalid, but woe to you if you show that you see it. She insistson being treated by everyone (I suppose, her doctor excepted, but I amnot sure) as if she were in perfect health. You will probably hear hermake plans for drives, rides, even long walks about the country, andsomething more than mere good breeding must rule your features as youlisten. Occasionally her speech is indistinct; you must manage never tomiss a word she says. She is slightly--very slightly--deaf; you mustspeak in your natural voice, yet never oblige her to be in doubt as towhat you say. She likes a respectful manner, but if it is overdone theindiscretion soon receives a startling reproof. Be as easy as you likein her presence provided that your ease is natural; if it strikes LadyOgram as self-assertion--beware the lash! From time to time she willpermit herself a phrase or an exclamation which reminds one that herbirth was not precisely aristocratic; but don't imagine that anyoneelse is allowed to use a too racy vernacular; you must guard yourexpressions, and the choicer they are the better she is pleased. 

"As you may wish to speak of polities, I will tell you that, until ayear or two ago, Lady Ogram was a strong Conservative; she is now onthe Liberal side, perhaps for the simple reason that she has quarrelledwith the Conservative member of Hollingford, Mr. Robb. I need not gointo the details of the affair; sufficient that the name of Robbexcites her fury, and that it is better to say nothing about the man atall unless you know something distinctly to his disadvantage--and, in_that_ case, you must take your chance of being dealt with as acalumniator or a sycophant; all depends on Lady Ogram's mood of themoment. Detesting Mr. Robb, she naturally aims at ousting him from hisParliamentary seat, and no news could be more acceptable to her thanthat of a possible change in the political temper of Hollingford. Thetown is Tory, from of old. Mr. Robb is sitting in his secondParliament, and doubtless hopes to enter a third. But he is nearlyseventy years old, and we hear that his constituents would not be sorryif he gave place to a more active man. The hope that Hollingford mayturn Liberal does not seem to me to be very well founded, and yet Idon't regard the thing as an impossibility. Lady Ogram has persuadedherself that a thoroughly good man might carry the seat. That man sheis continually seeking, and she carries on a correspondence on thesubject with party leaders, whips, caucus directors, and all manner ofsuch folk. If she lives until the next general election, heaven andearth will be moved against Mr. Robb, and I believe she would give thehalf of her substance to anyone who defeated him. "

This epistle caused a commotion in Lashmar's mind. The last paragraphopened before him a vista of brilliant imaginings. He read it timesinnumerable; day and night he could think of nothing else. Was not herethe occasion for which he had been waiting? Had not fortune turned ashining face upon him?

If only he had still been in enjoyment of his three hundred a year. There, indeed, was a troublesome reflection. He thought of writing tohis father, of laying before him the facts of his position, and askingseriously whether some financial arrangement could not be made, whichwould render him independent for a year or two. Another thoughtoccurred to him--but he did not care to dwell upon it for the present. Twenty-four hours' consideration decided him to go down to Hollingfordwithout delay. When he had talked with Lady Ogram, he would be in abetter position for making up his mind as to the practical difficultywhich beset him. 

He esteemed it very friendly on Connie Bride's part to have writtensuch a letter of advice. Why had she taken the trouble? Notwithstandingthe coldness of her language, Connie plainly had his interests atheart, and gave no little thought to him. This was agreeable, but nomatter of surprise; it never surprised Lashmar that anyone shouldregard him as a man of importance; and he felt a pleasant convictionthat the boyish philandering of years ago would stand him in good steadnow that he understood what was due to women--and to himself. 

CHAPTER V

So next morning he packed his bag, drove to Euston, and by mid-day wasat Hollingford. The town, hitherto known to him only by name, hadlittle charm of situation or feature, but Dyce, on his way to a hotel, looked about him with lively interest, and persuaded himself that themain streets had a brisk progressive air; he imagined Liberalism inmany faces, and noted cheerfully the publishing office of a Liberalnewspaper. If his interview with Lady Ogram proved encouraging, hewould stay here over the next day, and give himself time to makeacquaintance with the borough. 

At his hotel, he made inquiry about the way to Rivenoak, a namerespectfully received. Lady Ogram's estate was distant some two milesand a half from the edge of the town; it lay hard by the village ofShawe, which was on the highroad to--places wherewith Dyce had noconcern. Thus informed, he ordered his luncheon, and requested that afly might be ready at three o'clock to convey him to Rivenoak. Whenthat hour arrived, he had studied the local directory, carefully lookedover the town and county newspapers, and held a little talk with hislandlord, who happened to be a political malcontent, cautiouslycritical of Mr. Robb. Dyce accepted the fact as of good augury. It waslong since he had felt so lighthearted and sanguine. 

Through an unpleasant quarter, devoted to manufactures, his vehiclebore him out of Hollingford, and then along a flat, uninteresting road, whence at moments he had glimpses of the river Holling, as it flowedbetween level fields. Presently the country became more agreeable; onone hand it rose gently to wooded slopes, on the other opened aprospect over a breezy common, yellow with gorse. At the village namedShawe, the river was crossed by a fine old bridge, which harmonisedwell with grey cottages and an ancient low-towered church; but thecharm of all this had been lamentably injured by the recentconstruction of a large paper-mill, as ugly as mill can be, on what wasonce a delightful meadow by the waterside. Dyce eyed the blotresentfully; but he had begun to think of his attitude and language atthe meeting with Lady Ogram, and the gates of Rivenoak quickly engagedhis attention. 

The drive wound through a pleasant little park, less extensive, perhaps, than the visitor had preconceived it, and circled in front ofa plain Georgian mansion, which, again, caused some disappointment. Dyce had learnt from the directory that the house was not very old, butit was spoken of as "stately;" the edifice before him he would ratherhave described as "commodious. " He caught a glimpse of beautifulgardens, and had no time to criticise any more, for the fly stopped andthe moment of his adventure was at hand. When he had mechanically paidand dismissed the driver, the folding doors stood open before him; aman-servant, with back at the reverent angle, on hearing his name atonce begged him to enter. Considerably more nervous than he would havethought likely, and proportionately annoyed with himself, Dyce passedthrough a bare, lofty hall, then through a long library, and wasushered into a room so largely constructed of glass, and containing somuch verdure, that at first glance it seemed to be a conservatory. Itwas, however, a drawing-room, converted to this purpose after havingserved, during the late Baronet's lifetime, for such masculine delightsas billiards and smoking. Here, as soon as his vision focussed itself, Dyce became aware of three ladies and a gentleman, seated amid a littlebower of plants and shrubs. The hostess was easily distinguished. In avery high-backed chair, made rather throne-like by the embroidery andgilding upon it, sat a meagre lady clad in black silk, with a silverygrey shawl about her shoulders, and an other of the same kind acrossher knees. She had the aspect of extreme age and of out-worn health;the skin of her face was like shrivelled parchment; her hands were mereskin and bone; she sat as though on the point of sinking across the armof her chair for very feebleness. But in the whitish-yellow visageshone a pair of eyes which had by no means lost their vitality; so keenwere they, so darkly lustrous, that to meet them was to forget everyother peculiarity of Lady Ogram's person. Regarding the eyes alone, oneseemed to have the vision of a handsome countenance, with proud lips, and carelessly defiant smile. The illusion was aided by a crown of hairsuch as no woman of Lady Ogram's age ever did, or possibly could, possess in her own right; hair of magnificent abundance, of rich auburnhue, plaited and rolled into an elaborate coiffure. 

Before this singular figure, Dyce Lashmar paused and bowed. Pale, breathing uneasily, he supported the scrutiny of those dark eyes forwhat seemed to him a minute or two of most uncomfortable time. Then, with the faintest of welcoming smiles, Lady Ogram--who had slowlystraightened herself--spoke in a voice which startled the hearer, somuch louder and firmer was it than he had expected. 

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lashmar. Pray sit down. "

Without paying any attention to the rest of the company, Dyce obeyed. His feeling was that he had somehow been admitted to the presence of asovereign, and that any initiative on his own part would be utterly outof place. Never in his life had he felt so little and so subdued. 

"You have come from town this morning?" pursued his hostess, stillclosely examining him. 

"This morning, yes. "

Lady Ogram turned to the lady sitting near her right hand, and saidabruptly:

"I don't agree with you at all. I should like to see as many womendoctors as men. Doctoring is mostly humbug, and if women were attendedby women there'd be a good deal less of that. Miss Bride has studiedmedicine, and a very good doctor she would have made. "

Dyce turned towards Constance, of whose proximity he had been aware, though he had scarcely looked at her, and, as she bent her headsmiling, he rose and bowed. The lady whom their hostess hadaddressed--she was middle-aged, very comely and good-humoured ofcountenance, and very plainly attired--replied to the blunt remarks inan easy, pleasant tone. 

"I should have no doubt whatever of Miss Bride's competence. But--"

Lady Ogram interrupted her, seeming not to have heard what she said. 

"Let me introduce to you Mr. Dyce Lashmar, who has thought a good dealmore about this kind of thing than either you or me. Mrs. Gallantry, Mr. Gallantry. "

Again Dyce stood up. Mr. Gallantry, a tall, loose-limbed, thinlythatched gentleman, put on a pair of glasses to inspect him, and did sowith an air of extreme interest, as though profoundly gratified by themeeting. Seldom breaking silence himself, he lent the most flatteringattention to anyone who spoke, his brows knitted in the resolve tograsp and assimilate whatever wisdom was uttered:

"Did you walk out from Hollingford?" asked Lady Ogram, who again hadher eyes fixed on the visitor. 

"No, I drove, as I didn't know the way. "

"You'd have done much better to walk. Couldn't you ask the way? Youlook as if you didn't take enough exercise. Driving, one never seesanything. When I'm in new places, I always walk. Miss Bride and I aregoing to Wales this summer, and we shall walk a great deal. Do you knowBrecknock? Few people do, but they tell me it's very fine. Perhaps youare one of the people who always go abroad? I prefer my own country. What did you think of the way from Hollingford?"

To this question she seemed to expect an answer, and Dyce, who wasbeginning to command himself, met her gaze steadily as he spoke. 

"There's very little to see till you come to Shawe. It's a prettyvillage--or rather, it was, before someone built that hideouspaper-mill. "

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he became aware of a change inLady Ogram's look. The gleam of her eyes intensified; deeper wrinklescarved themselves on her forehead, and all at once two rows of perfectteeth shone between the pink edges of her shrivelled lips. 

"Hideous paper-mill, eh?" she exclaimed, on a half-laughing note ofpeculiar harshness, "I suppose you don't know that _I_ built it?"

A shock went through Dyce's blood. He sat with his eyes fixed on LadyOgram's, powerless to stir or to avert his gaze. Then the courage ofdespair suddenly possessed him. 

"If I had known that, " he said, with much deliberation, "I should havekept the thought to myself. But I'm afraid there's no denying that themill spoils the village. "

"The mill is the making of the village, " said Lady Ogram, emphatically. 

"In one sense, very likely. I spoke only of the picturesqueness of theplace. "

"I know you did. And what's the good of picturesqueness to people whohave to earn their living? Is that your way of looking at things? Wouldyou like to keep villages pretty, and see the people go to the dogs?"

"Not at all. I'm quite of the other way of thinking, Lady Ogram. It wasby mere accident that I made that unlucky remark. If anyone with me hadsaid such a thing, it's more than likely I should have replied withyour view of the matter. You must remember that this district is quitestrange to me. Will you tell me something about it? I am sure you hadexcellent reasons for building the mill; be so kind as to explain themto me. "

The listeners to this dialogue betrayed approval of the young man'sdemeanour. Constance Bride, who had looked very grave indeed, allowedher features to relax; Mrs. Gallantry smiled a smile of conciliation, and her husband drew a sigh as if supremely edified. 

Lady Ogram glanced at her secretary. 

"Miss Bride, let him know my 'excellent reasons, ' will you?"

"For a long time, " began Constance, in clear, balanced tones, "thevillage of Shawe has been anything but prosperous. It was agricultural, of course, and farming about here isn't what is used to be; there's agreat deal of grass and not much tillage. The folk had to look abroadfor a living; several of the cottages stood empty; the families thatremained were being demoralised by poverty; they wouldn't take the workthat offered in the fields, and preferred to scrape up a living in thestreets of Hollingford, if they didn't try their hand at a littleburglary and so on. Lady Ogram saw what was going on, and thought itover, and hit upon the idea of the paper-mill. Of course most of theShawe cottagers were no good for such employment, but some of the youngpeople got taken on, and there was work in prospect for childrengrowing up, and in any case, the character of the village was saved. Decent families came to the deserted houses, and things in generallooked up. "

"Extremely interesting, " murmured Mr. Gallantry, as though he heard allthis for the first time, and was deeply impressed by it. 

"Very interesting indeed, " said Lashmar, with his frankest air. "I hopeI may be allowed to go over the mill; I should like nothing better. "

"You shall go over it as often as you like, " said Lady Ogram, with agrin. "But Miss Bride has more to tell you. "

Constance looked inquiringly. 

"Statistics?" she asked, when Lady Ogram paid no heed to her look. 

"Don't be stupid. Tell him what I think about villages altogether. "

"Yes, I should very much like to hear that, " said Dyce, whoseconfidence was gaining ground. 

"Lady Ogram doesn't like the draining of the country population intotowns; she thinks it a harmful movement, with bad results on social andpolitical life, on national life from every point of view This seems toher to be the great question of the day. How to keep up villagelife?--in face of the fact that English agriculture seems to be doomed. At Shawe, as Lady Ogram thinks, and we all do, a step has been taken inthe right direction. Lots of the young people who are now working herein wholesome surroundings would by this time have been lost in theslums of London or Liverpool or Birmingham. Of course, as a mill-owner, she has made sacrifices; she hasn't gone about the business with onlyimmediate profit in view; children and girls have been taught what theywouldn't have learnt but for Lady Ogram's kindness. "

"Admirable!" murmured Mr. Gallantry. "True philanthropy, and truepatriotism!"

"Beyond a doubt, " agreed Dyce. "Lady Ogram deserves well of hercountry. "

"There's just one way, " remarked Mrs. Gallantry, "in which, it seems tome, she could have deserved better. Don't be angry with me, Lady Ogram;you know I profit by your example in saying just what I think. Now, if, instead of a mill, you had built a training institution for domesticservice--"

"Bah!" broke in the hostess. "How you harp on that idea! Haven't youany other?"

"One or two more, I assure you, " replied Mrs. Gallantry, with theutmost good-humour. "But I particularly want to interest you in thisone. It's better that girls should work in a mill in the country thango to swell the population of slums; I grant you that. But how muchbetter still for them to work in private houses, following theirnatural calling, busy with the duties of domestic life. They're gettingto hate that as much as their menfolk hate agricultural labour; andwhat could be a worse symptom or a greater danger?"

"Pray, " cried Lady Ogram, in her grating voice, "how would a servants'school have helped the village?"

"Not so quickly, perhaps, but in time. With your means and influence, Lady Ogram, you might have started an institution which would be themodel of its kind for all England. Every female child in Shawe wouldhave had a prospect before her, and the village would have attracteddecent poor families, who might somehow have been helped to supportthemselves--"

Lady Ogram waved her hand contemptuously. 

"Somehow! That's the way with your conservative-reform women. Somehow!Always vague, rambling notions--"

"Conservative-reform!" exclaimed Mrs. Gallantry, showing a littlepique, though her face was pleasant as ever. "Surely your own ideas areto a great extent conservative. "

"Yes, but there's a liberal supply of common sense in them!" cried thehostess, so delighted to have made a joke that she broke into cacklinglaughter, and laughed until failure of breath made her gasp and wrigglein her chair, an alarming spectacle. To divert attention, Constancebegan talking about the mill, describing the good effect it had wroughtin certain families. Dyce listened with an air almost as engrossed asthat of Mr. Gallantry, and, when his moment came, took up theconversation. 

"Mrs. Gallantry's suggestion, " he said, "is admirable, and the soonerit's carried out, not merely in one place, but all over England, thebetter. But I rather think that, in the given circumstances, Lady Ogramtook the wisest possible step. We have to look at these questions fromthe scientific point of view. Our civilisation is concerned, before allthings, with the organisation of a directing power; the supreme problemof science, and at the same time the most urgent practical question ofthe day, is how to secure initiative to those who are born for rule. Anything which serves to impress ordinary minds with a sense of socialequilibrium to give them an object lesson in the substitution ofleadership for anarchy--must be of immense value. Here was a communityfalling into wreck, cut loose from the orderly system of things, oldduties and obligations forgotten, only hungry rights insisted upon. Itwas a picture in little of the multitude given over to itself. Into themidst of this chaos, Lady Ogram brings a directing mind, a beneficentspirit of initiative, and the means, the power, of re-establishingorder. The villagers have but to look at the old state of things andthe new to learn a lesson which the thoughtful among them will apply ina wider sphere. They know that Lady Ogram had no selfish aim, no wishto make profit out of their labour; that she acted purely and simply inthe interests of humble folk--and of the world at large. They seewilling industry substituted for brutal or miserable indolence; theysee a striking example of the principle of association, ofsolidarity--of perfect balance between the naturally superior and thenaturally subordinate. "

"Good, very good!" murmured Mr. Gallantry. "Eloquent!"

"I admit the eloquence, " said Mrs. Gallantry, smiling at Lashmar withmuch amiability, "but I really can't see why this lesson couldn't havebeen just as well taught by the measure that I proposed. "

"Let me show you why I think not, " replied Dyce, who was now enjoyingthe sound of his own periods, and felt himself inspired by the generalattention. "The idea of domestic service is far too familiar to theserustics to furnish the basis of any new generalisation. They have longceased to regard it as an honour or an advantage for their girls to gointo the house of their social superiors; it seems to them a kind ofslavery; what they aim at is a more independent form of wage-earning, and that's why they go off to the great towns, where there arefactories and public-houses, work-rooms and shops. To establish herethe training institution you speak of would have done many sorts ofgood, but not, I think, that particular good, of supreme importance, which results from Lady Ogram's activity. In the rustics' eyes, itwould be merely a new device for filling up the ranks of cooks andhousemaids, to the sole advantage of an upper class. Of course thatview is altogether wrong, but it would be held. The paper-mill, beingquite a novel enterprise, excites new thoughts. It offers theindependence these people desire, and yet it exacts an obviousdiscipline. It establishes a social group corresponding exactly to theideal organism which evolution will some day produce: on the one handordinary human beings understanding their obligations and receivingtheir due; on the other, a superior mind, reciprocally fulfilling itsduties, and reaping the nobler advantage which consists in a sense ofworthy achievement. "

"Very striking indeed!" fell from Mr. Gallantry. 

"You seem to have made out a fair case, Mr. Lashmar, " said his wife, with a good-natured laugh. "I'm not sure that I couldn't debate thepoint still, but at present I'll be satisfied with your approval of myscheme. "

Lady Ogram, sitting more upright against the back of her chair thanbefore her attack of breathlessness, had gazed unwaveringly at theyoung man throughout his speeches. A grim smile crept over her visage;her lips were pressed together, and her eyes twinkled with subduedsatisfaction. She now spoke abruptly. 

"Do you remain at Hollingford to-night, Mr. Lashmar?"

"Yes, Lady Ogram. "

"Very well. Come here to-morrow morning at eleven, go over the mill, and then lunch with us. My manager shall be ready for you. "

"Thank you, very much. "

"Miss Bride, give Mr. Lashmar your Report. He might like to look overit. "

Mr. And Mrs. Gallantry were rising to take leave, and the hostess didnot seek to detain them; she stood up, with some difficulty, exhibitinga figure unexpectedly tall. 

"We'll talk over your idea, " she said, as she offered her hand to thelady. "There's something in it, but you mustn't worry me about it, youknow. I cut up rough when I'm worried. "

"Oh, I don't mind a bit!" exclaimed Mrs. Gallantry, gaily. 

"But I do, " was Lady Ogram's rejoinder, which again made her laugh, with the result that she had to sink back into her chair, waving animpatient adieu as Mr. Gallantry's long, loose figure bowed before her. 

Constance Bride had left the room for a moment; she returned with athin pamphlet in her hand, which, after taking leave of Mr. And Mrs. Gallantry, she silently offered to Lashmar. 

"Ah, this is the Report, " said Dyce. "Many thanks. "

He stood rustling the leaves with an air of much interest. On turningtowards his hostess, about to utter some complimentary remark, he sawthat Lady Ogram was sitting with her head bent forward and her eyesclosed; but for the position of her hands, each grasping an arm of thechair, one would have imagined that she had fallen asleep. Dyce glancedat Constance, who had resumed her seat, and was watching the old lady. A minute passed in complete silence, then Lady Ogram gave a start, recovered herself, and fixed her look upon the visitor. 

"How old are you?" she asked, in a voice which had become lessdistinct, as if through fatigue. 

"Seven and twenty, Lady Ogram. "

"And your father is a clergyman?"

"My father is vicar of Alverholme, in Northamptonshire. "

She added a few short, sharp questions, concerning his family and hiseducation, which Dyce answered succinctly. 

"Would you like to see something of Rivenoak? If so, Miss Bride willshow you about. "

"With pleasure, " replied the young man. 

"Very well. You lunch with us to-morrow. Be at the mill at eleveno'clock. "

She held out her skeleton hand, and Dyce took it respectfully. ThenConstance and he withdrew. 

"This, as you see, is the library, " said his companion, when they hadpassed into the adjoining room. "The books were mostly collected by SirSpencer Ogram, father of the late baronet; he bought Rivenoak, and laidout the grounds. That is his portrait--the painter has been forgotten. "

Dyce let his eyes wander, but paid Tittle attention to what he saw. Hisguide was speaking in a dry, uninterested voice, she, too, seeming tohave her thoughts elsewhere. They went out into the hall, looked intoone or two other rooms, and began to ascend the stairs. 

"There's nothing of interest above, " said Constance, "except the viewfrom the top of the house. But Lady Ogram would like you to see that, no doubt. "

Observing Constance as she went before him, Dyce was struck with a newdignity in her bearing. Notwithstanding her subordinate position atRivenoak, and the unceremonious way in which Lady Ogram exercisedauthority over her, Constance showed to more advantage here than on herrecent visit to Alverholme; she was more naturally self-possessed, andseemed a freer, happier person. The house garb, though decorous ratherthan ornamental, became her better than her walking-costume. Herwell-shaped head and thoughtful, sensitive, controlled features, had anew value against this background of handsome furniture and all theappointments of wealth. She moved as if breathing the air that suitedher. 

From the terrace on the roof, their eyes commanded a wide and beautifulprospect, seen at this moment of the year in its brightest array ofinfinitely varied verdure. Constance, still in an absent tone, pointedout the features of the landscape, naming villages, hills, and greatestates. Hollingford, partly under a canopy of smoke, lay low by itswinding river, and in that direction Dyce most frequently turned hiseyes. 

"I felt very much obliged to you, " he said, "for your carefully writtenletter. But wasn't there one rather serious omission?"

Speaking, he looked at Constance with a humorous twinkle of the eye. She smiled. 

"Yes, there was. But, after all, it did no harm. "

"Perhaps not. I ought to have used more discretion on strange ground. By the bye, do you take an interest in the mill?"

"A good deal of interest. I think that what you said about it was, onthe whole, true--though such an obvious improvisation. "

"Improvisation? In one sense, yes; I had to take in the facts of thecase very quickly. But you don't mean that you doubt my sincerity?"

"No, no. Of course not. "

"Come, Miss Connie, we must understand each other--"

She interrupted him with a look of frank annoyance. 

"Will you do me the kindness not to call me by that name? It soundschildish--and I have long outgrown childhood. "

"What shall I call you? Miss Bride?"

"It is the usual form of address. "

"Good. I was going to say that I should like you to be clear about myposition. I have come here, not in the first place with a hope ofpersonal advantage, but to see if I can interest Lady Ogram in certainviews which I hold and am trying to get accepted by people ofinfluence. It happened that this affair of the mill gave me a goodillustration of the theory I generally have to put in an abstract way. Your word 'improvisation' seems to hint that I shaped my views to thepurpose of pleasing Lady Ogram--a plain injustice, as you will see ifyou remember the letter I wrote you. "

Constance was leaning on a parapet, her arms folded. 

"I'm sorry you so understood me, " she said, though without the accentof penitence, for in truth she seemed quietly amused. "All I meant wasthat you were admirably quick in seizing an opportunity of beginningyour propaganda. "

"I don't think you meant only that, " remarked Dyce, coolly, looking herin the eyes. 

"Is it your habit to contradict so grossly?" asked Constance, with acold air of surprise. 

"I try to make my talk--especially with women as honest as I can. Itseems mere justice to them, as well as to myself. And please observethat I did _not_ grossly contradict you. I said that you _seemed_ to meto have another thought in your mind beyond the one you admitted. --Tellme, please; do you exact courtiership from men? I imagined you wouldrather dislike it. "

"You are right; I do. "

"Then it's clear that you mustn't be annoyed when I speak in my naturalway. I see no reason in the world why one shouldn't talk to awoman--about things in general--exactly as one does to a man. What iscalled chivalry is simply disguised contempt. If a man bows and honeysto a woman, he does so because he thinks she has such a poorunderstanding that this kind of thing will flatter and please her. Formy own part, I shall never try to please a woman by any other methodsthan those which would win the regard and friendship of a man. "

Constance wore a look of more serious attention. 

"If you stick to that, " she said, with a frank air, "you will be a manworth knowing. "

"I'm very glad to hear you say so. Now that we've cleared the air, weshall get on better together. Let me tell you that, whatever else I mayfall short in, I have the virtue of sincerity. You know well enoughthat I am naturally ambitious, but my ambition has never made meunprincipled. I aim at distinction, because I believe that nature hasput it within my reach. I don't regard myself as an average man, because I can't; it would be practising hypocrisy with myself. Thereis--if you like--the possibility of self-deception. Perhaps I am misledby egregious conceit. Well, it is honest conceit, and, as it tends tomy happiness, I don't pray to be delivered from it. "

Constance smiled. 

"This is very interesting, Mr. Lashmar. But why do you honour me withsuch confidence?"

"Because I think you and I are capable of understanding each other, which is a rare thing between man and woman. I want you as a supporterof my views, and, if I succeed in that, I hope you will become asupporter of my ambitions. "

"What are they, just now?"

"Your letter contained a suggestion; whether you intended it or not, Idon't know. Why shouldn't I be the man Lady Ogram is looking for--thefuture Liberal member for Hollingford?"

His companion gazed at a far point of the landscape. 

"That is perhaps not an impossible thing, " she said, meditatively. "More unlikely things have come to pass. "

"Then it does seem to you unlikely?"

"I think we won't discuss it just now. --You see, from here, the plan ofthe gardens and the park. Perhaps you would like to walk there alittle, before going back to Hollingford?"

This was a dismissal, and Dyce accepted it. They went downstairstogether, and in the hall parted, with more friendliness on Constance'sside than she had hitherto shown. Dyce did not care to linger in thegrounds. He strolled awhile about the village, glancing over thepamphlet with its report of last year's business at the mill, and thelocal improvements consequent upon it, then returned on foot toHollingford, where he arrived with an excellent appetite for dinner. 

CHAPTER VI

Wind and rain interfered with Lashmar's project for the early morning. He had meant to ramble about the town for an hour before going out toShawe. Unable to do this, he bought half-a-dozen newspapers, and readall the leading articles and the political news with close attention. As a rule, this kind of study had little attraction for him; he wasanything but well-informed on current politics; he understood veryimperfectly the British constitution, and had still less insight intothe details of party organisation and conflict. All that kind of thinghe was wont to regard as unworthy of his scrutiny. For him, largeideas, world-embracing theories, the philosophy of civilisation. FewEnglishmen had a smaller endowment of practical ability; few, on theother hand, delighted as he did in speculative system, or could graspand exhibit in such lucid entirety hypothetical laws. Much as he talkedof science, he was lacking in several essentials of the scientificmind; he had neither patience to collect and observe facts, norconscientiousness in reasoning upon them; prejudice directed his everythought, and egoism pervaded all his conclusions. Excelling inspeciousness, it was natural that he should think success as apolitician within his easy reach; possessed by a plausible theory ofgovernment, he readily conceived himself on the heights ofstatesmanship, ruling the nation for its behoof. And so, as he read theLondon and provincial papers this morning, they had all at once a newinterest for him; he probed questions, surveyed policies, and whilstsmiling at the intellectual poverty of average man, gravely marked forhimself a shining course amid the general confusion and ineptitude. 

At ten o'clock there shot a glint of promise across the clouded sky;rain had ceased, the wind was less boisterous. Lashmar set forthbriskly on foot, and walked to Shawe, where he arrived in good time forhis appointment. The manager of the mill, a very intelligent Scotchman, conscientiously showed him everything that was to be seen, and Dyceaffected great interest. Real interest he felt little or none; theprocesses of manufacture belonged to a world to which he had nevergiven the slightest thought, which in truth repelled him. But he triedto persuade himself that he saw everything from a philosophical pointof view, and found a place for it in his system. The folk employed heregarded attentively and saw that they looked healthy, well cared for. 

"This must all be very gratifying to Lady Ogram, " he remarked, in avoice which struck just the right note of dignified reflection. 

"I understand that it is, " replied the manager. "And to Miss Bridealso, no doubt. "

"Does Miss Bride take an active interest in the mill?"

"In the hands, she does. She is an uncommon sort of young lady and, Ishould say, makes her influence felt. "

As this was the most direct statement which the Scotchman had committedhimself during their hour together, it correspondingly impressedLashmar. He went away thinking of Constance, and wondering whether shewas indeed such a notable woman. Must he really regard her as an equal, or something like it. Needless to say that Dyce at heart deemed allwomen his natural inferiors, and only by conscious effort couldentertain the possibility that one or other of their sex might view andcriticise him with level eyes. Six years ago Connie Bride had looked upto him; he, with his University culture, held undoubted superiorityover the country girl striving hard to educate herself and to find aplace in the world. But much had changed since then, and Dyce wasbeginning to feel that it would not do to reckon on any dulness, orwilful blindness, in Constance with regard to himself, his sayings anddoings. Their talk yesterday had, he flattered himself, terminated inhis favour; chiefly, because of his attitude of entire frankness, acompliment to the girl. That he had been, in the strict sense of theword, open-hearted, it did not occur to him to doubt. Dyce Lashmar'sintrospection stopped at a certain point. He was still a very youngman, and circumstance had never yet shown him an austere countenance. 

The sun was shining, the air exquisitely fresh. Lady Ogram had notnamed the hour of luncheon, but it seemed to Dyce that he could hardlypresent himself at Rivenoak before one o'clock; so, instead ofdirecting his steps towards the lodge; he struck off into a by-road, where the new-opened leafage of the hawthorn glistened after themorning's showers. Presently there came speeding towards him a lady ona bicycle, and he was sure that it was Constance. She did not slackenher pace; clearly she would not stop. 

"Good morning!" sounded cheerfully from her, as she drew near. "Haveyou seen the mill?--Come up to the house as soon as you like. "

She had swept past, leaving in Dyce a sense of having been cavalierlytreated. 

He turned, and followed towards Rivenoak. When he reached the house, Constance was walking among the flower-beds, in her hand a newspaper. 

"Do you cycle?" she asked. 

"No. I never felt tempted. "

"Lady Ogram is having her drive. Shall we stay in the garden, as thesun is so bright?"

They strolled hither and thither. Constance had a glow in her checks, and spoke with agreeable animation. For a few minutes they talked ofthe mill, and Dyce repeated the manager's remark about Miss Bride'sinfluence; he saw that it pleased her, but she affected to put itcarelessly aside. 

"How long have you known Lady Ogram?" he inquired. 

"A good many years. My father was once a friend of hers--long ago, whenhe was a curate at Hollingford. "

The circumstances of that friendship, and how it came to an end, werebut vaguely known to Constance. She remembered that, when she was stilla child, her mother often took her to Rivenoak, where she enjoyedherself in the gardens or the park, and received presents from LadyOgram, the return journey being often made in their hostess's carriage. In those days the baronet's wife was a vigorous adherent of the Churchof England, wherein she saw the hope of the country and of mankind. Buther orthodoxy discriminated; ever combative, she threw herself into thereligious polemics of the time, and not only came to be on very illterms with her own parish clergyman, but fell foul of the bishop of thediocese, who seemed to her to treat with insufficient considerationcertain letters she addressed to him. Then it was that, happening tohear a sermon by the Rev. Mr. Bride in an unfashionable church atHollingford, she found in it a forcible expression of her own views, and straight way selected Mr. Bride from all the Hollingford clergy asthe sole representative of Anglicanism. She spoke of him as "the comingman, " prophesied for him a brilliant career, and began to exert herselfon his behalf. Doubtless she would have obtained substantial promotionfor the curate of St. John's, had not her own vehemence and Mr. Bride'sdifficult character brought about a painful misunderstanding betweenthem. The curate was not what is known as a gentleman by birth; he hadthe misfortune to count among his near kinsfolk not only very poor, butdecidedly ungenteel, persons. His only sister had married an uneducatedman, who, being converted to some nondescript religion, went preachingabout the country, and unluckily, in the course of his apostolate, appeared at Hollingford. Here he had some success; crowds attended hisopen-air sermons. It soon became known that the preacher's wife, whowas always at his side, was a sister of Mr. Bride of St. John's, andgreat scandal arose in orthodox circles. Mr. Bride took quite anotherview of the matter, and declared that, in doing so, he behaved simplyas a Christian. The debate exasperated Lady Ogram's violent temper, andfortified Mr. Bride in a resentful obstinacy. After their parting, inhigh dudgeon, letters were exchanged, which merely embittered thequarrel. It was reported that the Lady of Rivenoak had publicly styledthe curate of St. John's "a low-born and ill-bred parson;" whereto Mr. Bride was alleged to have made retort that as regards birth, hesuspected that he had somewhat the advantage of Lady Ogram, and, as forhis breeding, it at all events forebade him to bandy insults. Not longafter this, St. John's had another curate. A sequel of the story wasthe ultimate settling at Hollingford of Mr. Bride's sister and herhusband, where, to this day the woman, for some years a widow, supported herself by means of a little bakery. 

"I hadn't seen Lady Ogram for a long time, " Constance pursued, "andwhen I got my place of dispenser at Hollingford hospital, I had no ideaof recalling myself to her memory. But one day my friend Dr. Baldwintold me that Lady Ogram had spoken of me, and wished to see me. 'Verywell, ' said I, 'than let Lady Ogram invite me to come and seeher. '--'If I were you, ' said the doctor, 'I think I shouldn't wait forthat. '--'Perhaps not, doctor, ' I replied, 'but you are not me, and I ammyself. ' The result of which was that Dr. Baldwin told me I had aslittle grammar as civility, and we quarrelled--as we regularly did oncea week. "

Dyce listened with amusement. 

"And she did invite you?" he asked. 

"Yes. A month afterwards, she wrote to the hospital, and, as the letterwas decent, though very dry, I went to Rivenoak. I could not help akindly feeling to Lady Ogram, when I saw her; it reminded me of some ofthe happiest days of my childhood. All the same, that first quarter ofan hour was very dangerous. As you know, I have a certain pride of myown, and more than once it made my ears tingle. I dare say you canguess Lady Ogram's way of talking to me; we'll call it bluntgood-nature. 'What are you going to do?' she asked. 'Mix medicines allyour life?' I told her that I should like to pass my exams, andpractise, instead of mixing medicines. That seemed to surprise her, andshe pooh'd the idea. 'I shan't help you to that, ' she said. 'I neverasked you, Lady Ogram!'--It was a toss up whether she would turn me outof the house or admire my courage: she is capable of one or the other. Her next question was, where did I live? I told her I lodged with myaunt, Mrs. Shufflebotham; and her face went black. Mrs. Shufflebotham, I have been told, was somehow the cause of a quarrel between my fatherand Lady Ogram. That was nothing to me. My aunt is a kind and veryhonest woman, and I wasn't going to disown her. Of course I had donethe wise, as well as the self-respecting, thing; I soon saw that LadyOgram thought all the better of me because I was not exactly a snob. "

"This is the first I have heard of your aunt, " remarked Dyce. 

"Is it? Didn't your father let you know of the shocking revelation Imade to him the other day?"

"He told me nothing at all. "

Constance reflected. 

"Probably he thought it too painful. Mrs. Shufflebotham keeps a littleshop, and sells cakes and sweetmeats. Does it distress you?"

Distress was not the applicable word, for Lashmar had no deep interestin Constance or her belongings. But the revelation surprised and ratherdisgusted him. He wondered why Constance made it thus needlessly, and, as it was, defiantly. 

"I should be very stupid and conventional, " he answered, with hisindulgent smile, "if such things affected me one way or another. "

"I don't mind telling you that, when I first knew about it, I wishedMrs. Shufflebotham and her shop at the bottom of the sea. " Constancelaughed. "But I soon got over that. I happen to have been born with agood deal of pride, and, when I began to think about myself--it wasonly a few years ago--I found it necessary to ask what I really had tobe proud of. There was nothing very obvious--no wealth, no rank, noachievements. It grew clear to me that I had better be proud of _being_proud, and a good way to that end was to let people know I carednothing for their opinion. One gets a good deal of satisfaction out ofit. "

Lashmar listened in a puzzled and uneasy frame of mind. Theoretically, it should have pleased him to hear a woman talking thus, but the actualeffect upon him was repellent. He did not care to look at the speaker, and it became difficult for him to keep up the conversation. Luckily, at this moment the first luncheon bell sounded. 

"Lady Ogram has returned, " said Constance. They had wandered to therear of the house, and thus did not know of the arrival of thecarriage. "Shall we go in?"

She led the way into a small drawing-room, and excused herself forleaving him alone. A moment later, there appeared a page, who conductedhim to a chamber where he could prepare for luncheon. When he came outagain into the hall, he found Lady Ogram standing there, reading aletter. Seen from behind, her masses of elaborately dressed hair gaveher the appearance of a young woman; when she turned at the sound of afootfall, the presentation of her parchment visage came as a shock. Shelooked keenly at the visitor, and seemed to renew her approval of him. 

"How do you do?" was the curt greeting, as she gave her hand. "Have youbeen over the mill?"

"Greatly to my satisfaction, Lady Ogram. "

"I'm glad to hear it. We'll talk about that presently. I'm expecting agentleman to lunch whom you'll like to meet--Mr. Breakspeare, theeditor of our Liberal paper. Ah, here he comes. "

A servant had just opened the hall door, and there entered a slight manin a long, heavy overcoat. 

"Well, Mr. Breakspeare!" exclaimed the hostess, with some heartiness. "Why must I have the trouble of inviting you to Rivenoak? Is myconversation so wearisome that you keep away as long as you can?"

"Dear lady, you put me to shame!" cried Mr. Breakspeare, bending lowbefore her. "It's work, work, I assure you, that forbids me the honourand the delight of waiting upon you, except at very rare intervals. Wehave an uphill fight, you know. "

"Pull your coat off, " the hostess interrupted, "and let us havesomething to eat. I'm as hungry as a hunter, whatever _you_ may be. Yousedentary people, I suppose, don't know what it is to have an appetite. "

The editor was ill-tailored, and very carelessly dressed. His ratherlong hair was brushed straight back from the forehead, and curved up alittle at the ends. Without having exactly a dirty appearance, helacked freshness, seemed to call for the bath his collar fitted badly, his tie was askew, his cuffs covered too much of the hand. Aged aboutfifty, Mr. Breakspeare looked rather younger, for he had a very smoothhigh forehead, a clear eye, which lighted up as he spoke, and a pinkcomplexion answering to the high-noted and rather florid manner of hisspeech. 

Walking briskly forward--she seemed more vigorous to day thanyesterday--the hostess led to the dining room, where a small squaretable received her and her three companions. Lady Ogram's affectationof appetite lasted only a few minutes; on the other hand, Mr. Breakspeare ate with keen gusto, and talked very little until he hadsatisfied his hunger. Whether by oversight, or intentionaleccentricity, the hostess had not introduced him and Lashmar to eachother; they exchanged casual glances, but no remark. Dyce talked ofwhat he had seen at the mill; he used a large, free-flowing mode ofspeech, which seemed to please Lady Ogram, for she never interruptedhim and had an unusual air of attentiveness. Presently the talk movedtowards politics, and Dyce found a better opportunity of eloquence. 

"For some thirty years, " he began, with an air of reminiscence, "wehave been busy with questions of physical health. We have been lookingafter our bodies and our dwellings. Drainage has been a word to conjurewith, and athletics have become a religion--the only one existing formultitudes among us. Physical exercise, with a view to health, used tobe the privilege of the upper class; we have been teaching the peopleto play games and go in for healthy sports. At the same time there hasbeen considerable aesthetic progress. England is no longer the stupidlyinartistic country of early Victorian times; there's a true delight inmusic and painting, and a much more general appreciation of the good inliterature. With all this we have been so busy that politics havefallen into the background--politics in the proper sense of the word. Ideas of national advance have been either utterly lost sight of, orgrossly confused with mere material gain. At length we see theConservative reaction in full swing, and who knows where it will landus? It seems to be leading to the vulgarest and most unintelligent formof chauvinism. In politics our need now is of _brains_. A stupidroutine, or a rowdy excitability, had taken the place of the oldprogressive Liberalism, which kept ever in view the prime interests ofcivilisation. We want men with _brains_. "

"Exactly, " fell from Mr. Breakspeare, who began to eye the young manwith interest. "It's what I've been preaching, in season and out ofseason, for the last ten years. I heartily agree with you. "

"Look at Hollingford, " remarked the hostess, smiling grimly. 

"Just so!" exclaimed the editor. "Look at Hollingford! True, it wasnever a centre of Liberalism, but the Liberals used to make a goodfight, and they had so much intelligence on their side that the towncould not sink into utter dulness. What do we see now?" He raised hishand and grew rhetorical. "The crassest Toryism sweeping all before it, and everywhere depositing its mud--which chokes and does _not_fertilise. We have athletic clubs, we have a free library, we arebetter drained and cleaner and healthier and more bookish, with all, than in the old times; but for politics--alas! A base level of selfishand purblind materialism--personified by Robb!"

At the name of the borough member, Lady Ogram's dark eyes flashed. 

"Ah, Robb, " interjected Lashmar. "Tell me something about Robb. I knowhardly anything of him. "

"Picture to yourself, " returned the editor, with slow emphasis, "a manwho at his best was only a stolid country banker, and who now is sunkinto fatuous senility. I hardly know whether I dare trust myself tospeak of Robb, for I confess that he has become to me an abstractionrather than a human being--an embodiment of all the vicious routine, the foul obscurantism, the stupid prejudice, which an enlightenedLiberalism has to struggle against. There he sits, a satire on ourparliamentary system. He can't put together three sentences; he neverin his life had an idea. The man is a mere money-sack, propped up bytoadies and imbeciles. Has any other borough such a contemptiblerepresentative? I perspire with shame and anger when I think of him!"

Dyce asked himself how much of this vehemence was genuine, how muchassumed to gratify their hostess. Was Mr. Breakspeare inwardly laughingat himself and the company? But he seemed to be an excitable littleman, and possibly believed what he said. 

"That's very interesting, " Dyce remarked. "And how much longer willHollingford be content with such representation?"

"I think, " replied Breakspeare, gravely, "I really think, that at thenext election we shall floor him. It is the hope of my life. For that Itoil; for that I sacrifice leisure and tranquillity and most of thethings dear to a man philosophically inclined. Can I but see Robb castdown, I shall withdraw from the arena and hum (I have no voice) my_Nunc dimittis_. "

Was there a twinkle in the editor's eye as it met Lashmar's smile?Constance was watching him with unnaturally staid countenance, and herglance ran round the table. 

"I'm only afraid, " said Lady Ogram, "that he won't stand again. "

"I think he will, " cried Breakspeare, "I think he will. The ludicrouscreature imagines that Westminster couldn't go on without him. He hopesto die of the exhaustion of going into the lobby, and remain for ever asymbol of thick-headed patriotism. But we will floor him in his nativemarket-place. We will drub him at the ballot. Something assures methat, for a reward of my life's labours, I shall behold the squashingof Robb!"

Lady Ogram did not laugh. Her sense of humour was not very keen, andthe present subject excited her most acrimonious feelings. 

"We must get hold of the right man, " she exclaimed, with a glance atLashmar. 

"Yes, the right man, " said Breakspeare, turning his eyes in the samedirection. "The man of brains, and of vigour; the man who can inspireenthusiasm; the man, in short, who has something to say, and knows howto say it. In spite of the discouraging aspect of things, I believethat Hollingford is ready for him. We leading Liberals are few innumber, but we have energy and the law of progress on our side. "

Lashmar had seemed to be musing whilst he savoured a slice ofpine-apple. At Breakspeare's last remark, he looked up and said:

"The world moves, and always has moved, at the impulse of a very smallminority. "

"Philosophically, I am convinced of that, " replied the editor, asthough he meant to guard himself against too literal or practical anapplication of the theorem. 

"The task of our time, " pursued Dyce, with a half absent air, "is tomake this not only understood by, but acceptable to, the multitude. Political education is our pressing need, and political education meansteaching the People how to select its Rulers. For my own part, I haverather more hope of a constituency such as Hollingford, than of oneactively democratic. The fatal thing is for an electorate to be bent onchoosing the man as near as possible like unto themselves. That is thefalse idea of representation. Progress does not mean guidance by one ofthe multitude, but by one of nature's elect, and the multitude mustlearn how to recognise such a man. "

He looked at Lady Ogram, smiling placidly. 

"There's rather a Tory sound about that, " said the hostess, with a nod, "but Mr. Breakspeare will understand. "

"To be sure, to be sure!" exclaimed the editor. "It is the aristocraticprinciple rightly understood. "

"It is the principle of nature, " said Lashmar, "as revealed to us byscience. Science--as Mr. Breakspeare is well aware--teaches, notlevelling, but hierarchy. The principle has always been dimlyperceived. In our time, biology enables us to work it out withscientific precision. "

Mr. Breakspeare betrayed a little uneasiness. 

"I regret, " he said diffidently, "that I have had very little time togive to natural science. When we have floored Robb, I fully intend toapply myself to a study of all that kind of thing. "

Lashmar bestowed a gracious smile upon him. 

"My dear sir, the flooring of Robb--Robb in his symbolic sense--canonly be brought about by assiduous study and assimilation of what Iwill call bio-sociology. Not only must we, the leaders, have thoroughlygrasped this science, but we must find a way of teaching it to theleast intelligent of our fellow citizens. The task is no trifling one. I'm very much afraid that neither you nor I will live to see itcompleted. "

"Pray don't discourage us, " put in Constance. "Comprehensive theoriesare all very well, but Mr. Breakspeare's practical energy is quite asgood a thing. "

The editor turned his eyes upon Miss Bride, their expression arespectful gratitude. He was a married man, with abundant offspring. Mrs. Breakspeare rose every morning at half-past six, and toiled at herdomestic duties, year in year out, till ten o'clock at night; she waspatient as laborious, and had never repined under her lot. But hereducation was elementary; she knew nothing of political theories, nothing of science or literature, and, as he looked at Constance Bride, Breakspeare asked himself what he might not have done, what ambition hemight not have achieved, had it been his fate to wed such a woman as_that_! Miss Bride was his ideal. He came to Rivenoak less often thanhe wished, because the sight of her perturbed his soul and darkened himwith discontent. 

"Discourage you!" cried Lashmar. "Heaven forbid! I'm quite sure Mr. Breakspeare wouldn't take my words in that sense. I am all for zeal andhopefulness. The curse of our age is pessimism, a result and a cause ofthe materialistic spirit. Science, which really involves an infinitehope, has been misinterpreted by Socialists in the most foolish way, until we get a miserable languid fatalism, leading to decadence anddespair. The essential of progress is Faith, and Faith can only beestablished by the study of Nature. "

"That's the kind of thing I like to hear, " exclaimed the editor, who, whilst listening, has tossed off a glass of wine. (The pink of hischeeks was deepening to a pleasant rosiness, as luncheon drew to itsend. ) "_Hoc signo vinces_!"

Lady Ogram, who was regarding Lashmar, said abruptly, "Go on! Talkaway!" And the orator, to whose memory happily occurred a passage ofhis French sociologist, proceeded meditatively. 

"Two great revolutions in knowledge have affected the modern world. First came the great astronomic discoveries, which subordinated ourplanet, assigned it its place in the universe, made it a little rollingglobe amid innumerable others, instead of the one inhabited world forwhose behalf were created sun and moon and stars. Then the great workof the biologists, which put man into his rank among animals, dethroning him from a fantastic dignity, but at the same time honouringhim as the crown of nature's system, the latest product of aeons ofevolution. These conquests of science have put modern man into anentirely new position, have radically changed his conception of theworld and of himself. Religion, philosophy, morals, politics, all arerevolutionised by this accession of knowledge. It is no exaggeration tosay that the telescope and the microscope have given man a new heartand soul. _But_--" he paused, effectively, --"how many are as yet reallyaware of the change? The multitude takes no account of it, no consciousaccount; the average man lives under the heaven of Joshua, on the earthof King Solomon. We call our age scientific. So it is--for a few scorehuman beings. "

Reflecting for a moment, Dyce felt that it would be absurd to chargehim with plagiarism, so vastly more eloquent was he than the author towhom he owed his ideas. Conscience did not trouble him in the least. Hemarked with satisfaction the attentiveness of his audience. 

"Politics, to be a living thing, must be viewed in this new, largelight. The leader in Liberalism is the man imbued with scientifictruth, and capable of applying it to the every day details ofgovernment. Science, I said, teaches hierarchic order--that is, therule of the few, of the select, the divinely appointed. But thishierarchy is an open order--open to the select of every rank; a processof perpetual renewal will maintain the health of the politicalorganism. The true polity is only in slow formation; for, obviously, human reason is not yet a complete development. As yet, men come to thefront by accident; some day they will be advanced to power by aninevitable and impeccable process of natural selection. For my ownpart"--he turned slightly towards the hostess--"I think that use willbe made of our existing system of aristocracy; in not a few instances, technical aristocracy is justified by natural pre-eminence. We can allthink of examples. Personally, I might mention my friend LordDymchurch--a member of the true aristocracy, in every sense of theword. "

"I don't know him, " said Lady Ogram. 

"That doesn't surprise me. He leads an extremely retired life. But I amsure you would find him a very pleasant acquaintance. "

Lashmar occasionally had a fine discretion. He knew when to cheek theflood of his eloquence: a glance at this face and that, and he saidwithin himself: _Sat prata biberunt_. Soon after this, Lady Ogram rose, and led the company into her verdurous drawing-room. She was beginningto show signs of fatigue; seated in her throne-like chair, she let herhead lie back, and was silent. Constance Bride, ever tactful, began totake a more prominent part in the conversation, and Breakspeare wasdelighted to talk with her about ordinary things. Presently, Lashmar, in reply to some remark, mentioned that he was returning to London thisevening whereupon his hostess asked:

"When are you coming back again?"

"Before long, I hope, Lady Ogram. The pleasure of these two days--"

She interrupted him. 

"Could you come down in a fortnight?"

"Easily, and gladly. "

"Then do so. Don't go to Hollingford; your room will be ready for youhere. Just write and let me know when you will arrive. "

In a few minutes, both men took their leave, and went back toHollingford together, driving in a fly which Breakspeare had ordered. For the first minutes they hardly talked; they avoided each other'slook, and exchanged only insignificant words. Then the editor, with hisblandest smile, said in a note of sudden cordiality:

"It has been a great pleasure to me to meet you, Mr. Lashmar. May I, without indiscretion, take it for granted that we shall soon befighting the good fight together?"

"Why, I think it likely, " answered Dyce, in a corresponding tone. "Ihave not _quite_ made up my mind--"

"No, no. I understand. There's just one point I should like to touchupon. To-day we have enjoyed a veritable symposium--for me, I assureyou, a high intellectual treat. But, speaking to you as to one who doesnot know Hollingford, I would suggest to you that our Liberal electorsare perhaps hardly ripe for such a new and bracing politicalphilosophy--"

Dyce broke into gay laughter. 

"My dear sir, you don't imagine that I thought of incorporating myphilosophy in an electioneering address? Of course one must use commonsense in these matters. Practical lessons come before theory. If Istand for Hollingford--" he rolled the words, and savoured them--"Ishall do so as a very practical politician indeed. My philosophicalcreed will of course influence me, and I shall lose no opportunity ofpropagating it: but have no fear of my expounding bio-sociology toHollingford shopkeepers and artisans. "

Breakspeare echoed the speaker's mirth, and they talked on about thepractical aspects of the next election in the borough. 

Meanwhile, Lady Ogram had sat in her great chair, dozing. Constance, accustomed to this, read for half an hour, or let her thoughts wander. At length overcoming her drowsiness, the old lady fixed a curious gazeupon Miss Bride, a gaze of benevolent meditation. 

"We shall have several letters to write to-morrow morning, " she saidpresently. 

"Political letters?" asked Constance. 

"Yes. By the bye, do you know anything about Lord Dymchurch?"

"Nothing at all. "

"Then find out about him as soon as possible. --What are Mr. Lashmar'smeans?"

"I really can't tell you, " answered Constance, slightly confused by theunexpected question. "I believe his father is very well-to-do; I haveheard him spoken of as a man of private fortune. "

"Then our friend is independent--or at all events not pinched. So muchthe better. "

Again Lady Ogram fell into musing; the countless wrinkles about hereyes, eloquent as wrinkles always are, indicated that her thoughts hadno disagreeable tenor. 

"Mr. Lashmar impresses you favourably?" Constance at length ventured toask. 

Lady Ogram delayed her answer for a moment, then, speaking thickly inher tired voice, and with slow emphasis:

"I'm glad to know him. Beyond a doubt, he is the coming man. "

CHAPTER VII

On his return, Lashmar found a letter from Mrs. Woolstan awaiting himat Upper Woburn Place. The lady wrote in rather an agitated strain; shehad to report that Leonard was already packed off to school, theimperious Wrybolt having insisted on sending him away as soon as he hadrecovered from his cold, on a pretence that the boy ought not to loseany part of the new term. "It is really very hard on me, don't youthink? I know nothing whatever about the school, which is a long wayoff, right away in Devonshire: And it does so grieve me that youcouldn't say good-bye to the poor little fellow. He says he shall writeto you, and it would be so kind, dear Mr. Lashmar, if you could find amoment to answer him. I know how grateful dear Len would be. But wewill _talk_ about these things, for of course you will come and lunchall the same, at least I hope you will. Shall we say Thursday? I am notat all pleased with Mr. Wrybolt's behaviour. Indeed it seems to me veryhigh-handed, very! And I told him very plainly what I thought. You canhave no idea how galling is a woman's position left at the mercy of atrustee--a stranger too. And now that I am quite alone in thehouse--but I know you don't like people who complain. It's all verywell for _you_, you know. Ah! if I had your independence! What I wouldmake of my life!--Till Thursday, then, and don't, please, be bored withmy letters. "

This Mrs. Woolstan wrote and posted before luncheon. At three o'clockin the afternoon, just when she was preparing to go out, the servantmade known to her that Mr. Wrybolt had called. What, Mr. Wrybolt again!With delay which was meant to be impressive, she descended to thedrawing-room, and coldly greeted the gentleman of the red neck andheavy eyelids. Mr. Wrybolt's age was about five and forty; he had thewell-groomed appearance of a flourishing City man, and presented nosinister physiognomy; one augured in him a disposition to high-feedingand a masculine self-assertiveness. Faces such as his may be observedby the thousand round about the Royal Exchange; they almost invariablysuggest degradation, more or less advanced, of a frank and hopeful typeof English visage; one perceives the honest, hearty schoolboy, dimmedbeneath self-indulgence, soul-hardening calculation, debasingexcitement and vulgar routine. Mr. Wrybolt was a widower, withoutchildren; his wife, a strenuous sportswoman, had been killed in ridingto hounds two or three years ago. This afternoon he showed a front allamiability. He had come, he began by declaring, to let Mrs. Woolstanknow that the son of a common friend of theirs had just, on his advice, been sent to the same school as Leonard; the boys would be friends, andmake each other feel at home. This news Mrs. Woolstan received withsome modification of her aloofness; she was very glad; after all, perhaps it had been a wise thing to send Leonard off with littlewarning; she would only have made herself miserable in the anticipationof parting with him. That, said Mr. Wrybolt, was exactly what he hadhimself felt. He was quite sure that in a few days Mrs. Woolstan wouldsee that all was for the best. The fact of the matter was that Len'stutor, though no doubt a very competent man, had been guilty ofindiscretion in unsettling the boy's ideas on certain very importantsubjects. Well, admitted the mother, perhaps it was so; she would sayno more; Mr. Wrybolt, as a man of the world, probably knew best. Andnow--as he was here, she would use the opportunity to speak to him on asubject which had often been in her mind of late. It was a matter ofbusiness. As her trustee was aware, she possessed a certain littlecapital which was entirely at her own disposal. More than once Mr. Wrybolt had spoken to her about it--had been so kind as to express ahope that she managed that part of her affairs wisely, and to offer hisservices if ever she desired to make any change in her investments. Thetruth was, that she had thought recently of trying to put out her moneyto better advantage, and she would like to talk the matter over withhim. This they proceeded to do, Mr. Wrybolt all geniality and aptsuggestiveness. As the colloquy went on, a certain change appeared inthe man's look and voice; he visibly softened, he moved his chair alittle nearer, and all at once, before Mrs. Woolstan had had time toreflect upon these symptoms, Wrybolt was holding her hand and makingher an offer of marriage. 

Never was woman more genuinely surprised. That this prosperousfinancier, who had already made one advantageous marriage and mightprobably, if he wished, wed a second fortune--that such a man as Mr. Wrybolt would think of _her_ for his wife, was a thing which had neverentered her imagination. She was fluttered, and flattered, and pleased, but not for a moment did she think of accepting him. Her eyes fell, indemurest sadness. Never, never could she marry again; the past wasalways with her, and the future imposed upon her the most solemn ofduties. She lived for the memory of her husband and for the prospectsof her child. Naturally, Mr. Wrybolt turned at first an incredulousear; he urged his suit, simply and directly, with persuasion derivedpartly from the realm of sentiment, partly from Lombard Street--thelatter sounding the more specious. But Mrs. Woolstan betrayed no signof wavering; in truth, the more Wrybolt pleaded, the firmer she grew inher resolve of refusal. When decency compelled the man to withdraw, hewas very warm of countenance and lobster-hued at the back of his neck;an impartial observer would have thought him secretly in a toweringrage. His leave-taking was laconic, though he did his best to smile. 

Of course Mrs. Woolstan soon sat down to write him a letter, in whichshe begged him to believe how grateful she was, how much honoured byhis proposal and how deeply distressed at not being able to accept it. Surely this would make no difference between them? Of course they wouldbe friends as ever--nay, more than ever? She could never forget hisnobly generous impulse. But let him reflect on her broken life, herimmutable sadness; he would understand how much she would have wrongedsuch a man as he in taking advantage of that moment's heroic weakness. To this effusive epistle came speedily a brief response. Of course allwas as before, wrote Wrybolt. He was wholly at her service, and woulddo anything she wished in the matter of her money. By all means let hersend him full particulars in writing, and he would lose no time; theyield of her capital might probably be doubled. 

Mrs. Woolstan, after all, went no further in that business. She had herown reasons for continuing to think constantly of it, but for thepresent felt she would prefer not to trouble Mr. Wrybolt. Impatientlyshe looked forward to Thursday and the coming of Dyce Lashmar. 

He came, with a countenance of dubious import. He was neither merry norsad, neither talkative nor taciturn. At one moment his face seemed toradiate hope; the next, he appeared to fall under a shadow ofsolicitude. When his hostess talked of her son, he plainly gave noheed; his replies were mechanical. When she asked him for an account ofwhat he had been doing down in the country, he answered with brokenscraps of uninteresting information. Thus passed the quarter of an hourbefore luncheon, and part of luncheon itself; but at length Dycerecovered his more natural demeanour. Choosing a moment when theparlour-maid was out of the room, he leaned towards Mrs. Woolstan, andsaid, with the smile of easy comradeship:

"I have a great deal to tell you. "

"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Iris, who had been sinking into a disheartenedsilence. "I began to fear nothing interesting had happened. "

"Have patience. Presently. "

After that, the meal was quickly finished; they passed into thedrawing-room, and took comfortable chairs on either side of the hearth. May had brought cold, clammy weather; a sky of billowing grey andfrequent gusts against the window made it pleasant here by this brightfireside. Lashmar stretched his legs, smiled at the gimcracks shelvedand niched above the mantelpiece, and began talking. His description ofLady Ogram was amusing, but not disrespectful; he depicted her as anold autocrat of vigorous mind and original character, a woman to betaken quite seriously, and well worth having for a friend, thoughfriendship with her would not be found easy by ordinary people. 

"As luck would have it, I began by saying something which might havegiven her mortal offence. " He related the incident of the paper-mill. "Nothing could have been better. She must be sickened with toadyism, and I could see she found my way a refreshing contrast. It made clearto her at once that I met her in a perfectly independent spirit. If wedidn't like each other, good-bye, and no harm done. But, as it proved, we got on very well indeed. In a fortnight's time I am to go down andstay at Rivenoak. "

"Really? In a fortnight? She must have taken to you wonderfully. "

"My ideas interested the old lay as I thought perhaps they might. She'svery keen on political and social science. It happens, too, that she'slooking about for a Liberal candidate to contest Hollingford at thenext election. "

Dyce added this information in a very quiet, matter-of-fact voice, hiseyes turned to the fire. Upon his hearer they produced no less aneffect than he anticipated. 

"A Liberal candidate!" echoed Iris, a-quiver with joyous excitement. "She wants you to go into Parliament!"

"I fancy she has that idea. Don't make a fuss about it; there's nothingstartling in the suggestion. It was probably her reason for inviting meto Rivenoak. "

"Oh, this is splendid--splendid!"

"Have the goodness to be quiet, " said Dyce. "It isn't a thing to screamabout, but to talk over quietly and sensibly. I thought you had got outof that habit. "

"I'm very sorry. Don't be cross. Tell me more about it. Who is thepresent member?"

Dyce gave an account of the state of politics at Hollingford, sketchingthe character of Mr. Robb on the lines suggested by Breakspeare. As shelistened, Mrs. Woolstan had much ado to preserve outward calm; she wasflushed with delight; words of enthusiasm trembled on her lips. 

"When will the election be?" she asked in the first pause. 

"Certainly not this year. Possibly not even next There's plenty oftime. "

"Oh, you are _sure_ to win! How can a wretched old Tory like that standagainst you? Go and make friends with everybody. You only need to beknown. How I should like to hear you make a speech! Of course I must bethere when you do. How does one get to Hollingford? What are thetrains?"

"If you leave Euston by the newspaper train to-morrow morning, " saidDyce, gravely, "you may be just in time to hear the declaration of thepoll. --Meanwhile, " he added, "suppose we think for a moment of thetrifling fact that my income is nothing a year. How does that affect mychances in a political career, I wonder?"

Mrs. Woolstan's countenance fell. 

"Oh--but--it's impossible for that to stand in your way. You saidyourself that you didn't seriously trouble about it. Of course you willget an income--somehow. Men who go in for public life always do--don'tthey?"

She spoke timidly, with downcast eyes, a smile hovering about her lips. Dyce did not look at her. He had thrust his hands into his trouserpockets, and crossed his legs; he smiled frowningly at the fire. 

"Does Lady Ogram know your circumstances?" Iris asked, in a lower voice. 

"I can't be sure. She may have heard something about them from--myfriend. Naturally, I didn't tell her that I was penniless. "

"But--if she is bent on having you for a candidate don't you think shewill very likely make some suggestion? A wealthy woman--"

The voice failed; the speaker had an abashed air. 

"We can't take anything of that kind into account, " said Lashmar, withmasculine decision. "If any such suggestion were made, I should have toconsider it very carefully indeed. As yet I know Lady Ogram veryslightly. We may quarrel, you know; it would be the easiest thing inthe world. My independence is the first consideration. You mustn'timagine that I _clutch_ at this opportunity. Nothing of the kind. It'san opening, perhaps; but in any case I should have found one beforelong. I don't even know yet whether Hollingford will suit me. It's avery unimportant borough; I may decide that it would be better to lookto one of the large, intelligent constituencies. I'm afraid--" hebecame rather severe--"you are inclined to weigh my claims torecognition by the fact that I happen to have no money--"

"Oh, Mr. Lashmar! Oh, don't!" exclaimed Iris, in a pained voice. "Howcan you be so unkind--so unjust!"

"No, no; I merely want to guard myself against misconception. The veryfreedom with which I speak to you might lead you to misjudge me. If Ithought you were ever tempted to regard me as an adventurer--"

"Mr. Lashmar!" cried Iris, almost tearfully. "This is dreadful. Howcould such a thought enter my mind? Is _that_ your opinion of me?"

"Pray don't be absurd, " interposed Dyce, with an impatient gesture. "Idetest this shrillness, as I've told you fifty times. "

Iris bridled a little. 

"I'm sure I wasn't _shrill_. I spoke in a very ordinary voice. And Idon't know why you should attribute such thoughts to me. "

Lashmar gave way to nervous irritation. 

"What a feminine way of talking! Is it impossible for you to follow alogical train of ideas? I attributed no thought whatever to you. All Isaid was, that I must take care not to be misunderstood. And I see thatI had very good reason; you have a fatal facility in misconceiving eventhe simplest things. "

Mrs. Woolstan bridled still more. There was a point of colour on herfreckled cheeks, her lower lip showed a tooth's pressure. 

"After all, " she said, "you must remember that I am a woman, and ifwomen don't express themselves quite as men do, I see no great harm init. I don't think mannishness is a very nice quality. After all, I ammyself, and I can't become somebody else, and certainly shouldn't careto, if I could. "

Dyce began to laugh forbearingly. 

"Come, come, " he said, "what's all this wrangling about? Row did itbegin? That's the extraordinary thing with women; one gets so easilyoff the track, and runs one doesn't know where. What was I saying? Oh, simply that I couldn't be sure, yet, whether Hollingford would suit me. Let us keep to the higher plane. It's safer than too familiar detail. "

Iris was not to be so easily composed. She remarked a change in herfriend since he had ceased to be Leonard's tutor; he seemed to hold herin slighter esteem, a result, no doubt, of the larger prospects openingbefore him. She was jealous of old Lady Ogram, whose place and wealthgave her such power to shape a man's fortunes. For some time now, Irishad imagined herself an influence in Lashmar's life, had dreamed thather influence might prevail over all other. In marrying, she hadsacrificed herself to an illusory hope; but she was now an experiencedwoman, able to distinguish the phantasmal from the genuine, and ofLashmar's powers there could be no doubt. Her own judgment she sawconfirmed by that of Lady Ogram. Sharp would be her pang if theaspiring genius left her aside, passed beyond her with a careless nod. She half accused him of ingratitude. 

"I'm not at all sure, " she said, rather coldly, "that you think mecapable of rising to the higher plane. Perhaps trivial details are moresuited to my intelligence. "

Dyce had relieved himself of a slight splenetic oppression, and feltthat he was behaving boorishly. He brightened and grew cordial, admitted a superfluous sensitiveness, assured his companion that heprized her sympathy, counted seriously upon her advice; in short, wasas amiable as he knew how to be. Under his soothing talk, Mrs. Woolstanrecovered herself; but she had a preoccupied air. 

"If you regard me as a serious friend, " she said at length with someembarrassment, "you can easily prove it, and put my mind at ease. "

"How?" asked Dyce, with a quick, startled look. 

"You have said more than once that a man and woman who were reallyfriends should be just as men are with each other--plain-spoken andstraightforward and--and no nonsense. "

"That's my principle. I won't have any woman for a friend on otherterms. "

"Then--here's what I want to say. I'm your friend call me Jack orHarry, if you like--and I see a way in which I can be of use to you. Ithappens that I have rather more money than I want for my own use. Iwant to lend you some--until your difficulties are over--just as oneman would to another--"

Her speech had become so palpitant that she was stopped by want ofbreath; a rosy shamefacedness subdued her; trying to brave it out, sheachieved only an unconscious archness of eye and lip which made her forthe moment oddly, unfamiliarly attractive. Dyce could not take his eyesfrom her; he experienced a singular emotion. 

"That's uncommonly good of you, Iris, " he said, with all the directnessat his command. "You see, I call you by your name, just to show that Itake our friendship seriously. If I could borrow from anyone I wouldfrom you. But I don't like the idea. You're a good fellow--" helaughed--"and I thank you heartily. "

Iris winced at the "good fellow. "

"Why can't you consent to borrow?" she asked, in a note of persistence. "Would you refuse if Lady Ogram made such a suggestion?"

"Oh, Lady Ogram! That would depend entirely--"

"But you must have money from somewhere, " Iris urged, her mannerbecoming practical. "I'm not rich enough to lend very much, but I couldhelp you over a year, perhaps. Wouldn't you rather go back to Rivenoakwith a feeling of complete independence?--I see what it is. You don'treally mean what you say; you're ashamed to be indebted to a woman. Yes, I can see it in your face. "

"Look at the thing impartially, " said Dyce, fidgetting in his chair. "How can I be sure that I should ever be able to pay you back? In moneymatters there is just that difference a man can go to work and earn; awoman generally can't do anything of the kind. That's why it seemsunjust to take a woman's money; that's the root of all our delicacy inthe matter. Don't trouble about my affairs; I shall pull through thedifficult time. "

"Yes, " exclaimed Iris, "with somebody else's help. And _why_ should itbe somebody else? I'm not in such a position that I should be ruined ifI lost a few hundred pounds. I have money I can do what I like with. IfI want to have the pleasure of helping you, why should you refuse me?You know very well--at least, I hope you do--that I should never havehinted at such a thing if we had been just ordinary acquaintances. We're trying to be more sensible than everyday people. And just whenthere comes a good chance of putting our views into practice, you drawback, you make conventional excuses. I don't like that! It makes mefeel doubtful about your sincerity--Be angry, if you like. I feelinclined to be angry too, and I've the better right!"

Again her panting impulsiveness ended in extinction of voice, again shewas rosily self-conscious, though, this time, not exactly shamefaced;and again the young man felt a sort of surprise as he gazed at her. 

"In any case, " he said, standing up and taking a step or two, "an offerof this kind couldn't be accepted straightaway. All I can say now isthat I'm very grateful to you. No one ever gave me such a proof offriendship, that's the simple fact. It's uncommonly good of you, Iris--"

"It's not uncommonly good of _you_, " she broke in, still seated, andher arms crossed. "Do as you like. You said disagreeable things, and Ifelt hurt, and when I ask you to make amends in a reasonable way--"

"Look here, " cried Lashmar, standing before her with his hands in hispockets, "you know perfectly well--_perfectly well_--that, if I acceptthis offer, you'll think the worse of me. "

Iris started up. 

"It isn't true! I shall think the worse of you if you go down to LadyOgram's house, and act and speak as if you were independent. What sortof face will you have when it comes at last to telling her the truth?"

Dyce seemed to find this a powerful argument. He raised his brows, moved uneasily, and kept silence. 

"I shall _not_ think one bit the worse of you, " Iris pursued, impetuously. "You make me out, after all, to be a silly, ordinarywoman, and it's horribly unjust. If you go away like this, please nevercome here again. I mean what I say. Never come to see me again!"

Lashmar seemed to hesitate, looked uncomfortable, then stepped back tohis chair and sat down. 

"That's right;" said Iris, with quiet triumph. 

And she, too, resumed her chair. 

CHAPTER VIII

Under the roof at Rivenoak was an attic which no one ever entered. Thelast person who had done so was Sir Quentin Ogram; on a certain day ineighteen hundred and--something, the baronet locked the door and putkey into his pocket, and during the more than forty years since elapsedthe room had remained shut. It guarded neither treasure nor diresecret; the hidden contents were merely certain essays in the art ofsculpture, sundry shapes in clay and in marble, the work of Sir Quentinhimself when a very young man. Only one of these efforts had an abidinginterest; it was a marble bust representing a girl, or young woman, ofremarkable beauty, the head proudly poised, the eyes disdainfullydirect, on the lips a smile which seemed to challenge the world'sopinion. Not a refined or nobly suggestive face, but stamped withcharacter, alive with vehement self-consciousness; a face to admire ata distance, not without misgiving as one pictured the flesh and bloodoriginal. Young Quentin had made a fine portrait. The model was hismistress, and, soon after the bust was finished, she became his wife. 

Naturally, Sir Spencer and Lady Ogram were not bidden to the wedding;in fact, they knew nothing about it until a couple of years after, when, on the birth to him of a son and heir, Quentin took his couragein both hands and went down to Rivenoak to make the confession. Heavowed somewhat less than the truth, finding it quite task enough tomitigate the circumstances of Mrs. Ogram's birth and breeding. Theexhibition of a portrait paved his way. This superbly handsomecreature, adorned as became her present and prospective station, assuredly gave no shock at the first glance. By some freak of fate shehad for parents a plumber and a washerwoman--"poor but very honestpeople, " was Quentin's periphrase; their poverty of late considerablyrelieved by the thoughtful son-in-law, and their honesty perhapsfortified at the same time. Arabella (the beauty's baptismal name)unfortunately had two brothers; sisters, most happily, none. Thebrothers, however, were of a roaming disposition, and probably wouldtend to a colonial life; Quentin had counselled it, with persuasionswhich touched their sense of the fitting. So here was the case stated;Sir Spencer and his lady had but to reflect upon it, with what privateconjectures might chance to enter their minds. Quentin was an onlychild; he had provided already for the continuance of the house; beingof mild disposition, the baronet bowed his head to destiny, and, aftera moderate interval, Arabella crossed the threshold of Rivenoak. 

Of course there were one or two friends of Quentin's who knew all thefacts of the case; these comrades he saw no more, having promised hiswife never again to acknowledge or hold any intercourse with them. Withhis bachelor life had ended the artistic aspirations to which he hadbeen wont to declare that he should for ever devote himself; Mrs. Ogram(she had been for a year or two a professional model) objected to thatungentlemanly pursuit with much more vigour and efficacy than the youngman's parents, who had merely regretted that Quentin should waste histime and associate with a class of persons not regarded as worthy ofmuch respect. Whether the dismissed cronies would talk or keep silence, who could say? Sir Spencer affected to believe that Arabella, when hisson came to know her, was leading the life of a harmless, necessarysempstress, and that only by long entreaty, and under every conditionof decorum, had she been induced to sit for her bust to theenthusiastic sculptor. Very touching was the story of how, when theartist became adorer and offered marriage, dear Arabella would not hearof such a thing; how, when her heart began to soften, she one day burstinto tears and implored Mr. Ogram to prove his love, not by wildlyimpossible sacrifice, but simply by sending her to school, so that shemight make herself less unworthy to think of him with patheticdevotion, and from a great distance, to the end of her days. To school, in very deed, she had been sent; that is to say, she had all manner ofteachers, first in England and then abroad, during the couple of yearsbefore the birth of her child; and by this instruction Arabellaprofited so notably that her language made no glaring contrast withthat of the civilised world, and her mind seemed if anything moreacute, more circumspective, than women's generally in the sphere towhich she was now admitted. Sir Spencer and Lady Ogram did not loveher; they made no pretence of doing so; and it may be feared that thelives of both were shortened by chagrin and humiliation. At the age ofthirty or so, Quentin succeeded to the baronetcy. In the same year hisson died. No other offspring had blessed, or was to bless, the romanticunion. 

Behold Arabella, erst of Camden Town, installed as mistress of a housein Mayfair and reigning over Rivenoak. Inevitably, legends were rifeabout her; where the exact truth was not known, people believed worse. Her circle of society was but a narrow one; but for two classes ofwell-dressed people, the unscrupulous snobs and the cheerilyindifferent, her drawing-room would have been painfully bare. Somefamilies knew her because Sir Quentin was one of the richest men in hiscounty; certain persons accepted her invitations because she was notexactly like other hostesses, and could talk in rather an amusing way. The years went on; scandal lost its verdure; Lady Ogram was accepted asa queer woman with a queer history, a rather vulgar eccentric, whosecaprices and enterprises afforded agreeable matter for gossip. No onehad ever ventured to assail her post-matrimonial reputation; she wasfiercely virtuous, and would hold no terms with any woman not whollyabove reproach. It had to be admitted that she bore herself withincreasing dignity; moreover, that she showed a disposition to use hermeans and influence for what are called good ends. Towards the year1870 the name of Lady Ogram began to be mentioned with respect. 

Then her husband died. Sir Quentin had doubtless fallen short of entirehappiness; before middle-age he was a taciturn, washed-out sort of man, with a look of timid anxiety. Perchance he regretted the visions of hisyouth, the dreams of glory in marble. When he became master ofRivenoak, and gave up his London house, Arabella wished him to destroyall his sculpture, that no evidence might remain of the relations whichhad at first existed between them, no visible relic of the time whichshe refused to remember. Sir Quentin pleaded against this condemnation, and obtained a compromise. The fine bust, and a few other of his bestthings, were to be transferred to Rivenoak, and there kept under lockand key. Often had the baronet felt that he would like to look at theachievements of his hopeful time, but he never summoned courage tomount to the attic. His years went by in a mouldering inactivity. Onceor twice he escaped alone to the Continent, and wandered for weeksabout the Italian sculpture-galleries, living in the sunny, ardentpast; he came back nerve-shaken and low in health. His death wassudden--'failure of the heart's action, ' said doctors, in theirindisputable phrase--and Lady Ogram shut herself up for a time that shemight not have the trouble of grieving before witnesses. 

The baronet had behaved very generously to her in his last will andtestament. Certain sums went to kinsfolk, to charities, to servants;his land and the bulk of his personal estate became Lady Ogram's own. She was a most capable and energetic woman of affairs; by her counsel, Sir Quentin had increased his wealth, and doubtless it seemed to himthat no one had so good a right as she to enjoy its possession. Thesacrifice he had made for her, though he knew it a blight upon hislife, did but increase the power exercised over him by his arbitraryspouse; he never ceased to feel a certain pride in her, pride in thebeauty of her face and form, pride in the mental and moral vigour whichmade her so striking an exception to the rule that low-born Englishgirls cannot rise above their native condition. Arabella's family hadgiven him no trouble; holding it a duty to abandon them, she never sawparents or brothers after her marriage, and never spoke of them. Thoughviolent of temper, she had never made her husband suffer from thischaracteristic; to be sure, Sir Quentin was from the first, submissive, and rarely gave her occasion for displeasure. Over the baronet's gravein the little churchyard of Shawe she raised a costly monument. Itssole inscription was the name of the deceased, with the dates of hisbirth and death; Lady Ogram knew not, indeed, what else to add. 

Fully another ten years elapsed before the widow's health showed anysign of failing. It was whilst passing a winter in Cornwall, that shesuffered a slight paralytic attack, speedily, in appearance, overcome, but the beginning of steady decline. Her intellectual activity hadseemed to increase as time went on. Outgrowing various phases oforthodox religious zeal, outgrowing an unreasoned conservatism inpolitical and social views, she took up all manner of novel causes, andmade Rivenoak a place of pilgrimage for the apostles of revolution. Yetthe few persons who enjoyed close acquaintance with her knew that, atheart, she still nourished the pride of her Tank, and that she hadlittle if any genuine sympathy with democratic principles. Only a moralrestlessness, a perhaps half-conscious lack of adaptation to hercircumstances, accounted for the antinomianism which took hold uponher. Local politics found her commonly on the Conservative side, and, as certain indiscreet inquirers found to their cost, it was perilous toseek Lady Ogram's reasons for this course. But there came at length aschism between her and the Hollingford Tories: it dated from theinitial stage of her great quarrel with their representative Mr. Robb. 

Lady Ogram, who was on the lookout in these latter years for strugglingmerit or talent which she could assist, interested herself in the sonof a poor woman of Shawe, a boy who had won a scholarship atHollingford School, and seemed full of promise. Being about sixteen, the lad had a great desire to enter a bank, and Lady Ogram put his casebefore the senior partner in the chief Hollingford banking-house, whowas no other than Mr. Robb himself. Thus recommended, the boy soon hadhis wish; he was admitted to a clerkship. But less than six monthsproved him so unsuitable a member of the establishment that he receivednotice of dismissal. Not till after this step had been taken did LadyOgram hear of it. She was indignant at what seemed to her a lack ofcourtesy; she made inquiries, persuaded herself that her _protege_ hadbeen harshly dealt with, and wrote a very pungent letter to the head ofthe firm. Mr. Robb did not himself reply, and the grave arguments urgedby his subordinate served nothing to mitigate Lady Ogram's wrath. Insult had been added to injury; her ladyship straightway withdrew anaccount she kept at the bank, and dispatched to the M. P. A secondletter, so forcible in its wording that it received no answer at all. 

Never half-hearted in her quarrels, Lady Ogram made known to all heracquaintances in the neighbourhood the opinion she had of Mr. Robb, andwas in no wise discouraged when it came to her ears that the banker M. P. Spoke of taking legal proceedings against her. It happened that Mr. Robb about this time addressed an important meeting of hisconstituents. His speech was not brilliant, and Lady Ogram made greatfun of the newspaper report. He reminded her, she said, of a speciallystupid organ-grinder, grinding all out of time the vulgarest and mostthreadbare tunes. Henceforth, applying the name of a character inDickens, she spoke of Hollingford's representative as Robb the Grinder;which, when Mr. Robb heard of it, as of course he did very soon, by nomeans sweetened his disposition towards "the termagant of Rivenoak"--aphrase he was supposed to have himself invented. "I'll grind her!"remarked the honourable gentleman, in the bosom of his family, andbefore long he found his opportunity. In the next parliamentary recess, he again spoke at Hollingford, this time at a festal meeting of theConservative Club, where the gentility of town and district was wellrepresented. His subject was the British Aristocracy, its glories inthe past, its honours in the present, and the services it would renderin a future dark with revolutionary menace. The only passage which hadany particular meaning, or to which anyone listened, ran pretty muchthus:

"Ladies and gentleman--ha--hum--we pride ourselves on the factthat--ha--our Aristocracy is recruited from the choice representativesof the middle class--hum. The successful in every--that is to say inall the respectable branches of activity--ha--see before them thepossibility, I would say the glorious possibility, of taking a seat inthat illustrious Upper Chamber, which is the balance of our freeConstitution. May the day never come, ladies and gentlemen, when--ha--the ranks of our nobility suffer an intrusion of theunworthy--hum. And I would extend this remark to the order below thatof peers, to the hereditary dignity which oftenrewards--ha--distinguished merit. May those simple titles, sopleasant--hum--to our ears, whether applied, I say, to man orwoman--ha--hum--ha--never be degraded by ignoble bearers, by the lowborn--ha--by the tainted in repute--ha--in short by any of those unfit, whether man or woman--ha--hum--who, like vile weeds, are thrown up tothe surface by the, shall I say, deluge of democracy. "

Every hearer saw the application of this, and Lady Ogram had not longto wait before she read it in print. Her temper that day was not mild. She had occasion to controvert a friend, a Conservative lady, on somelittle point of fact in an innocent gossip, and that lady never againturned her steps to Rivenoak. 

But worse was to come. Rarely had Lady Ogram any trouble with herdomestics; she chose them very carefully, and kept them for a longtime; they feared her, but respected her power of ruling, the rarestgift in women of whatever rank. Now it befell that the maid in personalattendance upon her left to be married, and in her engagement of asuccessor Lady Ogram (perhaps because of her turbid state of mind justnow) was less circumspect than usual; she did not ascertain, forinstance, that the handmaid had a sister attached in like capacity tothe person of Mrs. Robb, nor did she note certain indications of atemper far too closely resembling her own. Before many days had passed, mistress and attendant found themselves on cool terms, and from this tothe extremity of warmth was a step as fatally easy as that from thesublime to the ridiculous. Lady Ogram gave an order; it was imperfectlyobeyed. Lady Ogram, her eyes blazing with wrath, demanded anexplanation of this neglect; met with inadequate excuses, she thunderedand lightened. Any ordinary domestic would have been terror-stricken, but this handmaid echoed storm with storm; she fronted the lady ofRivenoak as no one had ever dared to do. The baronet's widow, losingall command of herself, caught up the nearest missile--a littleivory-framed hand-mirror and hurled it at her antagonist, who wasstruck full on the forehead and staggered. 

"You shall pay for this, you old hag, " shrieked the injured woman. "I'll pull you up before the Hollingford magistrates, and I'll tellthem where you got your manners. I know now that it's true, what Mrs. Robb told my sister, that you began life as a"--Saxon monosyllable--"onLondon streets!"

Some minutes later, a servant sent to Lady Ogram's room by theretreating combatant found her mistress lying unconscious. For a day ortwo the lady of Rivenoak was thought to be near her end; but thestruggle prolonged itself, hope was seen, and in three months' time thepatient went about her garden and park in a bath chair. Doctors opinedthat she would never walk again; yet, before six months were out, LadyOgram was down in Cornwall, taking the air very much as of old. But heraspect had greatly changed; her body had shrunk, her face had becomethat of an old, old woman. Then it was that she renewed her fallinglocks, and appeared all at once with the magnificent crown of auburnhair which was henceforth to astonish beholders. 

More than ten years had now elapsed since that serious illness. LadyOgram's age was seventy-nine. Medical science declared her a marvel, and prudently held it possible that she might live to ninety. 

What to do with her great possessions had long been a harassing subjectof thought with Lady Ogram. She wished to use them for somepraiseworthy purpose, which, at the same time, would perpetuate hermemory. More than twenty years ago she had instructed her solicitor toset on foot an inquiry for surviving members of her own family. Thename was Tomalin. Search had gone on with more or less persistence, andTomalins had come to light, but in no case could a clear connection beestablished with the genealogical tree, which so far as Arabella hadknowledge of it, rooted in the person of John Tomalin of Hackney, hergrandfather, by trade a cabinet-maker, deceased somewhere about 1840. Since her illness, Lady Ogram had fallen into the habit of broodingover the days long gone by. She revived the memory of her home inCamden Town, of her life as a not-ill-cared-for child, of herexperiences in a West-end workroom, her temptations, multiplied as shegrew to the age of independence, her contempt of girls who "wentwrong, " these domestic quarrels and miseries which led to her breakingaway and becoming an artists' model. How remote it all was! Had she notlived through it in a prior existence, with rebirth to the life ofluxury and command which alone seemed natural to her? All but sixtyyears had passed since she said good-bye for ever to Camden Town, andfor thirty years at least, the greater part of her married life, shehad scarce turned a thought in that direction. Long ago her father andmother were dead; she knew of it only from the solicitor, Mr. Kerchever, who, after the death of Sir Quentin, gave her a full accountof the baronet's pecuniary relations with the Tomalin household. Noblackmailing had ever been practised; the plumber and his wife werecontent with what they received, (Arabella felt a satisfaction inremembering that of her own accord she had asked her husband to dosomething for them, when she might very well have disregarded themaltogether, ) and the two brothers, who were supposed to have leftEngland, had never been heard of again. The failure to discover anyonenamed Tomalin whom she could regard as of her own blood was now adisappointment to Lady Ogram; sometimes she even fretted about it. Mr. Kerchever had it in charge to renew the inquiry, to use every possiblemeans, and spare no outlay. The old woman yearned for kinsfolk, as theyounger sometimes do for offspring of their own. 

The engagement of Constance Bride as resident secretary resulted nodoubt from this craving in the old lady's mind for human affection. Perhaps she felt that she had behaved with less than justice to thegirl's father; moreover, Constance as a little child had greatly wonher liking, and in the young woman she perceived a capability, anindependence, which strongly appealed to her. Thus far they had got onvery well together, and Lady Ogram began to think that she had found inConstance what she had long been looking for--one of her own sex equalto the burden of a great responsibility and actuated by motives pureenough to make her worthy of a high privilege. 

Had her girlhood fallen into brutal hands, Arabella's native savagerywould doubtless have developed strange excesses in the life of a socialoutlaw. The companionship of Quentin Ogram, a mild idealist, good-naturedly critical of the commonplace, though it often wearied herand irritated her primitive interests, was a civilising influence, theresults of which continued to manifest themselves after the baronet'sdeath. On the aesthetic side Arabella profited not at all; to thebeautiful she ever presented a hard insensibility, and in later yearsshe ceased even to affect pleasure in the things of nature or art whichpeople generally admired. Her flowery and leafy drawing-room indicatedno personal taste; it came of a suggestion by her gardener when sheconverted to her own use the former smoking-room; finding that peopleadmired and thought it original, she made the arrangement a permanence, anxious only that the plants exhibited should be nicer and finer thanthose possessed by her neighbours. On the other hand, her moral lifehad from the first shown capacity of expansion; it held at its servicean intellect, of no very fine quality indeed, but acute and energetic. In all practical affairs she was greatly superior to the average woman, adding to woman's meticulous sense of interest and persistent diplomacya breadth of view found only in exceptional males; this faculty thecircumstances of her life richly fostered, and, by anomaly, advancingage enlarged, instead of contracting, the liberality of her spirit. After fifty years told, when ordinary mortals have long since giventheir measure in heart and brain, Lady Ogram steadily advanced. Solitary possessor of wealth, autocrat over a little world of her own, instead of fossilising in dull dignity, she proved herself receptive ofmany influences with which the time was fraught. She cast offbeliefs--or what she had held as such--and adopted others; sheexchanged old prejudices for new forms of zeal; above all, she chose tobe in touch with youth and aspiration rather than with disillusioned orretrospective age. Only when failing health shadowed the way before herdid she begin to lose that confident carriage of the mind which, together with her profound materialism, had made worry and regret andapprehension things unknown to her. Thus, when old but by no meanssenile, she learnt that disquiet of conscience, so common in our day, which has nothing to do with spiritual perceptiveness, but comes ofhabitual concentration on every-day cares and woes, on the life of theworld as apart from that of the soul. Through sleepless nights, LadyOgram brooded over the contrast between her own exaltation and thehopeless level of the swinking multitude. What should she do with hermoney? The question perturbed her with a sense of responsibility whichwould have had no meaning for her in earlier years. How could she bestuse the vast opportunity for good which lay to her hand?

Endless were the projects she formed, rejected, took up again. Vast wasthe correspondence she held with all manner of representative people, seeking for information, accumulating reports, lectures, argumentativepamphlets, theoretic volumes, in mass altogether beyond her ability tocope with; nowadays, her secretary read and digested and summarisedwith tireless energy. Lady Ogram had never cared much for reading; sheadmired Constance's quick intelligence and power of grappling withprinted matter. But that she had little faith in the future of her ownsex, she would have been tempted to say: "There is the coming woman. "Miss Bride's companionship was soon indispensable to her; she had begunto dread the thought of being left alone with her multiplyingsolicitudes and uncertainties. 

Her great resource in these days was her savage hatred of Mr. Robb andhis family, and of all in any way adhering to him. Whenever she fixedher mind on that, all wider troubles fled into space, and she was thenatural woman of her prime once more. Since making the acquaintance ofDyce Lashmar, she had thought of little but this invigorating theme. Atlast she had found the man to stand against Robb the Grinder, the manof hope, a political and moral enthusiast who might sweep away the massof rotten privilege and precedent encumbering the borough ofHollingford. She wrote to all her friends, at Hollingford andthroughout the country, making known that the ideal candidate in theLiberal cause had at last been discovered. And presently she sent outinvitations to a dinner, on a day a fortnight ahead, which shouldassemble some dozen of her faithful, to meet and hear the eloquentyoung philosopher. 

Excitement was not good for Lady Ogram's health; the doctors agreed inprescribing tranquillity, and she had so far taken their advice as tolive of late in comparative retirement. Her observant companion noticedthat the conversations with Lashmar had been followed by signs of greatfatigue; an agitated manner, a temper even more uncertain than usual, and physical symptoms which Constance had learnt to look for, provedduring the ensuing days that the invalid was threatened with anothercrisis. Acting on her own responsibility, Constance addressed a note toDr. Baldwin, who presently, as if making a casual call, dropped in tosee his patient. The doctor knew how to comport himself with LadyOgram. He began by remarking cheerfully how well she looked, and askingwhether she had settled the details of her summer holiday. Dull andrather sullen of air, Lady Ogram replied with insignificant brevities;then, as the doctor chatted on about local matters, her interestgradually awoke. 

"Anything more been done about the new hospital?" she asked. 

"Oh, there are promises, but nothing really important. It'll cost farmore money than there seems any chance as yet of getting. We ought tobuy that bit of land I told you about on Burgess Hill. The price ishigh, but it's a perfect situation, and I'm afraid it'll be going tothe builders if something isn't soon done. "

Lady Ogram would have purchased the site in question long since, for itwas her purpose to act decisively in this matter of the much-neededhospital, but it happened that the unspeakable Robb was the man who hadfirst drawn public attention to the suitability of Burgess Hill, andLady Ogram was little inclined to follow where Robb had led. She hopedto find a yet better site, and, by undertaking at once both purchase ofland and construction of the building, with a liberal endowment added, to leave in the lurch all philanthropic rivals. For years she hadpossessed plans and pictures of "The Lady Ogram Hospital. " She caredfor no enterprise, however laudable, in which she could only be asharer; the initiative must be hers, and hers the glory. 

Discreetly, Dr. Baldwin worked round to the subject of his patient'shealth. He hoped she was committing no imprudence in the way ofexcessive mental exertion. It seemed to him--perhaps he wasmistaken--that talk agitated her more than usual. Quiet andrepose--quiet and repose. 

That afternoon Lady Ogram was obliged to lie down, a necessity shealways disliked in the daytime, and for two or three days she kept herroom. Constance now and then read to her, but persuaded her to speak aslittle as possible of exciting subjects. She saw no one but thiscompanion. Of late she had been in the habit of fixing her look uponConstance, as though much occupied with thoughts concerning her. Whenshe felt able to move about again, they sat together one morning on theterrace before the house, and Lady Ogram, after a long inspection ofher companion's countenance, asked suddenly:

"Do you often hear from your father?"

"Not often. Once in two months, perhaps. "

"I suppose you are not what is called a good daughter?"

Constance found the remark rather embarrassing, for it hit a truth ofwhich she had been uneasily aware. 

"Father and I have not much in common, " she replied. "I respect him, and I hope he isn't quite without some such feeling for me. But we gosuch different ways. "

"Does he believe what he pretends to?"

"He has never made any pretences at all, Lady Ogram. That's hischaracter, and I try to think that it's mine too. "

"Well, well, " exclaimed the old lady, "I suppose you're not going toquarrel with me because I ask a simple question? You have a touchytemper, you know. If I had had a temper like yours, I should have veryfew friends at my age. "

Constance averted her eyes, and said gravely:

"I try to correct myself by your example. "

"You might do worse. By the bye--if you won't snap my nose off--Isuppose your father isn't very well to do?"

"He's very poor. Such men always are. "

Lady Ogram lay back and mused. She had no affection for Constance, yetfelt more kindly disposed to her than to any other girl or woman sheknew. Consciously or not, she had come to feel a likeness between herown mind and that of the clergyman's daughter; she interpretedConstance's thoughts by her own. Indeed, there was a certainresemblance, both mental and moral. In one regard it showed itselfstrikingly--the contempt for their own sex which was natural to both. As a mere consequence of her birth, Arabella Tomalin had despised anddistrusted womanhood; the sentiment is all but universal in low-borngirls. Advancing in civilisation, she retained this instinct, andconfirmed the habit of mind by results of her experience; having alwayssought for meanness and incapacity in the female world, she naturallyhad found a great deal of it. By another way, Constance Bride hadarrived at very much the same results; she made no friends among women, and desired none. Lady Ogram and she agreed in their disdain for all"woman" movements; what progress they aimed at concerned the race atlarge, with merely a slighting glance towards the special circumstancesof its sex-burdened moiety. Moreover, the time-worn woman perceived inher young associate a personal ambition which she read by the light ofher own past. She divined in Constance a hunger for things at oncesubstantial and brilliant, a smouldering revolt against poverty anddependence. Not for the first time did she remark and study such adisposition; the symptoms were very well known to Lady Ogram; but neverbefore had she met it in combination with genuine ability and othercharacteristics which she held in esteem. 

"Let us talk about our coming man, " were her next words. 

They talked of Dyce Lashmar. 

CHAPTER IX

It was natural that Lady Ogram should from the beginning have suspectedMiss Bride of a peculiar interest in Lashmar. When first she introducedher friend's name, Constance a little exaggerated the tone ofimpartiality, and in subsequent conversation she was never quiteherself on this topic. Evidently she thought of the young man moreoften than she cared to have it known; a sort of subdued irritation nowand then betrayed itself in her when she assented to a favourablecomment regarding him, and a certain suspense of judgment--quite unlikeher familiar attitude of mind--always marked her agreement in hopes forhis future. The old woman of the world interpreted this by her ownlights. At moments it vexed her, for she did not like to be mystified;at others, it touched a chord of sympathy in some very obscure cornerof her being. And, as no practical problem could be put before herwithout her wishing to solve it autocratically, Lady Ogram soon formeda project with regard to these two persons, a project which took firmerconsistence, and pleased her more, the more she pondered it. 

On the appointed day, Lashmar arrived at Rivenoak. He was allowed tospend an hour in reposeful solitude ere being admitted to his hostess'spresence. Conducted at length to the green drawing-room, he found LadyOgram alone. She scrutinised him with friendly but searching eye, gavehim her hand, and bade him be seated near her. 

"I have another visitor coming from London to-day; an old friend ofmine, Mrs. Toplady. "

Where had Dyce heard that name? Somewhere, certainly. He tried hard toremember, but without success. 

"I think you will like her, " pursued Lady Ogram, "and she will perhapsbe useful to you. She likes to know everybody who is, or is going tobe, somebody. She'll ask you, no doubt, to her house in Pont Street, where you'll meet a great many fools and some reasonable people. Sheherself, I may tell you, is no fool, but she has a good deal morepatience with that sort than I ever had, and so, of course, has manymore friends. She's what they call a leader of Society, yet she doesn'tgrudge leaving London for a day or two in the beginning of the Seasonto do me a service. "

"I seem to know her name, " said Dyce. 

"Of course you do, if you ever read about what Society is doing. "

Lady Ogram always uttered the word with a contemptuous lip, but plainlyshe did not dislike to have it understood that Society, in certain ofits representatives, took respectful account of her. 

"And now, " she continued, "I want to tell you about some other friendsof mine you're to meet at dinner tomorrow. Most of them belong toHollingford, and you will have to know them. "

Very pungently did she sketch these personages. When her listenershowed amusement, Lady Ogram was pleased; if he seemed to find thepicture too entertaining, she added--"But he--or she--is not a fool, remember that. " So did the talk go on, until a servant entered toannounce the arrival of Mrs. Toplady, who had gone to her room, and, being rather tired, would rest there till dinner-time. 

"Where is Miss Bride?" asked Lady Ogram. 

"Miss Bride has just returned from Hollingford, my lady. "

"I remember, " said the hostess to her guest. "She had an appointmentwith Mrs. Gallantry, who has her eye on a house for thetraining-school. I suppose we must set the thing going; there's no harmin it. "

Constance entered in a few minutes, greeted Lashmar as if she saw himevery day, and began to talk about Mrs. Gallantry's project. 

When, a couple of hours later, Dyce came down dressed for dinner, Mrs. Toplady was already in the drawing-room. He heard her voice, awell-modulated contralto which held the ear, and, looking in thatdirection, saw a tall, dark-robed woman, of middle age, with a thinface, its lines rather harsh, but in general effect handsome, and awarm complexion, brightly red upon the prominent cheek-bones. Jewelrysparkled in her hair, from her white throat, and on her fingers. AsLashmar came forward, she finished what she was saying, and turned hereyes upon him with expectant interest; a smile at the corner of herlips had a certain mischievousness, quite good-humoured but a littleperturbing to one who encountered it, together with the direct darkgaze, for the first time. Introduction having been performed with LadyOgram's wonted carelessness, Mrs. Toplady said at once:

"I know a friend of yours, Mr. Lashmar, --Mrs. Woolstan. Perhaps she hasspoken to you of me?"

"She has, " Dyce replied, remembering now that it was from Mrs. Woolstanhe had heard her name. 

"Why, how's that?" exclaimed the hostess. "You never told me about it, Mr. Lashmar. "

Dyce had much ado to conceal his annoyed embarrassment. He wonderedwhether Mrs. Woolstan had made known the fact of his tutorship, whichhe did not care to publish, preferring to represent himself as havingalways held an independent position. With momentary awkwardness heexplained that Mrs. Toplady's name had but once casually passed Mrs. Woolstan's Tips in his hearing, and that till now he had forgotten thecircumstance. 

"I saw her yesterday, " said the lady of the roguish lips. "She's introuble about parting with her little boy--just been sent to school. "

"Ah--yes. "

"Very sweet face, hasn't she? Is the child like her? I never sawhim--perhaps you never did, either?"

Mrs. Toplady had a habit, not of looking steadily at an interlocutor, but of casting a succession of quick glances, which seemed to theperson thus inspected much more searching than a fixed gaze. Thoughvastly relieved by the assurance that Mrs. Woolstan had used discretionconcerning him, Dyce could not become at ease under that restless look:he felt himself gauged and registered, though with what result was byno means discernible in Mrs. Toplady's countenance. Those eyes of hersmust have gauged a vast variety of men; her forehead told of experienceand meditation thereon. Of all the women he could remember, sheimpressed him as the least manageable according to his method. Comparedwith her, Lady Ogram seemed mere ingenuousness and tractability. 

"And, pray, _who_ is Mrs. Woolstan?" the hostess was asking, with arather dry insistence. 

"A charming little woman, " replied Mrs. Toplady, sincerity in look andvoice. "I knew her before her marriage, which perhaps was notquite--but the poor man is dead. A sister of hers married into myhusband's family. She plays beautifully, an exquisite touch. "

They were summoned to dinner. At table it was Mrs. Toplady who led theconversation, but in such a way as to assume no undue prominence, rather she seemed to be all attention to other talk, and, her smilenotwithstanding, to listen with the most open-minded interest towhatever was said. Her manner to Lady Ogram was marked with deference, at times with something like affectionate gentleness; to Miss Bride shepaid the compliment of amiable gravity; and towards Lashmar she couldnot have borne herself more respectfully--at all events in language--ifhe had been a member of the Cabinet; every word which fell from him shefound suggestive, illuminative, and seemed to treasure it in her mind. After dinner, Dyce received from her his cue for drawing-room oratory;he was led into large discourse, and Mrs. Toplady's eyes beamed themost intelligent sympathy. None the less did roguery still lurk at thecorner of her lips, so that from time to time the philosopher fidgeteda little, and asked himself uneasily what that smile meant. 

At nine o'clock next morning, Lashmar and Constance sat down tobreakfast alone. Mrs. Toplady rarely showed herself much before noon. 

"If the sky clears, " said Constance, "Lady Ogram will drive at eleven, and you are invited to accompany her. "

"And you?" asked Dyce. 

"I have work for two or three hours. "

Lashmar chipped at an egg, a thoughtful smile upon his countenance. 

"Can you tell me anything about Mrs. Toplady?" he inquired. 

"Only what I have heard from Lady Ogram. "

Constance sketched a biography. The lady had been twice married, firstin early youth to a man who had nothing, and who became phthisical;during his illness they suffered from dire poverty and, at herhusband's death, the penniless widow received great kindness from LadyOgram, whose acquaintance she had made accidentally. Two yearsafterwards, she married a northern manufacturer of more than twice herage; an instance (remarked Miss Bride) of natural reaction. It chancedthat a Royal Personage, on a certain public occasion, became the guestof the manufacturer, who had local dignities; and so well did Mrs. Toplady play her part of hostess that Royalty deigned to count herhenceforth among its friends. Her husband would have received a title, but an inopportune malady cut short his life. A daughter of the firstmarriage still lived; she had wedded into the army, and was littleheard of. Mrs. Toplady, a widow unattached, took her ease in the world. 

"She has seven or eight thousand a year, " said Constance, "and spendsit all on herself. Naturally, she is a very polished and ornamentalperson. "

"Something more than that, I fancy, " returned Dyce, musing. 

"Oh, as Lady Ogram would say, she is not a fool. "

Dyce smiled, and let the topic pass. He was enjoying his breakfast, and, under this genial influence, presently felt moved to intimatespeech. 

"You live very comfortably here, don't you? You have no objection onprinciple to this kind of thing?"--his waving hand indicated thewell-spread table. 

"I? Certainly not. Why should I object to civilisation?"

"I'm not quite sure that I have got at your point of view yet, "answered Dyce, good-humouredly. "You know mine. The tools to him whocan use them. A breakfast such as this puts us at an advantage over thepoorer world for the rest of the day. But the advantage isn't stolen. How came we here? Is it merely the cost of the railway ticket thattransports me from my rasher in a London lodging to reindeer's tongueand so on in the breakfast-room at Rivenoak? I fancy not. "

He paused. Was it wise to hint before Constance that he had livedrather poorly? He hoped, and believed, that she knew nothing definiteas to his circumstances. 

"Why, no, " she assented, with a smile. "I, for example, have perhapssome part in it. "

Dyce gazed at her, surprised at this frankness. 

"You certainly have. And it reminds me that I may seem very ungrateful;I have hardly said 'thank you. ' Shake hands, and believe that I am_not_ ungrateful. "

She hesitated. Not till the hand had been extended to her for anappreciable moment, did she give her own. In doing so, she wore a hardsmile. 

"So, this evening, " went on Dyce, "I meet my supporters. Lady Ogramgave me an account of them yesterday. Tell me what you think. May I bemyself with these people? Or must I talk twaddle. I dislike twaddle, asyou know, but I don't want to spoil my chances. You understand how Ilook at this business? My object in life is to gain influence, that Imay spread my views. Parliament, I take it, is the best means. Considering the nature of the average elector, I don't think one needworry about the method one pursues to get elected. I won't tell lies;that goes against the grain with me. But I must be practical. "

Constance watched him, and seemed to weigh his remarks. 

"As for twaddle, " she said, "I shouldn't advise much of it in Mrs. Toplady's hearing. "

"You are right. That would never do. I suppose that woman may be ofreal use to me?"

"Yes, I think so, " replied Constance, seriously. "You are of courseaware that a man doesn't become parliamentary candidate by just walkinginto a town and saying--'Behold me! Your votes!' There is such a thingas party organisation. "

Dyce looked at her with involuntary respect. He reminded himself that"twaddle" was as little likely to have weight with Miss Bride as withMrs. Toplady. 

"She knows political people?" he asked. 

"She knows everybody--or can know. I confess I don't understand why. Inany case, it'll be well for yon to have her good word. Lady Ogram cando a good deal, here, but I'm not sure that she could make youracceptance by the Liberals a certain thing. "

"Of course I have thought of that, " said Dyce. Then, fearing he hadspoken in too off-hand a way, he added graciously, "I needn't say thatI regard your advice as valuable. I shall often ask for it. "

Constance was mute. 

"I suppose I may take it for granted that you wish for my success?"

"To be sure. I wish for it because Lady Ogram does. "

Dyce felt inclined to object to this, but Constance's face did notinvite to further talk on the point. 

"At all events, " he continued, "it seems no other candidate has beenspoken of. The party isn't sanguine; they look upon Robb as anunassailable; _sedet in aeter-numque sedebit_. But we shall see aboutit. Presently I should like to talk over practical details with you. Isuppose I call myself Unionist? These questions of day-to-day politics, how paltry they are! Strange that people can get excited about them. Ishall have to look on it as a game, and amuse myself for certain hoursof the day--a relaxation from thought and work. You haven't told me, bythe bye, what you think of my bio-sociological system. "

"I've been considering it. How was it suggested to you?"

Constance asked the question so directly, and with so keen a look, thatshe all but disconcerted the philosopher. 

"Oh, it grew out of my reading and observation grew bit by bit--noarmed Pallas leaping to sudden life--"

"You have worked it out pretty thoroughly. "

"In outline, yes. "

Dyce read the newspapers, and walked a little in the garden. Punctuallyat eleven, Lady Ogram descended. The carriage was at the door. 

This stately drive, alone with the autocrat of Rivenoak, animated theyoung man. He felt that the days of his insignificance were over, thathis career--the career so often talked about--had really begun. Adelightful surprise gave piquancy to his sensations; had he cared totell himself the truth, he would have known that, whatever hisself-esteem, he had never quite believed in the brilliant future ofwhich he liked to dream. It is one thing to merit advancement, quiteanother to secure it. Yet here he was, driving with a great lady, hisfriend, his admirer; driving towards the excitement of politicalcontest, perhaps towards a seat in Parliament, and who could say whatsubsequent distinctions. Lady Ogram was not the woman to aidhalf-heartedly where her feelings were interested. Pretty surely hecould count upon large support, so long as he did not disappoint hisbenefactress. For the present he had no anxieties--thanks to anotherwoman, of whom, in truth, he thought scarcely once in twenty-fourhours. He lived at ease; his faculties were expanding under this genialsunshine of prosperity. Even in aspect he was a man of more importancethan a few weeks ago; his cheeks had coloured, his eyes rested with anew dignity on all they saw. 

They returned, and as Lady Ogram was entering the hall, a servant madea respectful announcement. 

"Mr. Kerchever is here, my lady. "

"Mr. Kerchever? Indeed?"

With an unusually quick step, the old lady moved towards the library. There, occupied with a newspaper, sat a man whose fifty years stillrepresented the prime of life, a tall, athletically-built man, hiscomplexion that of a schoolboy after summer holidays, his brown hairabundant and crisp, spring and stay declared in every muscle of hislimbs and frame. Lightly he arose, gracefully he swung forward, withthe bow and smile of one who knows not constraint. Mr. Kercheverfollowed the law, but he also, whenever a chance offered, followed thehounds, and with more gusto. At school and University he had won palms;that his place in academic lists was less glorious mattered little toone who had a comfortable seat awaiting him in the paternal office. 

"And what brings you here?" asked Lady Ogram, unable to subdue anagitation which confused her utterance. 

"I have made a discovery which will interest you, " replied Mr. Kerchever, in a voice which sounded very strong and melodious bycontrast. 

"What is it? Don't keep me waiting. "

"I have found a grand-daughter of your brother Joseph Tomalin. "

The listener drew a deep, tremulous sigh. 

"Can't you go on?" she exclaimed, thickly, just as the lawyer wasresuming. 

"I'll tell you how I came upon her track--"

"I don't care anything about that!" cried the old lady, with violentirritation. "_What_ is she? _Where_ is she?"

"Miss May Tomalin is twenty-five years old. Her parents are dead. Shelives with relatives of her mother in the town of Northampton. She hasbeen well educated, well brought up altogether, and has a littleincome--about a hundred a year. "

Again Lady Ogram drew a deep breath. Her face was hotly flushed; herhands trembled; a great joy shone from the transformed countenance. 

"Thank goodness!" broke from her hoarsely. "Thank goodness!" Then, withsudden alarm, "I suppose you're making no idiotic mistake?"

"That kind of mistake, Lady Ogram, " responded Mr. Kerchever with atolerant motion of the eyebrows, "is not quite in my way. Indeed, I'mnot in the habit of making mistakes of any kind. You may be sure I havetaken every precaution before coming here with such news as this. "

"All right! What are you angry about? Lawyers and doctors andparsons--there's no talking with them, they're so touchy. Can't you goon? Here's a girl falls out of the clouds, and I'm to show no curiosityabout her! You drive me crazy with your roundabout nonsense. Go _on_, can't you!"

Mr. Kerchever eyed his client curiously. He was not offended, for hehad known Lady Ogram long, and had received traditions regarding herfrom a time before he was born; but he could not help being struck justnow with her face and manner; they made him uneasy. 

"I will tell you everything forthwith, " he resumed, "but I must beg youto control yourself, Lady Ogram. I do so out of regard for your health. Emotion is natural, but, now that you know the news is all good, yourexcellent sense should tranquillise you. Pray let us talk quietly. "

Lady Ogram glanced at him, but nodded acquiescence. 

"I'm as cool as you are. Talk as much as you like. "

"A few days ago I had occasion to look through the lists of a LondonUniversity Calendar. My eye fell on the name Tomalin, and of course Iwas interested. May Tomalin matriculated at London three years ago. Icould find no further record of her, but inquiries were easy, and theyguided me to Northampton. There I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Rooke, a manufacturer, in whose house Miss Tomalin is resident, and has beenfor a good many years; to be precise, since she was nine years old. Without trouble I discovered the girl's history. Her grandfather, Joseph Tomalin, died in Canada forty-seven years ago--"

"How do you know it was Jo--my brother?" asked the listener, sharply. 

"All these things you can follow out for yourself in detail in thepapers I will leave with you. This Joseph had a brother Thomas, and hisage corresponds very well with that of your own brother Joseph. ThomasTomalin has left no trace, except the memory of his name preserved bythe wife of Joseph, and handed on to her son, who, in turn, spoke ofThomas to his wife, who has been heard by Mrs. Rooke (her sister) tomention that fact in the family history. What is more, I find a vaguetradition that a sister of Joseph and Thomas made a brilliant marriage. "

"How is it that your advertisements were never seen by thesepeople--these Rookes?"

"So it happened, that's all one can say. I have known many suchfailures. May Tomalin was born at Toronto, where he? father, also aJoseph, died in '80. Her mother, an Englishwoman, came back to Englandin '81, bringing May, the only child; she settled at Northampton, and, on her death in the following year, May passed into the care of theRookes. She has no surviving relative of her own name. Her father, abuilder, left a little money, which now provides the young lady withher income. "

Prom a state of choleric flurry Lady Ogram was passing into irritabledelight. 

"Better late than never, " she exclaimed, "but I can't see why youdidn't find the girl ages ago. Haven't you advertised in Canada?"

"No. We knew that your brothers went to Australia. Thomas, no doubt, died there. The story of Joseph's wanderings is irrecoverable; we mustbe content to have satisfactory evidence of his death, and of thisgirl's descent from him. "

"Well, and why haven't you brought her?"

"I saw no need for such precipitancy. Miss Tomalin has not yet beeninformed of what is going on. Of course, she is her own mistress, freeto accept any invitation that may be offered her. The Rookes seem to bequiet people, in easy circumstances; no trouble of any kind is to befeared from them. You may act at your leisure. Here is the address. Ofcourse if you would like me to return to Northampton--"

"She must come at once!" said Lady Ogram, starting up. "Would the Crowsunderstand a telegram?"

"The Rookes, you mean? I think it would be better to write. Naturally, I have not let them know your name. At first I found Mr. Rooke ratherdisposed to stand upon his dignity; but a firm of Northamptonsolicitors vouched for my _bona fides_, and then things were smoother. No, I don't think I would telegraph. "

"Then go to Northampton, and bring the girl back with you. "

"If you wish it. "

"When is there a train?--Oh, there's the luncheon bell. Of course youmust eat. Come and eat. I have some one staying here that I should likeyou to know our Liberal candidate at the next election. "

"Oh, so you have found one?"

"Of course I have. Didn't I write to tell you? A lot of people dinehere this evening to meet him. Perhaps you could stay over night? Yes, now I come to think of it, I should like you to dine with us. You shallgo to Northampton to-morrow. Write to Rooky this afternoon. " Lady Ogramgrew sportive. "Prepare him. Come along, now, to lunch; you lookhungry. "

"Just one word. You are quite sure it will be wise to bring this younglady at once to Rivenoak?"

"You say she knows how to behave herself!"

"Certainly. But the change in her position will be rather sudden, don'tyou think? And--if I may venture--how can you be sure that Miss Tomalinwill recommend herself to you?"

"Isn't she of my own blood?" cried Lady Ogram, in a high croak ofexasperation. "Isn't she my brother's grandchild--the only creature ofmy own blood living?"

"I merely urge a little prudence--"

"Is the girl a fool?"

"I have no reason to think so. But she has led a quiet, provinciallife--"

"Come and eat!" cried Lady Ogram. "We'll talk again afterwards. "

Mrs. Toplady joined them in the dining-room, as she seated herself. "Everybody's late to-day. Mr. Kerchever--Mr. Lashmar I want you to knoweach other. Mr. Lashmar, what have you been doing all the morning? Why, of course you had a drive with me--I had forgot ten! Do sit down andlet us eat. If everyone's as hungry as I am!"

For all that, she satisfied her appetite with one or two mouthfuls, andtalked on in a joyously excited strain, to the astonishment ofConstance, who saw that Mr. Kerchever must have brought some veryimportant news. Lashmar, also exhilarated, kept up conversation withMrs. Toplady. It was a vivacious company, Miss Bride being the onlyperson who spoke little. She was commonly silent amid general talk, buther eyes travelled from face to face, reading, commenting. 

Mr. Kerchever consented to stay over night. In the afternoon he had astroll with Lashmar, but they did not much enjoy each other's society;Dyce took no interest whatever in sports or games, and the athleticlawyer understood by politics a recurring tussle between two parties, neither of which had it in its power to do much good or harm to thecountry; of philosophy and science (other than that of boxing) he knewabout as much as the woman who swept his office. Privately, Mr. Kerchever opined that this young man was a conceited pedant, who stoodno chance whatever of being elected to Parliament. When questioned byLady Ogram, he inquired whether Mr. Lashmar had means. 

"Oh, he has money enough, " was the careless answer. "But its his brainsthat we count upon. "

"I never heard they went for muck in politics, " said Mr. Kerchever. 

CHAPTER X

The dinner went off very well indeed. 

It was not merely her animus against Mr. Robb which supported LadyOgram's belief in the future of the Liberals at Hollingford. A certainrestiveness could be noted in the public mind, heretofore so obedientto the long Tory tradition. Mr. Breakspeare's paper certainly had anincreasing sale, and an attention to Mr. Robb in public gatheringsother than political was not so sure of cordial response as formerly. This might only imply a personal dissatisfaction with the borough'srepresentative, who of late had been very visibly fossilising; it wouldbe difficult to explain a marked reaction in Hollingford against thetendencies of the country at large. Still, a number of more or lessactive and intelligent persons had begun to talk of contesting the Toryseat, and with these the lady at Rivenoak held active communication. They gathered about her this evening; enjoyed the excellent mealprovided for them; inspected Mr. Dyce Lashmar, and listened attentivelyeven to his casual remarks. Mr. Lashmar might or might not prove to bethe candidate of their choice; there was plenty of time to think aboutthat; in the meantime, no one more suitable stood before them, and, having regard to Lady Ogram's social authority, considerable from onepoint of view, they were very willing to interest themselves in a manof whom she thought so highly. Very little was definitely known abouthim. He was understood to be a gentleman of means and erudite leisure, nor did his appearance conflict with this description. Now and thenDyce's talk had an impressive quality; he spoke for the most part inbrief, pregnant sentences, which seemed the outcome of solid thoughtand no little experience. Constance Bride, observing him studiously, often admired his grave, yet easy, bearing, his facile, yet nevercareless speech. Herself in doubt as to his real weight, whether as manor politician, she carefully watched the impression he produced onothers; on the whole it seemed to be favourable, and once or twice shecaught a remark decidedly eulogistic. This pleased her. Like everybodyelse this evening, she was in good spirits. 

Mrs. Toplady, much observed and courted, but seemingly quiteindifferent to homage, watched the scene with her eyes of placidgood-humour, the roguish smile ever and again appearing on her lips. She lost no opportunity of letting fall a laudatory word concerningDyce Lashmar. Her demeanour with humdrum persons was courteousamiability almost in excess; to the more intelligent she behaved with ahumourous frankness which was very captivating. At a certain moment ofthe evening, she found occasion to sit down by Constance Bride, andConstance would have been more than human had she altogether resistedthe charm of that fine contralto modulating graceful compliments. Mrs. Toplady had read the report of the social work at Shawe; it interestedher keenly; she could not sufficiently admire the philanthropic energywhich had been put into this undertaking--in so great a part, as sheheard, due to Miss Bride's suggestions. 

"I am glad to hear from Lady Ogram, " she said, "that there is aprobability of your being in town before long. If so, I hope you willlet me have a long talk with you, about all sorts of things. One ofthem, of course, must be Mr. Lashmar's candidature. "

Saying this, Mrs. Toplady beamed with kindness. Constance noted thewords and the look for future reflection. At this moment, she wasoccupied with the news that Lady Ogram thought of going to London, nohint of any such intention having before this reached her ear. 

In the course of the afternoon, Lady Ogram had held private colloquywith her guest from the brilliant world, a conversation more intimateon her part than any that had ever passed between them. Such expansionwas absolutely necessary to the agitated old lady, and she deemed itgood fortune that a confidante in whom she put so much trust chanced tobe near her. Speaking of Lashmar, she mentioned his acquaintance withLord Dymchurch, and inquired whether Mrs. Toplady knew that modest peer. 

"He is only a name to me, " was the reply, "and I should rather like tosee him in the flesh. Mr. Lashmar must bring him to Pont Street--if hecan. "

"That's what I'm a little doubtful about, " said Lady Ogram. "I havebeen thinking it might help us if a real live lord casually walkedabout Hollingford with our candidate. We have to use means, you know. "

The old lady grimaced her scorn, and the leader of Society smiled. Onething Mrs. Toplady had learnt which interested her, that her autocraticfriend's faith in Dyce Lashmar as a "coming man" was unaffected andsturdy. She mused upon this. Rivenoak had often supplied entertainmentto her sportive mind; now, as shadows of night were gathering over it, there seemed to be preparing in this corner of the human stage aspectacle of unforeseen piquancy. 

Also with Mr. Kerchever the old lady had had an afternoon's talk. Heremotion being now more under command, she could listen to thesolicitor's advice, which dissuaded from abrupt action with referenceto Miss Tomalin. Mr. Kerchever thought it would be unwise to reveal allthe interest she felt in this late-discovered representative of herfamily. Had he not better write to Mr. Rooke, saying that his client, awidowed lady living at her country house, hoped to have the pleasure ofmaking her young relative's acquaintance, and would shortly address aletter to Miss Tomalin? This course finally met with Lady Ogram'sapproval; she agreed to let a week pass before taking the next step. 

Whatever the ultimate effect of her joyous agitation, for the presentit seemed to do her nothing but good. She walked with lighter step, bore herself as though she had thrown off years, and, all through theevening, was a marvel of untiring graciousness and cordiality. Thereaction came when she found herself at liberty to feel weary, but noeye save that of the confidential maid beheld her collapse. Even whilstbeing undressed like a helpless infant, the old lady did not lose hertemper. Even whilst gulping an unpleasant draught, well aware that shewas not likely to sleep until dawn, if then, she smiled at herthoughts. The maid wondered what it all meant. 

Dyce Lashmar was abundantly satisfied with himself. "Am I doing itwell?" he quietly asked of Constance, somewhere about ten o'clock, andon receiving the reply, "Very well, " he gave his friend a morebenignant smile than he had bestowed upon her since the old days ofsemi-sentimental intimacy. He would much have liked to talk over theevening with her before he went to bed; as that was impossible, hepressed her hand very warmly at leave-taking, looking her steadily inthe eyes, and said in a low voice. 

"To-morrow. "

He was greatly satisfied with himself, and, in consequence, feltoverflowing with kindliness towards all the sons and daughters of men. One by one he reviewed the persons with whom he had conversed. Howpleasant they were! How sensible and well-meaning! What excellentmaterial for the formation of a really civilised State? They hadevidently been impressed with him, and, on going home, would make himthe subject of their talk. To-morrow his name would sound frequently inseveral houses, always with complimentary adjunct. The thought made hispulses throb. To be talked of, to be admired, was the strongestincentive known to him. 

Of Lady Ogram he thought with positive affection; to the end of hislife he would revere her memory. Constance Bride he esteemed as a loyalfriend; never would he fail in gratitude to her; she should have hisconfidence, and he would often seek her counsel; a good, able girl ofthe best modern type. Last of all there came into his mind the visageof a small, impulsive woman, with freckled oval face, and hair thecolour of an autumn elm-leaf, Iris Woolstan; to her, too, how much hewas beholden. Good, foolish, fidgetty Iris Woolstan! Never again couldhe be impatient with her. Of course he must pay back her money as soonas possible. Brave little creature, light-heartedly sending him hercheque for three hundred pounds; why, there was something heroic in it. Yes, he acknowledged himself lucky in his woman friends; few men couldbe so fortunate. To be sure, it was the result of his rational views, of his straightforward, honest method. He saw his way to do nobleservice in the cause of womanhood, and that by following the path ofmere common sense--all sentimental and so-called chivalrous humbug castaside, all exaggerated new conceptions simply disregarded. His bosomswelled with glorious faith in his own future and in that of the world. 

Among the guests had figured Mr. Breakspeare, looking a trifle fresherthan usual in his clean linen and ceremonial black. Hearing thatLashmar was to spend a couple of days more at Rivenoak, he asked him todine on the following evening, Lady Ogram readily permitting theinvitation. 

"I say dine; sup would be the better word, for I can offer you onlysimple entertainment. We shall be alone; I want the full advantage ofyour talk. Afterwards, if you approve, we will look in upon an oldfriend of mine who would have great satisfaction in exchanging ideaswith you. Something of an original; at all events you will find himamusing. "

To this relaxation Dyce looked forward with pleasure. Nearly the wholeof the next day he spent in solitude; for Lady Ogram did not appearuntil the afternoon, and then only for an hour. Mrs. Toplady took herleave before mid-day. Miss Bride showed herself only at breakfast andluncheon, when she was friendly, indeed, but not much disposed fortalk. Dyce had anticipated a growth of intimacy with Constance; he wasprepared for long, confidential gossip in the library or the garden;but his friend briefly excused herself. She had a lot of reading andextracting to do. 

"You have told me very little about yourself, " he remarked, when sherose to withdraw after luncheon. 

"What's there to tell?"

"It would interest me to know more of your own thoughts--apart from thework you are engaged in. "

"Oh, those are strictly for home consumption, " said Constance with asmile; and went her way. 

So Dyce paced the garden by himself, or read newspapers and reviews, orlolled indolently in super-comfortable chairs. He had promised to writeto Mrs. Woolstan, and in the morning said to himself that he would doso in the afternoon; but he disliked letter-writing, shrank at alltimes, indeed, from use of the pen, and ultimately the duty waspostponed till to-morrow. His exertions of the evening before had lefta sense of fatigue; it was enough to savour the recollection oftriumph. He mused a little, from time to time, on Constance, whosebehaviour slightly piqued his curiosity. That she was much occupiedwith the thought of him, he never doubted, but he could not feel quitesure of the colour of her reflections--a vexatious incertitude. Helazily resolved to bring her to clearer avowal before quitting Rivenoak. 

At evening, the coachman drove him to Hollingford, where he alighted atMr. Breakspeare's newspaper office. The editor received him in a large, ill-kept, barely furnished room, the floor littered with journals. 

"How will that do, Mr. Lashmar?" was his greeting, as he held out aprinted slip. 

Dyce perused a leading article, which, without naming him, contained avery flattering sketch of his intellectual personality. So, at least, he understood the article, ostensibly a summing of the qualificationswhich should be possessed by an ideal Liberal candidate. Large culture, a philosophical grasp of the world's history, a scientific conceptionof human life; again, thorough familiarity with the questions of theday, a mind no less acute in the judgment of detail than broad in itsvision of principles: moreover, genuine sympathy with the aspirationsof the average man, yet no bias to sentimental weakness; with all this, the heaven-sent gift of leadership, power of speech, calm and justifiedself-confidence. Lashmar's face beamed as he recognised each trait. Breakspeare, the while, regarded him with half-closed eyes in whichtwinkled a world of humour. 

"A little too generous, I'm afraid, " Dyce remarked at length, thoughtfully. 

"Not a bit of it!" cried the editor, scratching the tip of his nose, where he had somehow caught a spot of ink. "Bald facts; honestportraiture. It doesn't displease you?"

"How could it? I only hope I may be recognised by such of your readersas have met me. "

"You certainly will be. I shall follow this up with a portrait of theleast acceptable type of Conservative candidate, wherein all willrecognise our Parliamentary incubus. Thus do we open the greatcampaign! If you would care to, pray keep that proof; some day it mayamuse you to look at it, and to recall these early days of ouracquaintance. Now I will take you to my house, which, I need not say, you honour by this visit. You are a philosopher, and simplicity willnot offend you. "

They walked along one or two main streets, the journalist, stillink-spotted on the nose, nodding now and then to an acquaintance, andturned at length into a by-way of dwelling-houses, which did not, indeed, suggest opulence, but were roomy and decent. At one of thedoors, Breakspeare paused, turned the handle, and ushered in his guest. 

Almost immediately, Dyce was presented to his hostess, on whose thinbut pleasant face he perceived with satisfaction a reverentialinterest. Mrs. Breakspeare had few words at her command, and wasevidently accustomed to be disregarded; she knew that her husbandadmired intellectual women, and that he often privately lamented hismistake in marriage; but none the less was she aware that he enjoyedthe comfort of his home--to her a sufficient recompense. Like many aman, Breakspeare would have been quite satisfied with his wife, if, atthe same time, he could have had another. He heartily approved thedomestic virtues; it would have exasperated him had the mother of hischildren neglected home duties for any intellectual pursuit; yet, asoften as he thought of Miss Bride, contemptuous impatience disturbedhis tranquillity. He desired to unite irreconcilable things. Hispractical safeguard was the humour which, after all, never allowed himto take life too seriously. 

A boy of sixteen, the eldest of seven children, sat down to table withthem. Breakspeare made a slight apology for his presence, addinggenially: "_Meminisse juvabit_. " The meal was more than tolerable; theguest thoroughly enjoyed himself, talking with as little affectation ashis nature permitted, and, with a sense of his own graciousness, oftenaddressing to Mrs. Breakspeare a remark on the level of herintelligence. 

"When you come down to Hollingford, " said the journalist, "I supposeyou will generally stay at Lady Ogram's?"

"Possibly, " was the reply. "But I think I had better decide which is tobe my hotel, when I have need of one. Will you advise me in thatmatter?"

Breakspeare recommended the house which Lashmar already knew, and addedhints concerning the political colour of leading trades-folk. When theyrose, the host reminded Dyce of his suggestion that they should go andsee an old friend of his, one Martin Blaydes. 

"We shall find him smoking his pipe, with a jug of beer at his elbow. Martin is homely, but a man of original ideas, and he will appreciateyour visit. "

So they set forth, and walked for a quarter of an hour towards theoutskirts of the town. Mr. Blaydes, who held a small municipal office, lived alone in a very modest dwelling, his attendant a woman ofdiscreet years. As Breakspeare had foretold, he was found sitting bythe fireside the evening was cool enough to make a fire agreeable achurchwarden between his lips, and a brown jug of generous capacity onthe table beside him. As the door opened, he turned a meditative head, and blinked myopically at his visitors before rising. His movementswere very deliberate; his smile, which had the odd effect of elevatingone eyebrow and depressing the other, made him look as if he were aboutto sneeze. Not without ceremony, Breakspeare presented his companion, whom the old man (his years touched on seventy) greeted in the words ofBelshazzar to Daniel:

"I have heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in thee, and thatlight and wisdom and excellent understanding are found in thee. --Beseated, Mr. Lashmar, be seated. Friend Breakspeare, put your toes onthe fender. Mr. Lashmar, my drink is ale; an honest tap which I havedrunk for some three score years, and which never did me harm. Will youjoin me?"

"With pleasure, Mr. Blaydes. "

A touch upon the bell summoned the serving woman. 

"Mrs. Ricketts, another jug of the right amber, and two beakers. I knownot if you smoke, Mr. Lashmar?--Why, that's right. Two yards ofBroseley also, Mrs. Ricketts. "

Breakspeare had produced his pouch, which he opened and held to Martin. 

"Here's a new mixture, my own blending, which I should like you to try. I see your pipe is empty. "

"Gramercy, " replied the other, with a wave of the hand. "I stick to myown mundungus; any novelty disturbs my thoughts. Offer it to Mr. Lashmar, who might find this weed of mine a trifle rank. --Here comesthe jug. What say you to that for a head, Mr. Lashmar? A newnine-gallon, tapped before breakfast this morning, now running clearand cool as a mountain burn. What would life be without this? Elsewhereour ale degenerates; not many honest brewers are left. Druggist's wineand the fire of the distilleries will wreck our people. Whenever youhave a chance, Mr. Lashmar, speak a word for honest ale. Time enough iswasted at Westminster; they may well listen to a plea for the source ofall right-feeling and right-thinking--amber ale. "

Dyce soon understood that here, at all events, he was not called uponfor eloquence, or disquisition. Martin Blaydes had become rather dullof car, and found it convenient to do most of the talking himself. Nowand then he turned his sneeze-menacing smile this way or that, and aremark always claimed his courteous attention, but in general his eyeswere fixed on the glow of the fireplace, 'whilst he pursued a humorousramble from thought to thought, topic to topic. Evidently of localpolitics he knew nothing and recked not at all; he seemed to take forgranted that Lashmar was about to sit in Parliament for Hollingford, and that the young man represented lofty principles rarely combinedwith public ambition. 

"You may do something; I don't know, I don't know. Things are bad, Ifear, and likely to be worse. We had hopes, Mr. Lashmar, when the worldand I were young. In those days there was such a thing as zeal forprogress and progress didn't necessarily mean money. You know my viewof the matter, friend Breakspeare. Two causes explain the pass we'vecome to--the power of women and the tyranny of finance. How does thattouch you, Mr. Lashmar?"

"Finance yes, " Dyce replied. "It's the curse of the modern world. Butwomen?"

"Yes, yes, the 'monstrous regiment of women, ' as the old writer hathit. Look at the diseases from which we are suffering--materialism andhysteria. The one has been intensified and extended, the other hasnewly declared itself, since women came to the front. No materialistlike a woman; give her a voice in the control of things, and good-byeto all our ideals. Hard cash, military glory, glittering and clangingtriumph--these be the gods of a woman's heart. Thought and talk drownedby a scream; nerves worried into fiddle-strings. We had our vainillusion; we were generous in our manly way. Open the door! Let thewomen come forth and breathe fresh air! Justice for wives, an openfield for those who will not or cannot wed! We meant well, but it was aletting out of the waters. There's your idle lady with the pretty face, who wants to make laws for the amusement of breaking them. 'As a jewelof gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman without discretion. 'There's your hard-featured woman who thinks that nobody in the worldbut she has brains. And our homes are tumbling about our heads, becausethere's no one to look after them. 'One man among a thousand have Ifound, but a woman among all those have I not found. ' Back with them tonursery and kitchen, pantry and herb-garden! Back with them, or weperish. "

Dyce wore a broad smile. He knew that he himself would have spoken thushad he not been committed to another way of talking. Breakspeare, too, smiled, but with only half-assent; he reserved his bigamousalternative. Martin Blaydes took a long draught from his beaker, puffedhalf-a-dozen rings of smoke, and pursued his diatribe in the samegood-natured growl. 

"The fury to get rich--who is so responsible for it as the crowd ofindolent, luxurious and vain women? The frenzy to becomenotorious--almost entirely women's work. The spirit of recklessambition in public life encouraged by the sex which has never known themeaning of responsibility. Decay of the arts--inevitable result of thepredominance of little fools who never admired anything but art inmillinery. Revival of delight in manslaying--what woman could everresist a uniform? Let them be; let them be. Why should they spoil ourale and tobacco? Friend Breakspeare, how's your wife? Now there, Mr. Lashmar, there is a woman such as I honour! 'She will do him good andnot evil all the days of her life. ' A woman of the by-gone day--gentlebut strong, silent and wise. 'Give her of the fruit of her hands, andlet her own works praise her in the gates!' Mr. Lashmar, your beakerstands empty. So, by the bye, does the jug. Mrs. Ricketts!"

The little room contained many books, mostly old and such as had seenlong service. As his habit was when a friend sat with him, Mr. Blaydespresently reached down a volume, and, on opening it, became aware of apassage which sent him into crowing laughter. 

"Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare, here's something for thee! Thou art theSophist of our time, and list how the old wise man spoke of thy kind. 'They do but teach the collective opinion of the many; 'tis theirwisdom, forsooth. I might liken them to a man who should study thetemper or the desires of a great strong beast, which he has to keep andfeed; he learns how to approach and handle the creature, also at whattimes and from what cause it is dangerous, or the reverse; what is themeaning of its several cries, and by what sounds it may be soothed orinfuriated. Furthermore, when, by constantly living with the hugebrute, he has become perfect in all this, he calls it philosophy, andmakes a system or art of it, which forthwith he professes. One thing henames honourable, another base; this good, that evil; this just, thatunjust; all in accordance with the tastes and words of the greatanimal, which he has studied from its grunts and snarls. '--Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare! Does it touch thee? 'Comes it not somethingnear?'--Nay, nay, take it not in dudgeon! 'Tis old Plato who speaks. "

"What, I?" cried the journalist, gaily. "I'm infinitely obliged to you. The passage shall do me yeoman's service--turned against the enemy. Forit is not I who speak for the many at Hollingford, as well you know. WeLiberals are the select, the chosen spirits. The mighty brute isToryism. "

Only the fear of reaching Rivenoak at too late an hour constrainedLashmar to rise at length and take his leave. 

"I hope you will let me come and see you again, Mr. Blaydes, " heexclaimed heartily, as he grasped the old man's hand. 

"Here you will commonly find me, Mr. Lashmar, after eight o'clock, andif you bear with my whimsies I shall thank you for your company. Thisale, I try to believe, will last my time. If a company corrupt it, Iforswear all fermented liquor, and go to the grave on mereelement--'honest water which ne'er left man in the mire. ' But I hopebetter things--I hops better things. "

"And what do you think of Martin?" asked the journalist, as he andLashmar walked to the nearest place where a vehicle could be obtainedfor the drive to Rivenoak. 

"A fine old cynic!" answered Dyce. "I hope often to drink ale with him. "

"Luckily, it doesn't compromise you. Martin belongs to no party, andgives no vote. I could tell you a good story about his reception of acanvasser--a lady, by Jove!--at the last election; but I'll keep ittill we meet again, as you are in a hurry. You have put me in spirits, Mr. Lashmar; may it not be long before I next talk with you. Meanwhile, I dig the trenches!"

Ale and strong tobacco, to both of which he was unaccustomed, wroughtconfusingly upon Dyce's brain as he was borne through the night. Hefound himself murmuring the name of Constance, and forming a resolve towin her to intimacy on the morrow. Yes, he liked Constance after all. Then came a memory of Martin Blaydes's diatribe, and he laughedapprovingly. But Constance was an exception, the best type of modernwoman. After all, he liked her. 

Again they two breakfasted together. Dyce gave a mirthful descriptionof his evening, and gaily reported Mr. Blaydes's eloquence on thesubject of woman. 

"On the whole, I agree with him, " said Constance. "And I know, ofcourse, that you do. "

"Indeed? You agree with him?"

"So does every sensible person. But the subject doesn't interest me. Ihate talk about _women_. We've had enough of it: it has become anuisance--a cant, like any other. A woman is a human being, not aseparate species. "

"Why, of course!" cried Lashmar. "Just what I am always saying. "

"Say it no more, " interrupted his companion. "There are plenty of otherthings to talk about. "

Whereupon, she finished her cup of coffee, nodded a leave-taking, andwent at a brisk pace from the room. Dyce continued his meal, meditative, a trifle wounded in self-esteem. 

Later in the morning, he saw Constance wheeling forth her bicycle. Heran, and gained her side before she had mounted. 

"As you are going out, why shouldn't we have a walk together? Give upyour ride this morning. "

"I'm very sorry I can't, " Constance answered, pleasantly. "The exerciseis necessary for me. "

"But just this once--"

"Impossible! The morning is too fine and the roads too good. "

She sprang into the saddle, and was off--much to Dyce's mortification. He had not dreamt that she could refuse his request. And he had meantto talk with such generous confidence, such true comradeship; it waseven his intention to tell Constance that he looked more for hersympathy and aid than for that of anyone else. Surely this would havebeen very gratifying to her; she could not but have thanked him withreal feeling. 

At luncheon, Miss Bride was obviously unrepentant. One would have saidthat it amused her to notice the slight coldness 'which Lashmar putinto his manner towards her. She had never seemed in better spirits. 

In the afternoon Dyce was summoned to a private interview with LadyOgram. It took place in an upstairs room he had not yet entered. Hishostess sat before a wood-fire (though the day was warm) and her facenow and then had a look of suffering, but she spoke cheerfully, and ina tone of much kindness. 

"Well, have you enjoyed your stay with me?--You must come down againpresently; but, in the meantime, you'll be busy. Go and see Mrs. Toplady, and get to know all the useful people you can. We shall beworking here for you, of course. Miss Bride will keep you posted abouteverything. "

The dark eyes, at this moment pain-troubled, were reading hiscountenance. 

"I needn't tell you, " Lady Ogram continued, "that Miss Bride has myentire and perfect confidence. I don't think I'm easily deceived inpeople, and--even before she spoke to me of you--I had made up my mindthat' in some way or other, she must be given a chance of doingsomething in life. You know all about her ways of thinking--perhapsbetter than I do. "

In the pause which followed, Dyce was on the point of disclaiming thisintimacy; but the drift of Lady Ogram's talk, exciting his curiosity, prevailed to keep him silent. He bent his look and smiled modestly. 

"She's one of the few women, " went on his friend, "who do more thanthey promise. She'll never be what is called brilliant. She won't makemuch of a figure in the drawing-room. But, give her a chance, andshe'll do things that people will talk about. She has powers oforganising; I don't know whether you understand how well she is gettingto be known by serious workers in the social reform way. There's notone of them can write such good letters--tell so much in few words. Butwe must give her a chance--you and I together. "

Dyce was startled. His smile died away, and, involuntarily, he turned alook of surprise on the speaker. 

"You mean, " said Lady Ogram, as though answering a remonstrance, "thatyou know all about that without my telling you. Don't be touchy; youand I can understand each other well enough, if we like. What I want tolet yon know is, that I consider she has a claim upon me. Not in theordinary sense. Perhaps I'm not quite an ordinary woman, and I seethings in a way of my own. She has a claim upon me, because she's oneof the few women who have nothing of the baby or the idiot in them, andI've been looking out for that sort all my life. If ConstanceBride"--the voice became slower, as if for emphasis--"is put into aposition of trust, she'll do all that is expected of her. There's noparticular hurry; she's young enough still. And as for you, you've gotyour hands full. "

Dyce felt so puzzled that he could not shape a word. One thing wasgrowing clear to him; but what did the old woman mean by her "positionof trust?" How was Constance to be given her "chance?" And what'exactly, was she expected to do?

"Well, we've had our talk, " said the old lady, moving as if in pain andweariness. "Go back to town to-night or to-morrow morning, as you like. Write to me, mind, as well as to Miss Bride, and let me know of all theacquaintances you make. It's just possible I may be in London myselfnext month; it depends on several things. "

She became dreamy. Dyce, though he would have liked to say much, knewnot how to express himself; it was plain, moreover, that his hostesshad little strength to-day. He rose. 

"I think I shall catch the evening train, Lady Ogram. "

"Very well. A pleasant journey!"

She gave her hand, and Dyce thought it felt more skeleton-like thanever. Certainly her visage was more cadaverous in line and hue than hehad yet seen it. Almost before he had turned away, Lady Ogram closedher eyes, and lay back with a sigh. 

So here were his prospects settled for him! He was to marry ConstanceBride--under some vague conditions which perturbed him almost as muchas the thought of the marriage itself. Impossible that he could havemisunderstood. And how had Lady Ogram hit upon such an idea? It wasplain as daylight that the suggestion had come from Constance herself. Constance had allowed it to be understood that he and she were, eitherformally, or virtually, affianced. 

He stood appalled at this revelation in a sphere of knowledge which heheld to be particularly his own. 

CHAPTER XI

It was a week after the departure of Dyce Lashmar. Lady Ogram had livedin agitation, a state which she knew to be the worst possible for herhealth. Several times she had taken long drives to call uponacquaintances, a habit suspended during the past twelvemonth; itexhausted her, but she affected to believe that the air and movementdid her good, and met with an outbreak of still more dangerous cholerthe remonstrances which her secretary at length ventured to make. Onthe day following this characteristic scene, Constance was at work inthe library, when the door opened, and Lady Ogram came in. Walkingunsteadily, a grim smile on her parchment visage, she advanced andstood before the writing-table. 

"I made a fool of myself yesterday, " sounded in a hollow voice, oftremulous intonation. "Is it enough for me to say so?"

"Much more than I like to hear you say, Lady Ogram, " answeredConstance, hastening to place a chair for her. "I have been afraid thatsomething had happened which troubled you. "

"Nothing at all. The contrary. Look at that photo, and tell me what youthink of it. "

It was the portrait of a girl with features finely outlined, but ratherweak in expression; a face pleasant to look upon, and at the firstglance possessing a quality of distinction, which tended however tofade as the eye searched for its constituents, and to lose itself in anordinary prettiness. 

"I was going to say, " began Constance, "that it seemed to remind meof--"

She hesitated. 

"Well? Of what?"

"Of your own portrait in the dining-room. Yes, I think there is aresemblance, though far-away. "

Lady Ogram smiled with pleasure. The portrait referred to was apainting made of her soon after her marriage, when she was in the primeof her beauty; not good as a work of art, and doing much less thanjustice to the full-blooded vigour of the woman as she then lived, butstill a picture that drew the eye and touched the fancy. 

"No doubt you are right. This girl is a grand-niece of mine, mybrother's son's daughter. I only heard of her a week ago. She is comingto see me. "

Constance now understood the significance of Mr. Kerchever's visit, andthe feverish state of mind in which Lady Ogram had since been living. She felt no touch of sympathetic emotion, but smiled as if theannouncement greatly interested her; and in a sense it did. 

"I can quite understand your impatience to see her. "

"Yes, but one shouldn't make a fool of oneself. An old fool's worsethan a young one. Don't think I build my hopes on the girl. I wrote toher, and she has written to me--not a bad sort of letter; but I knownothing about her, except that she has been well enough educated topass an examination at London University. That means something, Isuppose, doesn't it?"

"Certainly it does, " answered Constance, noting a pathetic self-subdualin the old lady's look and tone. "For a girl, it means a good deal. "

"You think so?" The bony hands were restless and tremulous; the darkeyes glistened. "It isn't quite ordinary, is it? But then, of course, it tells nothing about her character. She is coming to stay for a dayor two coming on Saturday. If I don't like her, no harm's done. Backshe goes to her people, that's all--her mother's family--I know nothingabout them, and care less. At all events, she looks endurable--don'tyou think?"

"Much more than that, " said Constance. "A very nice girl, I shouldimagine. "

"Ha! You mean that?--Of course you do, or you wouldn't say it. Butthen, if she's only a 'nice girl'--pooh! She ought to be more thanthat. What's the use of a photograph? Every photo ever taken of me mademe look a simpering idiot. "

This was by no means true, but Lady Ogram had always been a bad sitterto the camera, and had destroyed most of its results. The oil paintingin the dining-room she regarded with a moderate complacency. Many atime during the latter years of withering and enfeeblement her memoryhad turned to that shining head in marble, which was hidden away amidhalf a century's dust under the roof at Rivenoak. There, and thereonly, survived the glory of her youth, when not the face alone, but allher faultless body made the artist's rapture. 

"Well, " she said, abruptly, "you'll see the girl. Her name is MayTomalin. You're not obliged to like her. You're not obliged to tell mewhat you think of her. Most likely I shan't ask you. --By the bye, I hada letter from Dyce Lashmar this morning. "

"Indeed?" said the other, with a careless smile. 

"I like his way of writing. It's straight-forward and sharp-cut, likehis talk. A man who means what he says, and knows how to say it; that'sa great deal nowadays. "

Constance assented with all good-humour to Lady Ogram's praise. 

"You must answer him for me, " the old lady continued. "No need, ofcourse, to show me what you write; just put it into a letter of yourown. "

"I hardly think I shall be writing to Mr. Lashmar, " said Miss Bride, very quietly. 

"Do you mean that?"

Their eyes met' and Constance bore the other's gaze without flinching. 

"We are not such great friends, Lady Ogram. You will remember I toldyou that I knew him but slightly. "

"All right. It has nothing to do with me, whether you're friends ornot. You can answer as my secretary, I suppose?"

And Lady Ogram, with her uncertain, yet not undignified, footfall, wentstraightway from the room. There was a suspicion of needless sound asthe door closed behind her. 

Constance sat for a minute or two in a very rigid attitude, displeasuremanifest on her lips. She did not find it easy to get to work again, and when the time came for her bicycle ride, she was in no mind for it, but preferred to sit over a book. At luncheon Lady Ogram inclined tosilence. Later in the day, however, they met on the ordinary terms ofmutual understanding, and Constance, after speaking of other things, asked whether she should write Lady Ogram's reply to Mr. Lashmar. 

"Mr. Lashmar? Oh, I have written to him myself, " said the old lady, asif speaking of a matter without importance. 

Three days went by, and it was Saturday. Lady Ogram came down earlierthan usual this morning, but did not know how to occupy herself; shefretted at the rainy sky which kept her within doors; she tried to talkwith her secretary of an important correspondence they had in hand (itrelated to a projected society for the invigoration of village life), but her thoughts were too obviously wandering. Since that dialogue inthe library, not a word regarding Miss Tomalin had escaped her; all atonce she said:

"My niece is due here at four this afternoon. I want you to be with mewhen she comes into the room. You won't forget that?"

Never before had Constance seen the old autocrat suffering fromnervousness; it was doubtful whether anyone at any time had enjoyed theprivilege. Strange to say, this abnormal state of things did notirritate Lady Ogram's temper; she was remarkably mild, and for once inher life seemed to feel it no indignity to stand in need of moralsupport. Long before the time for Miss Tomalin's arrival, sheestablished herself on her throne amid the drawing-room verdure. Constance tried to calm her by reading aloud, but this the old ladysoon found unendurable. 

"I wonder whether the train will be late?" she said. "No doubt it will;did you ever know a train punctual? It may be half an hour late. Therailways are scandalously managed. They ought to be taken over by thegovernment. "

"I don't think that would improve matters, " said the secretary, glad ofa discussion to relieve the tedium. She too was growing nervous. 

"Nonsense! Of course it would. "

Constance launched into argument, and talked for talking's sake. Sheknew that her companion was not listening. 

"It's four o'clock, " exclaimed Lady Ogram presently. "There may be anaccident with the brougham. Leggatt sometimes drives very carelessly--"no more prudent coachman existed--"and the state of the roads abouthere is perfectly scandalous"--they were as good roads as any inEngland. "What noise was that?"

"I heard nothing. "

"I've often noticed that you are decidedly dull of hearing. Has italways been so? You ought to consult a what are the men called who seeto one's ears?"

Lady Ogram was growing less amiable, and with much ado Constancerestrained herself from a tart reply. Three minutes more, and theatmosphere of the room would have become dangerously electric. Butbefore two minutes had elapsed, the door opened, and a colourlessdomestic voice announced:

"Miss Tomalin. "

There entered very much the kind of figure that Constance had expectedto see; a young lady something above the middle height, passably, notwell, dressed, moving quickly and not ungracefully, but withperceptible lack of that self-possession which is the socialtestimonial. She wore a new travelling costume, fawn-coloured, with aslightly inappropriate hat (too trimmy), and brown shoes whichover-asserted themselves. Her collar was of the upright sort, justturned down at the corners; her tie, an ill-made little bow of red. About her neck hung a pair of eye-glasses; at her wrist were attached asilver pencil-case and a miniature ivory paper-knife. The facecorresponded fairly well with its photographic presentment so longstudied by Lady Ogram, and so well remembered by Constance Bride; itscolour somewhat heightened and the features mobile under nervousstress, it offered a more noticeable resemblance to that ancestralportrait in the dining-room. 

Lady Ogram had risen; she took a tremulous step or two from the throne, and spoke in a voice much more senile than its wont. 

"I am glad to see you, May--glad to see you! This is my friend andsecretary, Miss Bride, whom I mentioned to you. "

Constance and the new-comer bowed, hesitated, shook hands. Miss Tomalinhad not yet spoken; she was smiling timidly, and casting quick glancesabout the room. 

"You had an easy journey, I hope, " said Miss Bride, aware that the oldlady was sinking breathless and feeble into her chair. 

"Oh, it was nothing at all. "

Miss Tomalin's utterance was not markedly provincial, but distinct fromthat of the London drawing-room; the educated speech of the ubiquitousmiddle-class, with a note of individuality which promised to commanditself better in a few minutes. The voice was pleasantly clear. 

"You had no difficulty in finding the carriage?" said Lady Ogram, speaking with obvious effort. 

"Oh, none whatever, thank you! So kind of you to send it for me. "

"I wanted to see you for a moment, as soon as you arrived. Now theyshall take you to your room. Come down again as soon as you like; wewill have tea. "

"Thank you; that will be very nice. "

Miss Tomalin stood up, looked at the plants and flowers about her, andadded in a voice already more courageous:

"What a charming room! Green is so good for the eyes. "

"Are your eyes weak?" inquired Lady Ogram, anxiously. 

"Oh, not really weak, " was the rapid answer (Miss Tomalin spoke morequickly as she gained confidence), "I use glasses when I am studying orat the piano, but they're not _actually_ necessary. Still, I have beenadvised to be careful. Of course I read a great deal. "

There was a spontaneity, a youthful vivacity, in her manner, whichsaved it from the charge of conceit; she spoke with a naive earnestnesspleasantly relieved by the smile in her grey eyes and by something inthe pose of her head which suggested a latent modesty. 

"I know you are a great student, " said Lady Ogram, regarding heramiably. "But run and take off your hat, and come back to tea. "

She and Constance sat together, silent. They did not exchange glances. 

"Well?" sounded at length from the throne, a tentative monosyllable. 

Constance looked up. She saw that Lady Ogram was satisfied, happy. 

"I'm glad Miss Tomalin was so punctual, " was all she could find to say. 

"So am I. But we were talking about your deafness: you must have itseen to. Young people nowadays! They can't hear, they can't see, theyhave no teeth--"

"Miss Tomalin, I noticed, has excellent teeth. "

"She takes after me in that. Her eyes, too, are good enough, but shehas worn them out already. She'll have to stop that reading; I am notgoing to have her blind at thirty. She didn't seem to be deaf, did she?"

"No more than I am, Lady Ogram. "

"You are not deaf? Then why did you say you were?"

"It was you, not I, that said so, " answered Constance, with a laugh. 

"And what do you think of her?" asked Lady Ogram sharply. 

"I think her interesting, " was Miss Bride's reply, the word bearing asense to her own thought not quite identical with that which itconveyed to the hearer. 

"So do I. She's very young, but none the worse for that. You think herinteresting. So do I. "

Constance noticed that Lady Ogram's talk to-day had more of thecharacteristics of old age than ordinarily, as though, in her greatsatisfaction, the mind relaxed and the tongue inclined to babble. Though May was absent less than a quarter of an hour, the old ladywaxed impatient. 

"I hope she isn't a looking-glass girl. But no, that doesn't seemlikely. Of course young people must think a little about dress--Oh, here she comes at last. "

Miss Tomalin had made no change of dress, beyond laying aside her hatand jacket. One saw now that she had plenty of light brown hair, naturally crisp and easily lending itself to effective arrangement; itwas coiled and plaited on the top of her head, and rippled airily aboveher temples. The eyebrows were darker of hue, and accentuated the mostexpressive part of her physiognomy, for when she smiled it was muchmore the eyes than the lips which drew attention. 

"Come and sit here, May, " said Lady Ogram, indicating a chair near thethrone. "You're not tired? You don't easily get tired, I hope?"

"Oh, not very easily. Of course I make a point of physical exercise; itis a part of rational education. "

"Do you cycle?" asked Constance. 

"Indeed I do! The day before yesterday I rode thirty miles. Notscorching, you know; that's weak-minded. "

Lady Ogram seemed to be reflecting as to whether she was glad or notthat her relative rode the bicycle. She asked whether May had broughther machine. 

"No, " was the airy reply, "I'm not a slave to it. "

The other nodded approval, and watched May as she manipulated atea-cup. Talk ran on trivialities for a while; the new-comer still castcurious glances about the room, and at moments stole a quickobservation of her companions. She was not entirely at ease;self-consciousness appeared in a furtive change of attitude from timeto time; it might have been remarked, too, that she kept a guard uponher phrasing and even her pronunciation, emphasising certain words witha sort of academic pedantry. Perhaps it was this which caused LadyOgram to ask at length whether she still worked for examinations. 

"No, I have quite given that up, " May replied, with an air ofwell-weighed finality. "I found that it led to one-sidedness--to narrowaims. It's all very well when one is _very_ young. I shouldn't like torestrict my study in that way now. The problems of modern life are sofull of interest. There are so many books that it is a duty to read, apositive duty. And one finds so much practical work. "

"What sort of work?"

"In the social direction. I take a great interest in the condition ofthe poor. "

"Really?" exclaimed Lady Ogram. "What do you do?"

"We have a little society for extending civilisation among the ignorantand the neglected. Just now we are trying to teach them how to make useof the free library, to direct their choice of books. I must tell youthat a favourite study of mine is Old English, and I'm sure it would beso good if our working classes could be brought to read Chaucer andLangland and Wycliffe and so on. One can't expect them to study foreignlanguages, but these old writers would serve them for a philologicaltraining, which has such an excellent effect on the mind. I know afamily--shockingly poor living, four of them, in two rooms--who havepromised me to give an hour every Sunday to 'Piers the Plowman'--I havemade them a present of the little Clarendon Press edition, which hasexcellent notes Presently, I shall set them a little examinationpaper--very simple, of course. "

Miss Bride's countenance was a study of subdued expression. LadyOgram--who probably had never heard of 'Piers the Plowman'--glancedinquiringly at her secretary, and seemed to suspend judgment. 

"We, too, take a good deal of interest in that kind of thing, " sheremarked. "I see that we shall understand each other. Do yourrelatives, Mr. And Mrs. Rooke, work with you?"

"They haven't quite the same point of view, " said Miss Tomalin, smilingindulgently. "I'm afraid they represent rather the old way of thinkingabout the poor--the common-sense way, they call it; it means, as far asI can see, not thinking much about the poor at all. Of course I try tomake them understand that this is neglect of duty. We have no rightwhatever to live in enjoyment of our privileges and pay no heed tothose less fortunate. Every educated person is really a missionary, whose duty it is to go forth and spread the light. I feel it sostrongly that I could not, simply could _not_, be satisfied to pursuemy own culture; it seems to me the worst kind of selfishness. The otherday I went, on the business of our society, into a dreadfully poorhome, where the people, I'm sure, often suffer from hunger. I couldn'tgive money--for one thing, I have very little, and then it's sodemoralising, and one never knows whether the people will beoffended--but I sat down and told the poor woman all about the Prologueto the Canterbury Tales, and you can't think how interested she was, and how grateful! It quite brightened the day for her. One felt one haddone _some_ good. "

There was silence. Lady Ogram looked admiringly at the girl. If anyoneelse had talked to her in this way, no vehemence of language would havesufficed to express her scorn; but in May Tomalin such ideals seemed toher a very amiable trait. She was anxious to see everything May said ordid in a favourable light. 

"Have you tried the effect of music?" asked Constance, gravely, whenMiss Tomalin chanced to regard her. 

"Oh, we haven't forgotten that. Next winter we hope to give a fewconcerts in a schoolroom. Of course it must be really good music; weshan't have anything of a popular kind--at least, we shan't if my viewprevails. It isn't our object to _amuse_ people; it would be reallyhumiliating to play and sing the kind of things the ignorant poor like. We want to train their intelligence. Some of our friends say it will beabsurd to give them classical music, which will weary and discontentthem. But they must be made to understand that their weariness anddiscontent is _wrong_. We have to show them how bad and poor theirtaste is, that they may strive to develop a higher and nobler. I, forone, shall utterly decline to have anything to do with the concerts ifthe programme doesn't consist exclusively of the really great, Bach andBeethoven and so on. Don't you agree with me?"

"In principle, " replied Lady Ogram, "certainly. We shall have lots ofthings to talk about, I see. "

"I delight in talk about serious things!" cried May. 

But Lady Ogram's physical strength was not equal to the excitement shehad gone through. Long before dinner-time her voice failed, and she hadno choice but to withdraw into privacy, leaving Constance Bride to playthe hostess. Alone with a companion of not much more than her own age, Miss Tomalin manifested relief; she began to move about, looking atthings with frank curiosity, and talking in a more girlish way. Theevening was cloudy, and did not tempt forth, but May asked whether theycould not walk a little in the garden. 

"This is a beautiful place! I shall enjoy myself here tremendously! Andit's all so unexpected. Of course you know, Miss Bride, that I hadnever heard of Lady Ogram until a few days ago?"

"Yes, I have heard the story. "

"Do let us get our hats and run out. I want to see everything. "

They went into the garden, and May, whilst delighting in all she saw, asked a multitude of questions about her great-aunt. It was only in theintellectual domain that she evinced pretentiousness and grewgrandiloquent; talking of her private affairs, she was very direct andsimple, with no inclination to unhealthy ways of thought. She spoke ofher birth in Canada, and her childish recollections of that country. 

"I used to be rather sorry that we had come back to England, for thetruth is I don't much care for Northampton, and I have never been quitecomfortable with my relatives there. But now, of course, everything isdifferent. It seems a great pity that I should have had such a relativeas Lady Ogram and known nothing about it doesn't it? Strange how thebranches of a family lose sight of each other? Can you tell me LadyOgram's age?"

Constance replied that it was not far from eighty. 

"Really, I should have taken her for older still. She seems very nice;I think I shall like her. I wonder whether she will ask me often toRivenoak? Do you know whether she means to?"

When she came down after dressing for dinner, Constance found MissTomalin in the dining-room, standing before her great-aunt's portrait. 

"Surely that isn't--_can_ that be Lady Ogram?" exclaimed the girl. 

"Yes; more than fifty years ago. "

"Do you know, I think she was rather like _me_!"

Constance smiled, and said that there was certainly a familyresemblance. It appeared more strongly in the girl's face attired asshe now was, her neck at liberty from the white linen collar, and herfeatures cast into relief by a dress of dark material. Having felt alittle apprehensive about the young lady's evening garb, Constance wassurprised to find that it erred, if anything, on the side ofsimplicity. Though, for several reasons, not at all predisposed to likeMiss Tomalin, she began to feel her prejudice waning, and by the end ofdinner they were conversing in a very friendly tone. May chatted of herfriends at Northampton, and several times mentioned a Mr. Yabsley, whomit was evident she held in much esteem. Mr. Yabsley, it appeared, wasthe originator of the society for civilising the ignorant poor; Mr. Yabsley lectured on very large subjects, and gave readings from veryserious authors; Mr. Yabsley believed in the glorious destinies of thehuman race, especially of that branch of it known as Anglo-Saxon. 

"He is an elderly gentleman?" asked Constance, with a half-smile ofmischief. 

"Old! Oh dear, no! Mr. Yabsley is only about thirty--not quite that, Ithink. "

And May suddenly turned to talk of Browning, whom she felt it a"positive duty" to know from end to end. Had Miss Bride really mastered"Sordello?"

"I never tried to, " Constance answered. "Why should I worry aboutunintelligible stuff that would give me no pleasure even if I couldunderstand it?"

"Oh! Oh! _Don't_ speak like that!" cried the other, distressfully. "I'msure you don't mean it!"

"I care very little for poetry of any kind, " said Constance, in allsincerity. 

"Oh, how I grieve to hear that!--But then, of course we all have ourspecial interests. Yours is science, I know. I've worked a good deal atscience; of course one can't possibly neglect it; it's a simple duty tomake oneself as many-sided as possible, don't you think? Just now, I'mgiving half an hour before breakfast every day to Huxley's book on theCrayfish. Mr. Yabsley suggested it to me. Not long ago he was incorrespondence with Huxley about something--I don't quite know what buthe takes a great interest in Evolution. Of course you know that volumeon the Crayfish?"

"I'm afraid I don't. You arrange your day, I see, very methodically. "

"Oh, without method _nothing_ can be done. Of course I have atime-table. I try to put in a great many things, but I'm sure it's nouse sitting down to any study for less than half an hour--do you thinkso? At present I can only give half an hour to Herbert Spencer--I thinkI shall have to cut out my folk-lore to make more time for him. Yetfolk-lore is so fascinating! Of course you delight in it?"

"I never had time for it at all, " replied Constance. 

"Just now I'm quite excited about ghost-worship. Mr. Yabsley doesn'tthink it is sufficient to explain the origin of religious ideas. "

"Mr. Yabsley, " remarked Constance, "has pronounced opinions on mostthings?"

"Oh, he is very wide, indeed. Very wide, and very thorough. There's noend to the examinations he has passed. He's thinking of taking the D. Litt at London; it's awfully stiff, you know. "

When they parted, about eleven o'clock, Miss Tomalin went upstairshumming a passage from a Beethoven sonata. She declared herselfenchanted with her room, and hoped she might wake early, to make thecoming day all the longer. 

At ten next morning, Constance was summoned to the upstairs room whereLady Ogram sometimes sat when neither so unwell as to stay in bed norquite well enough to come down. A bad night had left the old lady witha ghastly visage, but she smiled with grim contentment as her secretaryentered. 

"Come, I want you to tell me what you talked about. Where is she now?What is she doing?"

"Miss Tomalin is in the library, rejoicing among the books. "

"She is very intellectual, " said Lady Ogram. "I never knew anyone sokeen about knowledge. But what did you talk about last night?"

"Of very many things. Canada and Northampton, religion and crayfish, Huxley and--Yabsley. "

"Yabsley? Who's Yabsley?"

"A gentleman of Northampton, a man of light and leading, a great friendof Miss Tomalin's. "

"An old man, I suppose?" asked Lady Ogram, sharply. 

"Not quite thirty. "

"But married? Of course married?"

"I didn't ask; but, I fancy, not. "

Lady Ogram flushed, and fell into extreme agitation. Why had she notbeen told about this Yabsley? Why had not that idiot Kerchever madeinquiries and heard about him? This very morning she would write him asevere letter. What, May was engaged? To a man called Yabsley?Constance, as soon as interposition was possible, protested againstthis over-hasty view of the matter. She did not for a moment think thatMay was engaged, and, after all, Mr. Yabsley might even be married. 

"Then why, " cried Lady Ogram, furiously, "did you begin by terrifyingme? Did you do it on purpose? If I thought so, I would send you packingabout your business this moment!"

Constance, who had not yet taken a seat, drew back a few steps. Herface darkened. With hands clasped behind her, she regarded the ragingold autocrat coldly and sternly. 

"If you wish it, Lady Ogram, I am quite ready to go. "

Their eyes encountered. Lady Ogram was quivering, mumbling, gasping;her look fell. 

"Sit down, " she said imperatively. 

"I am afraid, " was Miss Bride's reply, "we had better not talk whilstyou are feeling so unwell. "

"Sit down, I tell you! I wasn't unwell at all, till you made me so. Whois this Yabsley? Some low shopkeeper? Some paltry clerk?"

The old lady knew very well that Constance Bride would never tremblebefore her. It was this proudly independent spirit, unyielding as herown, and stronger still in that it never lost self-command, which hadso established the clergyman's daughter in her respect and confidence. Yet the domineering instinct now and then prompted her to outrage adignity she admired, and her invariable defeat was a new satisfactionwhen she calmly looked back upon it. 

"You mustn't mind me, " she said presently, when Constance had quietlyrefused to make conjectures about the subject under dissuasion. "Isn'tit natural enough that I should be upset when I hear such news as this?I wanted to have a talk with May this morning, but now--"

She broke off, and hung her head gloomily. 

"In your position, " said Constance, "I should find out by a simpleinquiry whether Miss Tomalin is engaged or likely to be. She willanswer, I am sure, readily enough. She doesn't seem to be at allreticent. "

"Of course I shall do so; thank you for the advice, all the same. Wouldyou mind bringing her up here? If you prefer it, I will ring. "

Scrupulousness of this kind always followed when Lady Ogram had behavedill to her secretary. The smile with which Constance responded was aratification of peace. In a few minutes the old lady and May werechatting together, alone, and without difficulty the great doubt wassolved. 

"I'm thinking of going to London for a week or two--" thus Lady Ogramapproached the point--"and I should rather like to take you with me. "

"It's very kind of you, " said May, with joy in her eyes. 

"But I want to know whether you are quite independent. Is thereanyone--beside Mr. And Mrs. Rooke that you would have to consult aboutit?"

"No one whatever. You know that I am long since of age, Lady Ogram. "

"If you like, call me your aunt. It's simpler, you know. "

"Certainly I will. I am quite free, aunt. "

"Good. I may take it for granted, then, that you have formed no ties ofany kind?"

May shook her head, smiling as though at a thought which the wordssuggested, a thought not unpleasing, but not at all difficult todismiss. Thereupon Lady Ogram began to talk freely of her projects. 

"I shall go up to town in a fortnight--at the end of this month. Ofcourse you must have some things, dresses and so on. I'll see to that. Before we leave Rivenoak, I should like you to meet a few people, myfriends at Hollingford particularly, but in a very quiet way; I shallask them to lunch with us, most likely. Shall you want to go back toHollingford before leaving for London?"

"Oh, it isn't at all necessary, " answered May, with sprightliestreadiness. "I haven't brought many things with me, but I could send--"

"As for clothing, don't trouble; that's my affair. Then we'll settlethat you stay on with me for the present. And now tell me, how do youlike Miss Bride?"

"Oh, very much indeed! I'm sure we shall soon quite understand eachother. "

"I'm glad to hear that. I hope you will. I may say that I have a veryhigh opinion indeed of Miss Bride, and that there's no one in whom Iput more confidence. "

"Will she go to London with us?"

"Certainly, I couldn't get on without her help. "

May was relieved. The prospect of living alone with her great-aunt, even in London, had mingled a little uneasiness with her joyfulanticipation. Now she abandoned herself to high spirits, and talkeduntil Lady Ogram began to have a headache. For an hour before luncheonthey drove out together, May still gossiping, her aged relative now andthen attentive, but for the most part drowsily musing. 

That afternoon, when an hour or two of sleep had somewhat restored her, Lady Ogram sketched several letters for her secretary to write. Pausingat length, she looked at Miss Bride, and, for the first time, addressedher by her personal name. 

"Constance--"

The other responded with a pleased and gratified smile. 

"From Mr. Lashmar's talk of him, what sort of idea have you formed ofLord Dymchurch?"

"Rather a vague one, I'm afraid. I have heard him only casuallymentioned. "

"But Mr. Lashmar has a high opinion of him? He thinks him a man of goodprinciples?"

"Undoubtedly. A very honourable man. "

"So I hear from other sources, " said Lady Ogram. "It's probably true. Ishould rather like to know Lord Dymchurch. He would be an interestingman to know, don't you think?"

As not infrequently happened, their eyes met in a mute interchange ofthought. 

"Interesting--yes, " replied Constance, slowly. And she added, pressingthe nib of her pen on her finger-nail, "They say he doesn't marry justbecause he is poor and honourable. "

"It's possible, " Lady Ogram rejoined, and, after a moment's reflection, said in an absent voice that the day's correspondence was finished. 

CHAPTER XII

Though Mrs. Toplady seldom rose much before midday, it was not the mereluxury of repose that kept her in her chamber. As a rule, she awokefrom refreshing sleep at eight o'clock. A touch on the electric buttonnear her hand summoned a maid, who appeared with tea, the morning'spost, and a mass of printed matter: newspapers, reviews, magazines, volumes, which had arrived by various channels since noon on theprevious day. Apparatus of perfected ingenuity, speedily attached tothe bed, enabled her to read or write in any position that she foundeasiest. First of all she went through her letters, always numerous, never disquieting--for Mrs. Toplady had no personal attachments whichcould for a moment disturb her pulse, and her financial security stoodon the firmest attainable basis. Such letters as demanded a reply, sheanswered at once, and with brevity which in her hands had become anart. Appeals for money, public or private, she carefully considered, responding with a cheque only when she saw some distinctadvantage--such as prestige or influence--to be gained by the pecuniarysacrifice. Another touch on the button, and there entered a gracefulwoman of discreet visage, with whom Mrs. Toplady held colloquy for halfan hour; in that time a vast variety of concerns, personal, domestic, mundane, was discussed and set in order. Left to herself again, Mrs. Toplady took up the newspapers; thence she passed to the bulkierperiodicals; lastly, to literature in volume. Her manner of readingbetokened the quick-witted woman who sees at a glance the thing shecares for, and refuses to spend a moment on anything not immediatelyattractive. People marvelled at the extent of her acquaintance withcurrent writing; in truth, she never read a book, but skimmed the pagesjust sufficiently for her amusement and her social credit. In the worldof laborious idleness, Mrs. Toplady had a repute for erudition; she wasoften spoken of as a studious and learned woman; and this estimate ofherself she inclined to accept. Having daily opportunity of observingthe fathomless ignorance of polite persons, she made it her pride tokeep abreast with the day's culture. Genuine curiosity, too, suppliedher with a motive, for she had a certain thin, supple, restlessintelligence, which took wide surveys of superficial life, and was everseeking matter for mirth or disdain in the doings of men. 

Her first marriage was for love. It cost her seven years of poverty andwretchedness; it cost her, moreover, all the ideals of her youth, andmade her a scheming cynic. Having, by natural power and great goodfortune, got the world at her feet, she both enjoyed and despised whatseemed to her to have been won so easily. The softer emotions wereallowed no place in her nature; by careful self-discipline, she hadenabled herself wholly to disregard the unhappy side of life, to passwithout the least twinge of sympathy all human sorrows and pains. Ifreminded of them against her will, she hardened herself with the bittermemory of her early years, when, as she said, she had suffered quiteenough for one lifetime. The habit of her mind was to regard existenceas an entertaining spectacle. She had a most comfortable seat, andflattered herself that few people could appreciate so well as she thecomedy going on before her. When she found an opportunity forintervention; when, with little or no trouble to herself, she couldrearrange a scene or prepare a novel situation; so much the better wasshe pleased, and all the more disdain did she feel for the fussy, pompous mortals who were so easily manipulated. 

At present she had her eyes upon a personage who amused herconsiderably. He answered to the name of Dyce Lashmar, and fell underthe general description of charlatan. Not for a moment had Mrs. Topladybeen in doubt as to this classification; but Dyce Lashmar was not quitean ordinary charlatan, and seemed to be worth the observing. She meantto know him thoroughly, to understand what he really aimed at--whetherhe harboured merely a gross design on Lady Ogram's wealth, or in truthbelieved himself strong enough to win a place among those gravecomedians who rule the world. He was a very young man; he had notaltogether got rid of youth's ingenuousness; if his ideas were his own(she doubted it) he had evidently a certain mental equipment, whichwould aid him--up to a certain point; in every case, he excelled inintellectual plausibility. Perhaps he might get into Parliament; forthe amusement of the thing, she would try to help him in thatdirection. On returning from Rivenoak, she had at once begun to spreadrumours of a Coming man, a new light in the political world, that itbehooved one to keep an eye on. So seldom did Mrs. Toplady risk herreputation by rash prophecy, that those who heard of Mr. Lashmar weredisposed to take him with all seriousness. Certain of Mrs. Toplady'sintimates begged, and were promised, the privilege of meeting him. Tothat end, a ceremonious evening was appointed in Pont Street. 

Meanwhile, Lashmar had called, and met with a very gracious reception. He was bidden to luncheon on a day in the same week. On arriving, hefound with surprise that he was the sole guest. 

"I wanted to have a real talk with you, " said the hostess, as shereceived him in her magnificent drawing-room. "I have been thinking agreat deal about things you said at Rivenoak. "

Her fire of glances perceived that the young man, though agreeablytouched and full of expectancy, was to a certain extent on his guard. He, too, no doubt, had power of reading faces, of discerning motives. She did not desire him to be too facile a victim of cajolery; it wouldtake from the interest she felt in his ambitions. At table, they talkedat first of bio-sociology, Mrs. Toplady, with the adroitness whichdistinguished her, seeming thoroughly to grasp a subject of which sheknew nothing, and which, if she had tried to think about it, would havebored her unspeakably. But she soon diverged to things personal, spokeof people whom she wished Lashmar to meet, and asked whether a date shehad in mind would suit his convenience. 

"I think you know Lord Dymchurch?"

"Very well, " answered Dyce, blandly. 

"I should like to meet him I have heard he is most interesting. "

"He certainly is, " said Lashmar, "but no man is so hard to get hold of. I never ventured to try to take him anywhere; he very much dislikesmeeting strangers. "

"Tell me about him, will you?"

Dyce could speak only of Lord Dymchurch's personal and mentalcharacteristics; of his circumstances he knew nothing more than couldbe gathered from rumour. 

"Let me make a suggestion, " said Mrs. Toplady, with a flatteringlyintimate air. "Suppose you give a quiet little dinner to a few of yourfriends, say at one of the restaurants. Don't you think Lord Dymchurchmight be willing to come? If I may propose myself--" The roguish smilewas lost in a radiant archness. "Half a dozen of us just to talk overthe political situation. "

Lashmar looked delighted. In reality he was seized with anxious thoughtas to whom he could invite for such an important occasion. As iscommonly the case with men of great self-esteem and modest resources, he had made friends with the poorer and less ambitious of hisacquaintances, and these were not the sort of people to present eitherto Mrs. Toplady or to Lord Dymchurch. However, he knew a man prettywell placed in the Home Office. He knew also--

"Would you like to ask our friend Mrs. Woolstan?" let fall the hostess, shooting one swift glance at his busy forehead. 

"Yes--certainly--"

"She's charming, " pursued Mrs. Toplady, with her kindest air, "and I'msure your views interest her. "

"Mrs. Woolstan spoke of them?"

"Oh, yes! She called here, as I told you, the day before I went down toRivenoak, and, as we were talking, I happened to mention where I wasgoing. 'Oh then, ' she said, 'you'll see my friend Mr. Lashmar!' 'I toldher that Lady Ogram had specially asked me to meet you. ' Of course itdelighted me to hear that you knew each other so well. I have alwaysthought Mrs. Woolstan a very clever little woman. And she looks atthings from such a high point of view--a thorough idealist. Do let ushave her. --Then, if I might propose another guest--?"

She paused, as if afraid of presuming on Lashmar's good-nature. 

"Pray do! I couldn't possibly have a better adviser. "

Dyce was trying to strike his note of easy comradeship, but found itvery difficult. Mrs. Toplady had so vast an advantage of him in manner, in social resources, and, for all her amiability, must needs regard himfrom a higher ground. 

"It's very nice of you to say that, " she resumed; "I was thinking ofMr. Roach, the Member for Belper. You don't happen to know him? Oh, that doesn't matter. He's delightful; about your own age, I think. Comeand meet him here at five o'clock on Sunday; have a talk and then sendhim your invitation. He, too, is a thorough idealist; you're sure tolike him. "

Before Lashmar left the house, all the details of this little dinnerwere neatly settled, the only point necessarily left uncertain beingwhether Lord Dymchurch could be counted upon. Of course Mrs. Topladyhad dictated everything, even to the choice of restaurant and the veryroom that was to be engaged; Lashmar would have the pleasure ofordering the dinner, and of paying the bill. He thanked his stars againfor Mrs. Woolstan's cheque. 

On the strength of that same cheque, he had quitted his rooms near St. Pancras Church, and was now lodging, with more dignity, but doubtfuladvantage as to comfort, in Devonshire Street, Portland Place. Theaddress, he felt, sounded tolerably well. Only in the vaguest way hadhe troubled to compute his annual outlay on this new basis. He wasbecome an adventurer, and in common self-respect must cultivate thetrue adventurous spirit. Once or twice he half reproached himself fornot striking out yet more boldly into the currents of ambition, for itwas plain that a twelvemonth must see him either made or ruined, andprobably everything depended on the quality of his courage. Now, hebegan to wonder whether Mrs. Toplady's favour would be likely tomanifest itself in any still more practical way; but of this hisreflection offered him no assurance. The probability was that in LadyOgram lay his only reasonable hope. On the spur of such feeling, headdressed a letter to Rivenoak, giving an account of his luncheon inPont Street, and thanking the old autocrat more fervently than he yethad done for all her good offices. 

Since his return from Rivenoak, he had not met Lord Dymchurch. He mightof course write his invitation, but he fancied that it would have morechance of being accepted if he urged it orally, and, as he could notcall upon the peer (whose private address, in books of reference, wasmerely the house in Somerset), he haunted the club with the hope ofencountering him. On the second day fortune was propitious. LordDymchurch sat in his usual corner of the library, and, on Lashmar'sapproach, smiled his wonted greeting. After preliminary gossip, Dycecommanded himself to courageous utterance. 

"I have been asked to come forward as Liberal candidate for a littleborough in the Midlands--Hollingford. It's a Tory seat, and I don'tknow whether I shall stand any chance, but local people want to fightit, and they seem to think that I may be the man for them. "

As he spoke, he felt that he wore an expression new to his visage, asort of smile which his lips had not the habit of framing. Quiteunconsciously, indeed, he had reproduced the smile of Mrs. Toplady; itsironic good-humour seemed to put him at ease, and to heighten hispersonal effectiveness. 

"Hollingford?" Lord Dymchurch reflected. "I know the place by nameonly. "

He looked at Lashmar with a new interest. Constantly worrying about hisown inactive life, and what he deemed his culpable supineness as acitizen, the pinched peer envied any man to whom the Lower Houseoffered its large possibilities. 

"The idea is quite novel to me, " Lashmar continued. "You know somethingof my views--my cast of mind; do you think I should do well to go infor practical politics?"

"I think any man does well who goes in for anything practical, " wasLord Dymchurch's answer. "Stand, by all means, and I wish you success. Parliament isn't overcrowded with men of original views. "

"That's very kind of you. --I don't want to presume upon yourgood-nature, but I wonder whether I could persuade you to dine with me, to meet a few friends of mine who are so good as to interest themselvesin this matter? Quite an informal little dinner; one or two ladies--theMember for Belper--a Home Office man people who see things rather in myown way--"

He added place and date; then, with Mrs. Toplady's smile still on hislips, awaited the response. That Lord Dymchurch would much havepreferred to excuse himself was visible enough in the pleasant, opencountenance, little apt for dissembling; but no less evident was theamiability which made it difficult for him to refuse a favour, andwhich, in this instance, allied itself with something like a sense ofduty. Lord Dymchurch had been considerably impressed by Lashmar's talk;the bio-sociological theory and all its consequences applied alike tohis reason and his imagination; he had mused over this new philosophy, and the opportunity of being ever so little helpful to such a man asits originator should, he felt, be regarded as a privilege. That hecould not altogether "take to" Lashmar was nothing to the point. Howoften had he rebuked himself for his incrustation of prejudices, socialand personal, which interfered between him and the living, progressingworld! Fie upon his finical spirit, which dwelt so vulgarly on a man'strivial defects!

"With pleasure, " he replied; and, as if feeling it insufficient, headded, "with great pleasure!"

Dyce's lips forgot Mrs. Toplady; he smiled his own smile of genialsatisfaction, and, as his way was when pleased, broke into effusivetalk. He told of Lady Ogram, of the political situation at Hollingford, of editor Breakspeare, of the cantankerous Robb, and to all this LordDymchurch willingly lent ear. 

"I should uncommonly like you to go down with me some day. You mightfind it amusing. Lady Ogram is, undeniably, a very remarkable woman. "

Immediately after this conversation, Lashmar wrote off to Mrs. Toplady, half-a-dozen exultant lines, announcing his success No more wavering, he said to himself. Fate was on his side. He had but to disregard allpaltry obstacles, and go straight on. 

Yet one obstacle, and that not altogether paltry, continually hauntedhis mind. He could not forget Lady Ogram's obvious intention that heshould marry Constance Bride; and such a marriage was altogether out ofharmony with his ambition. If it brought him money--that is to say, asubstantial fortune--he might be content to accept it, but it could notbe more than a compromise; he aimed at a very different sort ofalliance. Moreover, he knew nothing of Lady Ogram's real intentionswith regard to Constance; her mysterious phrases merely perplexed andannoyed him as often as he thought of them. To marry Constance_without_ a substantial fortune--that were disaster indeed! And what ifLady Ogram's favour depended upon it?

But he had his little dinner to think of. He wrote to Mrs. Woolstan, who, by return of post, blithely accepted his invitation, begging him, at the same time, to come and see her before then, if he could possiblyspare an hour. Dyce threw the letter aside impatiently. On Sunday hewas in Pont Street, where he met the Parliamentary Mr. Roach, a youngman fairly answering to Mrs. Toplady's description; an idealist of amild type, whose favourite talk was of "altruism, " and who, whilstaffecting close attention to what other people said, was alwaysabsorbed in his own thoughts. Before Lashmar had been many minutes inthe drawing-room, there entered Mrs. Woolstan, and she soon found anoccasion for brief exchange of words with him. 

"Why haven't you been to see me yet?"

"I'm so terribly busy. Of course I ought to have come. I thought ofto-morrow--but now that we've met here, and are going to dine on the27th--"

"Oh, I know you _must_ be busy!" conceded Iris, with panting emphasisand gladness. "How splendidly everything's going! But I want to hearabout it all, you know. Your letter about Rivenoak only made me eagerto know more--"

"We'll have an afternoon presently. Ask Mrs. Toplady to introduce Mr. Roach--he dines with us on the 27th. "

To make sure of the M. P. , Lashmar invited him verbally, and received adreamy acceptance--so dreamy that he resolved to send a note, to remindMr. Roach of the engagement. 

"So you are to be one of us, at Mr. Lashmar's dinner, " said the hostessto Mrs. Woolstan. "A delightful evening--won't it be!"

And she watched the eager little face with eyes which read its everyline remorselessly: her smile more pitiless in ironic mischief eventhan of wont. 

On the morning of May the 28th, Lashmar wrote a full letter toRivenoak. It told of a dinner successful beyond his hopes. Mrs. Topladyhad surpassed herself in brilliant graciousness; Lord Dymchurch hadbroken through his reserve, and talked remarkably--most remarkably. "Asfor the host, why, he did what in him lay, and Mrs. Toplady was goodenough to remark, as he handed her into her carriage, 'A few moredinners such as this, and all London will want to know the--' I won'tfinish her sentence. Joking apart, I think my friends enjoyedthemselves, and they were certainly very encouraging with regard to ourproject. "

At the same hour, Mrs. Toplady, propped with pillows, was also writingto Rivenoak. 

"It came off very well indeed, and I see that we must take seriousaccount of Mr. Lashmar. You know that, of course, and I didn't doubtyour judgment, but intellectual distinction doesn't always go togetherwith the qualities necessary to a political career. Beyond a doubt, heis our coming man! And now let me know when to expect you in London. Ilook forward to the delight of seeing you, and of making theacquaintance of your niece, who must be _very_ interesting. How luckyyou are to have discovered at the same time two such brilliant youngpeople! By the bye, I have not mentioned Miss Tomalin to any one; itoccurred to me that silence in this matter was perhaps discretion. If Ihave been needlessly reticent, pray say so. Of course at a word fromyou, I can speak to the right people, but possibly you had rathernothing at all were said until the young lady has been seen. Myself, Isee no reason whatever for explanations. "

As she closed this letter, Mrs. Toplady's smile all but became achuckle. Nothing had so much amused her for a twelvemonth past. 

Lashmar had no reply from Rivenoak. This silence disappointed him. Tendays having elapsed, he thought of writing again, but there arrived aletter addressed in Miss Bride's hand, the contents a few lines intremulous but bold character, signed "A. Ogram. " He was invited tolunch, on the next day but one, at Bunting's Hotel, Albemarle Street. 

This same afternoon, having nothing to do, he went to call upon Mrs. Woolstan. It was his second visit since the restaurant dinner, and Irisshowed herself very grateful for his condescension. She regarded himanxiously; made inquiries about his health; was he not working toohard? His eyes looked rather heavy, as if he studied too late at night. Dyce, assuming the Toplady smile, admitted that he might have beenrather over-zealous at his constitutional history of late; concessionto practicality had led him to take up that subject. In his thoughts, he reproached himself for a freak of the previous evening, a littleoutbreak of folly, of no grave importance, which had doubtless resultedfrom the exciting tenor of his life recently. On the whole, it mightserve a useful purpose, reminding him to be on guard against certainweaknesses of his temperament, likely to be fostered by ease andliberty. 

"Lady Ogram is in town, " he announced. "I lunch with her to-morrow. "

The news agitated Mrs. Woolstan. 

"Will she be alone?"

"I suppose so--except for her secretary, who of course is always withher. "

Iris desired to know all about the secretary, and Lashmar described aneutral-tinted, pen-wielding young woman, much interested in socialreform. 

"Perhaps I shall come to know Lady Ogram, " said Iris, modestly. "I maymeet her at Mrs. Toplady's. That would be delightful! I should be ableto follow everything much better. "

"To be sure, " was the rather dry response. "But I shall be surprised ifthe old lady stays long, or sees many people. Her health is of theshakiest, and London life would be a dangerous experiment, I shouldsay. I don't at all know why she's coming, unless it is to see doctors. "

"Oh, I _do_ hope she'll be careful, " panted Iris. "What a terriblething it would be if she died suddenly--terrible for you, I mean. Sheought to have some one to look well after her, indeed she ought. Iwish"--this with a laugh--"she would take me as companion. Oh, wouldn'tI have a care of her precious health!"

When he drove to Bunting's Hotel, he had no thought of seeing anyonebut Lady Ogram and Constance; the possibility that there might be otherguests at luncheon did not enter his mind. Conducted to a privatedrawing-room on the first floor, he became aware, as the door opened, of a handsome girl in animated conversation with his two friends; sheseemed so very much at home that he experienced a little shock, as ofthe unaccountable, the disconcerting, and his eyes with difficultyturned from this new face to that of the venerable hostess. Here againa surprise awaited him; Lady Ogram looked so much younger than when hetook leave of her at Rivenoak, that he marvelled at the transformation. Notwithstanding her appearance she spoke in a strained, feeble voice, often indistinct; one noticed, too, that she was harder of hearing. Having pressed his hand--a very faint pressure, though meant forcordial--Lady Ogram turned a look upon the bright young lady near her, and said, with a wheezy emphasis:

"Let me introduce you to my niece, Miss Tomalin. "

Never had Lashmar known her so ceremonious; never had she appeared soobservant of his demeanor during the social formality. Overcome withastonishment at what he heard, he bowed stiffly, but submissively. Theautocrat watched him with severe eyes, and only when his salute wasaccomplished did the muscles of her visage again relax. Mechanically, he turned to bow in the same way to Miss Bride, but she at once offeredher hand with a friendly, "'low do you do?"

"My niece, Miss Tomalin. " Where on earth did this niece spring from?Everybody understood that Lady Ogram was alone in the world. Constancehad expressly affirmed it--yet here was she smiling in the most naturalway possible, as if nieces abounded at Rivenoak. Dyce managed to talk, but he heard not a word from his own lips, and his eyes, fixed on LadyOgram's features, noted the indubitable fact that her complexion wasartificial. This astounding old woman, at the age of four score, hadbegun to paint? So confused was Dyce's state of mind, that, onperceiving the truth of the matter, he all but uttered an exclamation. Perhaps only Miss Tomalin's voice arrested him. 

"My aunt has told me all about your new Socialism, Mr. Lashmar. Youcan't think how it has put my mind at rest! One has so felt that one_ought_ to be a Socialist, and yet there were so many things onecouldn't accept. It's delightful to see everything reconciled--all onewants to keep and all the new things that _must_ come!"

May had been developing. She spoke with a confidence which, on softernotes, emulated that of her aged relative; she carried her head with aconscious stateliness which might have been--perhaps was--deliberatelystudied after the portrait in the Rivenoak dining-room. Harmonious withthis change was that in her attire; fashion had done its best totransform the aspiring young provincial into a metropolitan Grace; theresult being that Miss Tomalin seemed to have grown in stature, toexhibit a more notable symmetry, so that she filled more space in theobserver's eye than heretofore. For all that, she looked no older; herself-assertion, though more elaborate, was not a bit more impressive, and the phrases she used, the turn of her sentences, the colour of herspeech, very little resembled anything that would have fallen from adamsel bred in the modish world. Her affectation was shot through withspontaneity; her impertinence had a juvenile seriousness which made itmuch more amusing than offensive; and a feminine charm in her, strivingto prevail over incongruous elements, made clear appeal to theinstincts of the other sex. 

"That is very encouraging, " was Lashmar's reply. "If only one'sthoughts can be of any help to others--"

"What time is it?" broke in Lady Ogram. "Why doesn't that man come?What business has he to keep us waiting?"

"It's only just half-past one, " said Miss Bride. 

"Then he ought to be here. " She turned to Lashmar. "I'm expecting afriend you've heard of--Sir William Amys. How long are we to sit herewaiting for him, I wonder?"

"What do you think of Herbert Spencer, Mr. Lashmar?" inquired May. 

Dyce's reply was rendered doubly unnecessary by the opening of thedoor, and the announcement of the awaited guest. 

"Willy! Willy!" cried Lady Ogram, with indulgent reproof. "You alwaysused to be so punctual. "

The gentleman thus familiarly addressed had grey hair and walked with astoop in the shoulders. His age was sixty, but he looked rather older. Lady Ogram, who had known him as a boy, still saw him in that light. His pleasant face, full of sagacity and good-humour, wore a gentlydeprecating smile as he stepped forward, and whether intentionally ornot--he smoothed with one hand his long, grizzled beard. 

"This is military!" he exclaimed. "Are not a few minutes' grace grantedto a man of peace, when he comes to eat your salt?--And how are you, mydear lady? How are you?"

"Never was better in my life, Willy!" shrilled Lady Ogram, her voiceslipping out of control in her excitement. "Do you know who this is?"

"I could make a guess. The face speaks for itself. "

"Ha! You see the likeness!--May, shake hands with Sir William, and makefriends with him; he and I knew each other a lifetime before you wereborn. --And this is Mr. Lashmar, our future Member for Hollingford. "

"If the voters are as kind to me as Lady Ogram, " said Dyce, laughing. 

The baronet gave his hand, and regarded the young man with shrewdobservation. Sir William had no part in public life, and was notpredisposed in favour of parliamentary ambitions; he lived quietly in aLondon suburb, knowing only a few congenial people, occupying himselfwith the history of art, on which he was something of an authority. Hisfather had been a friend of Sir Quentin Ogram; and thus arose his earlyfamiliarity with the lady of Rivenoak. 

They went to table in an adjoining room, and for a few minutes therewas talk between the hostess and Sir William about commonacquaintances. Lashmar, the while, kept turning his look towards MissTomalin. With his astonishment had begun to mingle feelings of interestand attraction. He compared Miss Tomalin's personal appearance withthat of Constance Bride, and at once so hardened towards the latterthat he could not bring his eyes to regard her again. At the same timehe perceived, with gratification, that Lady Ogram's niece was notheedless of his presence; once at least their looks come to theencounter, with quick self-recovery on the young lady's part, and aconscious smile. Dyce began to think her very good-looking indeed. SirWilliam's remark recurred to him, and he saw an undeniable resemblancein the girl's features to those of Lady Ogram's early portrait. He grewnervously desirous to know something about her. 

Presently conversation directed itself towards the subject with whichLashmar was connected. Sir William appeared by no means eager todiscuss political or social themes, but May Tomalin could not rest tillthey were brought forward, and her aunt, who seemed to have no desirebut to please her and put her into prominence, helped them on. 

"Are you going to stand as a Socialist?" asked the baronet of Lashmar, with some surprise, when May's talk had sufficiently confused him. 

Dyce quietly explained (a shadow of the Toplady smile about his lips)that his Socialism was not Social-democracy. 

"For my own part, " declared Sir William, "I want to hear a little moreof men, and a little less of government. That we're moving intoSocialism of one kind or another is plain enough, and it goes againstthe grain with me. I'm afraid we're losing our vigour as individuals. It's all very well to be a good citizen, but it's more important, don'tyou think, to be a man?"

"I quite see your point, Sir William, " said Lashmar, his eyesbrightening as they always did when he found his opportunity forborrowed argument and learning. "Clearly there's an excess to beavoided; individuality mustn't be lost sight of. But I can makeabsolutely no distinction between the terms Man and Citizen. To my mindthey are synonymous, for Man only came into being when he ceased to beanimal by developing the idea of citizenship. In my view, the source ofall our troubles is found in that commonly accepted duality. He didn'texist in the progressive ancient world. The dualism of Man and Statebegan with the decline of Graeco-Roman civilisation, and wasperpetuated by the teaching of Christianity. The philosophy of Epicurusand of Zeno an utter detachment from the business of mankind--preparedthe way for the spirit of the Gospels. So, at length, we get our notionof Church and State--a separation ruinous to religion and makingimpossible anything like perfection in politics; it has thoroughlyrooted in people's minds that fatal distinction between Man as aresponsible soul and Man as a member of society. Our work is to restorethe old monism. Very, very slowly, mankind is working towards it. Arevolution greater than any of those commonly spoken of--so wide anddeep that it isn't easily taken in even by students of history--arevolution which is the only hope of civilisation, has been going onsince the close of the thirteenth century. We are just beginning to bedimly conscious of it. Perhaps in another century it will form theprinciple of Liberalism. "

The baronet heard all this with some surprise; he had not been preparedfor such solidity of doctrine from Lady Ogram's candidate, and at theluncheon table. As for May Tomalin, she had listened delightedly. Herlips savoured the words "dualism" and "monism" of which she resolved tomake brave use in her own argumentative displays. The first to speakwas Constance. 

"We are getting on very quickly, " she said, in her driest and mostpractical tone, "towards one ideal of Socialism. Look at the way inwhich municipalities are beginning to undertake, and sometimesmonopolise, work which used to be left to private enterprize. Beforelong we shall have local authorities engaged in banking, pawnbroking, coal-supplying, tailoring, estate agency, printing--all these, andother undertakings, are already proposed. "

May cast a glance of good-natured envy at the speaker. How she wishedshe could display such acquaintance with public life. But theinformation was stored for future use. 

"Why, there you are!" exclaimed the baronet. "That's just what I'mafraid of. It's the beginning of tyranny. It'll mean the bad work of amonopoly, instead of the good to be had by free competition. You favourthis kind of thing, Mr. Lashmar?"

"In so far as it signifies growth of the ideas of citizenship, and ofassociation. But it interests me much less than purely educationalquestions. Whatever influence I may gain will be used towards athorough reconstruction of our system of popular schooling. I believenothing serious can be done until we have a truly civic education forthe masses of the people. "

This was the outcome of Lashmar's resolve to be practical, whilstadhering to his philosophy. He knew that it sounded well, this demandfor educational reform; however vague in reality, it gave the ordinaryhearer a quasi-intelligible phrase to remember and repeat. Sir WilliamAmys was not proof against the plausibility of such words: he admittedthat one might do worse than devote oneself to that question; popularschooling, heaven knew, being much in need of common-sense reform. Dycetactfully pressed his advantage. He ridiculed the extravagance ofeducationalism run mad, its waste of public money, the harm it doesfrom a social point of view; and, the longer he spoke, the betterpleased was Sir William to hear him. Their hostess, silent and closelyattentive, smiled with satisfaction. Constance, meanwhile, noted thecountenance of May Tomalin, which exhibited the same kind of pleasedapproval. --Only a day or two ago, May, speaking on this subject, hadexpressed views diametrically opposite. 

After luncheon, Lady Ogram held Lashmar in talk, whilst the two youngladies conversed with the baronet apart. Dyce had hoped for a littlegossip with Miss Tomalin, but no chance offered; discretion bade himtake leave before Sir William had given sign of rising. 

"I don't know how long we shall be in town, " said Lady Ogram, who didnot seek to detain him, "but of course we shall see you again. We shallgenerally be at home at five o'clock. "

He had hoped for a more definite and a more cordial invitation. Issuinginto Albemarle Street, he looked vaguely about him, and wondered how heshould get through the rest of the afternoon. A dull sky hastened thefailure of his spirits; when, in a few minutes, rain began to fall, hewalked on under his umbrella, thoroughly cheerless and objectless. Thenit struck him that he would go presently to Pont Street; Mrs. Topladymight help him to solve the mystery of Lady Ogram's niece. 

Confound Lady Ogram's niece! Her appearance could not have been moreinopportune. The old woman was obviously quite taken up with her, and, as likely as not, would lose all her interest in politics. Here was theexplanation of her not having answered his last long letter. ConfoundMiss--what was her foolish name?--Tomalin!

And yet--and yet--there glimmered another aspect of the matter. SupposeMiss Tomalin followed her aunt's example, and saw in him a coming man, and seriously interested herself in his fortunes? Then, indeed, shewould be by no means a superfluous young person; for who could say towhat such interest might lead? Miss Tomalin would be her aunt'sheiress, or so one might reasonably suppose. And she was a very prettygirl, as well as intelligent. 

Could it be that the real course of his destiny was only just beginningto reveal itself?

By this time, he felt better. To pass an hour, he went into his club, read the papers, and looked, vainly, for Lord Dymchurch. 

Greatly to his surprise, he found the world-shunning nobleman in Mrs. Toplady's drawing-room; the hostess and he alone together--it wasearly--and seeming to have been engaged in rather intimate talk. 

"Oh, this is nice!" exclaimed Mrs. Toplady. "What have you to tell us?"

"Little of interest, I'm afraid--except that I have lunched to-day withLady Ogram and made the acquaintance of her niece. "

"We were speaking of her, " said the hostess, with very pronouncedmischief at the corner of her lips, and eyes excessively gracious. 

"You know Miss Tomalin?" Lashmar inquired, rather abruptly, of LordDymchurch. 

"I have met her once, " was the colourless reply. 

Dyce wished to ask where and when, but of course could not. He resentedthis advantage of Lord Dymchurch. 

"She is very clever, " the hostess was saying, "and quite charming. ACanadian, you know, by birth. Such a fresh way of looking at things; sobright and--"

Other callers were announced. Lord Dymchurch looked his desire toescape, but sat on. You would have thought him a man with a troubledconscience. 

CHAPTER XIII

A few days later, Lashmar found on his breakfast table a copy of the_Hollingford Express_, blue-pencilled at an editorial paragraph whichhe read with interest. The leaded lines announced that HollingfordLiberalism was at length waking up, that a campaign was being quietlybut vigorously organised, and that a meeting of active politicianswould shortly be held for the purpose of confirming a candidature whichhad already met with approval in influential circles. The same postbrought a letter from Mr. Breakspeare, "Will you, " asked the editor, "name a convenient date for meeting your friends and supporters? Say, about the 20th of this month. I am working up enthusiasm. We shall takethe public room at the Saracen's Head. Admission to be by invitationcard. I write to Lady Ogram, and no doubt you will consult with her. "

This looked like business. Dyce reflected rather nervously that hewould have to make a speech--a practical speech; he must define hispolitical attitude; philosophical generalities would not serve in thepublic room at the Saracen's Head. Well, he had a fortnight to thinkabout it. And here was an excuse for calling on Lady Ogram, of which hewould avail himself at once. 

In the afternoon he went to Bunting's Hotel, but Lady Ogram was not athome. He inquired for Miss Bride, and was presently led up to theprivate drawing-room, where Constance sat writing. As they shook hands, their eyes scarcely met. 

"Can you spare me a few minutes?" asked the visitor. "There's somethinghere I wanted to show Lady Ogram; but I shall be still more glad totalk it over with you. "

Constance took the newspaper and Breakspeare's note. As she read, herfirm-set lips relaxed a little. She handed the papers back with a nod. 

"Has Lady Ogram heard?" Dyce asked. 

"Yes; she had a letter this morning, and I have answered it. She waspleased So far, so good. You have had Mrs. Toplady's card for theevening of the 13th?"

"I have. "

"One of the Liberal whips will be there--an opportunity for you. "

Every time he saw her, Constance seemed to be drier and more laconic. Their intercourse promised to illustrate to the full his professedideal of relation between man and woman in friendship; every note ofdifference in sex would soon be eliminated, if indeed that point werenot already attained. 

"Won't you sit down?" asked Miss Bride, carelessly; for Dyce had thrownhat and stick aside, and was moving about with his hands in his pockets. 

"But you're busy. "

"Not particularly. "

"How is our friend?"

"Lady Ogram? Pretty well, I think, but overtaxing herself. I don'tthink she'll be able to stay here long. It certainly wouldn't be wise. "

"Of course it's on her niece's account. By the bye--" Dyce pausedbefore Constance's chair--"where has this niece sprung from? You toldme she hadn't a relative in the world. "

"So she believed. Miss Tomalin is a recent discovery--the fruit of Mr. Kerchever's researches. "

"Ah! That's rather amusing. Lucky, I imagine, that she is such apresentable person. She might have been--"

He checked himself significantly, and Constance allowed an absent smileto pass over her face. 

"I'm afraid, " Dyce continued, "this change won't be quite pleasant toyou?"

"To me? It makes no difference--none whatever. Will you please sitdown? I dislike to talk with anyone who keeps fidgeting about. "

One might have detected more than discomfort in Miss Bride's look andvoice. A sudden flash of something very like anger shone in her eyes;but they were bent and veiled. 

"Let us talk about Hollingford, " said Lashmar, drawing up a chair. "Itbegins to look as if things were really in train. Of course, I shall godown to talk to them. Will you help me in putting my programmetogether?"

"Isn't that already done?"

"Why, no. What do I care about their party questions? I'm sure youradvice would be valuable. Could you find time to jot down a few ideas?"

"If you think it any use, certainly. I can't promise to do it thisevening; we have people to dine. "

Lashmar was secretly offended that Lady Ogram should give adinner-party in which he had no place. 

"Anyone coming that I know?" he asked, off-hand. 

"Let me see. Yes, there's Mrs. Toplady--and Lord Dymchurch--"

Dyce exclaimed:

"What an extraordinary thing! Dymchurch, who never went anywhere, seemsall at once to be living in the thick of the world. The other day, Ifound him at Mrs. Toplady's, drinking tea. Was it there he came to knowLady Ogram?"

"Yes. " Constance smiled. "Lady Ogram, you remember, much wished to meethim. "

"And he dines here? I can't understand it. "

"You are not very complimentary;" said Constance, with dry amusement. 

"You know what I mean. I shouldn't have thought Lady Ogram would havehad much attraction for him. "

Miss Bride laughed, a laugh of all but genuine gaiety. 

"Hadn't we better talk about your programme?" she resumed, in analtered voice, as though her humour had suddenly improved; "I shouldtake counsel with Mr. Breakspeare, if I were you. I fancy he likes tobe consulted, and his activity will be none the less for it. "

Lashmar could not easily fix his thoughts on political tactics. Hetalked impatiently, all the time absorbed in another subject; and atthe first pause he took his leave. 

Decidedly it offended him that he was left out from this evening'sdinner-party. A suspicion, too, had broken upon his mind which he foundvery distasteful and perturbing. Lady Ogram must have particularreasons for thus cultivating Lord Dymchurch's acquaintance;conjecturing what they might be, he perceived how he had allowedhimself to shape visions and dream dreams during the last day or two. It was foolish, as he now saw plainly enough; in ambition, one mustdiscern the probable, and steady one's course thereby. All at once, hefelt a strong dislike of Lord Dymchurch, and even a certain contempt. The man was not what he had thought him. 

Crossing the street at Piccadilly Circus, he ran before a hansom, andfrom the hansom was waved a hand, a voice in the same moment callingout his name. As a result of his stopping, he was very nearly run overby another cab; he escaped to the pavement; the hansom pulled up besidehim, and he shook hands with Mrs. Woolstan. 

"Are you going anywhere?" she asked, her eyes very wide as they gazedat him. 

"Nowhere in particular. "

"Then do come with me, will you? I have to buy a present for Len'sbirthday, and I should be so glad of your help in choosing it. "

Dyce jumped into the vehicle, and, as his habit was, at once surveyedhimself in the little looking-glass conveniently placed for thatpurpose. The inspection never gratified him, and to-day less thanusual. Turning to his companion, he asked:

"Does everybody look ugly in a hansom mirror?"

"What a question! I'm sure I can't tell you. "

Iris had coloured a little. Her eyes involuntarily sought the slip ofglass at her side of the seat, and the face she saw was assuredly not aflattering likeness. With brow knitted, she stared out into the street, and presently asked:

"Have you seen Lady Ogram?"

"Yes. "

"I thought you told me that she would have no one with her but hersecretary? Why did you say that?"

"Because I didn't know that she bed a newly-discovered niece. It seemsthat you have heard of it. Perhaps you have met her?"

"Not yet; Mrs. Toplady told me. "

"And you take it for granted that I had deliberately concealed theniece from you?" said Lashmar, with an amused air. "Pray, why should Ihave done so?"

"No, no, I thought nothing of the kind, " replied Mrs. Woolstan, in aconciliating tone. "Indeed I didn't! It's only that I felt vexed not tohave heard the story from you first. I thought you would have told itme as soon as possible--such an interesting thing as that. "

Lashmar declared that he had only known of Miss Tomalin's existence fora day or two, and had only heard the explanation of her appearance thisvery day. His companion asked for a description of the young lady, andhe gave one remarkable for splenetic exaggeration. 

"You must have seen her in a hansom looking-glass, " said Iris, smilingaskance at him. "Mrs. Toplady's picture is very different. And the sameapplies to Miss Bride; I formed an idea of her from what you told mewhich doesn't answer at all to that given me by Mrs. Toplady. "

"Mrs. Toplady, " replied Dyce, his lips reminiscent of Pont Street, "inclines to idealism, I have found. It's an amiable weakness, but onehas to be on one's guard against it. Did she say anything about LordDymchurch?"

"Nothing. Why?"

Dyce seemed to reflect; then spoke as if confidentially. 

"I suspect there is a little conspiracy against the noble lord. Fromcertain things that I have observed and heard, I think it probable thatLady Ogram wants to capture Dymchurch for her niece. "

A light shone upon the listener's countenance, and she panted eagerexclamations. 

"Really? You think so? But I understood that he was so poor. How is itpossible?"

"Yes. Dymchurch is poor, I believe, but he is a lord. Lady Ogram is_not_ poor, and I fancy she would like above all things to end her lifeas aunt-in-law (if there be such a thing) of a peer. Her weakness, aswe know, has always been for the aristocracy. She's a strong-mindedwoman in most things. I am quite sure she prides herself on belongingby birth to the lower class, and she knows that most aristocrats areimbeciles; for all that, she won't rest till she has found her niece atitled husband. This is my private conviction; take it for what it isworth. "

"But, " cried Iris, satisfaction still shining on her face, "do youthink there's the least chance that Lord Dymchurch will be caught?"

"A week ago, I should have laughed at the suggestion. Now, I don't feelat all sure of his safety. He goes about to meet the girl. He's diningat their hotel to-night. "

"You take a great interest in it, " said Mrs. Woolstan, her voicefaltering a little. 

"Because I am so surprised and disappointed about Dymchurch. I thoughtbetter of him. I took him for a philosopher. "

"But Mrs. Toplady says the girl is charming, and very clever. "

"That's a matter of opinion. Doesn't Mrs. Toplady strike you assomething of a busybody--a glorified busybody, of course?"

"Oh, I like her! And she speaks very nicely of you. "

"I'm much obliged. But, after all, why should she speak otherwise thannicely of me?"

Whilst Iris was meditating an answer to this question, the cab pulledup at a great shop. They alighted; the driver was bidden to wait; andalong the alleys of the gleaming bazaar they sought a present suitablefor Leonard Woolstan. To Lashmar it was a scarcely tolerable ennui; hehad even more than the average man's hatred of shopping, and feminineindecision whipped him to contemptuous irritation. To give himselfsomething to do, he looked about for a purchase on his own account, and, having made it, told Iris that this was a present from him to hisformer pupil. 

"Oh, how kind of you!" exclaimed the mother, regarding him tenderly. "How very kind of you! Len will be delighted, poor boy. "

They left the shop, and stood by the hansom. 

"Where are you going to now?" asked Iris. 

"Home, to work. I have to address a meeting at Hollingford on the 20th, and I must think out a sufficiency of harmless nonsense. "

"Really? A public meeting already? Couldn't I come and hear you?"

Dyce explained the nature of the gathering. 

"But I shall see you before then, " he added, helping her to enter thecab. "By the bye, don't be indiscreet with reference to what we spokeof just now. "

"Why of course not, " answered Iris, her eyes fixed on his face as hedrew back carelessly saluting. 

Though Lashmar had elaborated his story concerning Lord Dymchurch onthe spur of the moment, he now thoroughly believed it himself, and theresult was a restlessness of mind which no conviction of its utterabsurdity could overcome. In vain did he remember that Lady Ogram hadsettled his destiny so far as the matter lay in _her_ hands, and thatto displease the choleric old autocrat would be to overthrow in amoment the edifice of hope reared by her aid. The image of May Tomalinwas constantly before his mind. Not that he felt himself sentimentallydrawn to her; but she represented an opportunity which it annoyed himto feel that he would not, if he chose, be permitted to grasp. MissTomalin by no means satisfied his aspiration in the matter of marriage, whatever wealth she might have to bestow; he had always pictured a verylofty type of woman indeed, a being superb in every attribute whendreaming of his future spouse. But he enjoyed the sense of power, andwas exasperated by a suggestion that any man could have a naturaladvantage over him. To this characteristic he owed the influence withwomen which had carried him so far, for there is nothing that betterstands a man in his relations with the other sex than settled egoismserving restless ambition. This combination of qualities which all butevery woman worship. Mrs. Toplady herself, she of the ironic smile andcynic intelligence, felt it a magnetic property in Dyce Lashmar'sotherwise not very impressive person. On that account did she watch hispranks with so indulgent an eye, and give herself trouble to enlargethe scope of his entertaining activity. She knew, however, that the manwas not cast in heroic mould; that he was capable of scruples, inclinedto indolence; that he did not, after all, sufficiently believe inhimself to go very far in the subjugation of others. Therefore she hadnever entertained the thought of seriously devoting herself to hiscause, but was content to play with it until something more piquantshould claim her attention. 

Mrs. Toplady had always wished for the coming of the very hero, the manwithout fear, without qualm, who should put our finicking civilisationunder his feet. Her god was a compound of the blood-reeking conquerorand the diplomatist supreme in guile. For such a man she would havepoured out her safe-invested treasure, enough rewarded with a nod ofhalf-disdainful recognition. It vexed her to think that she might passaway before the appearance of that new actor on the human stage; hisentrance was all but due, she felt assured. Ah! the world would be muchmore amusing presently, and she meanwhile was growing old. 

Her drawing-rooms on the evening of June 13th were crowded withrepresentatives of Society. Lashmar arrived about ten o'clock, and hishostess had soon introduced him to two or three persons of politicalnote, with each of whom he exchanged phrases of such appalling banalitythat he had much ado not to laugh in his interlocutor's face. Theswelling current moved him along; he could only watch countenances andlisten to dialogues as foolish as those in which he had taken part; adizzying babblement filled the air, heavy with confusion of perfumes. Presently, having circled his way back towards the stair-head, hecaught sight of Lord Dymchurch, who had newly entered; their eyes met, but Dymchurch, who wore a very absent look, gave no sign ofrecognition. Dyce pressed forward. 

"I hoped I might meet you here, " he said. 

The other started, smiled nervously, and spoke in a confused way. 

"I thought it likely. Of course you know a great many of these people?"

"Oh, a few. I had rather meet them anywhere than in such a crowd, though. "

"Wonderful, isn't it?" murmured Dymchurch, with a comical distress inhis eyebrows. "Wonderful!"

Good-naturedly nodding, he moved away, and was lost to sight. Dyce, holding his place near the entrance, perceived at length another facethat he knew--that of a lady with whom he had recently dined at thishouse; in her company came Constance Bride and May Tomalin. He all butbounded to meet them. Constance looked well in a garb more ornate thanLashmar had yet seen her wearing; May, glowing with self-satisfaction, made a brilliant appearance. Their chaperon spoke with him; he learnedthat Lady Ogram did not feel quite equal to an occasion such as this, and had stayed at home. Miss Tomalin, eager to join in the talk, pressed before Constance. 

"Have you got your speech ready, Mr. Lashmar?" she asked, withsprightly condescension. 

"Quite. How sorry I am that you won't be able to enjoy that masterpieceof eloquence!"

"Oh, but it will be reported. It must be reported, of course. "

The chaperon interposed, presenting to Miss Tomalin a gentleman whoseemed very desirous of that honour, and Dyce stifled his annoyance insaying apart to Constance:

"What barbarism this is! One might as well try to converse in themiddle of the street at Charing Cross. "

"Certainly. But people don't come to converse, " was the answer. 

"You enjoy this kind of thing, I fancy?"

"I don't find it disagreeable. "

The chaperon and Miss Tomalin were moving away; May cast a look atLashmar, but he was unconscious of it. Constance turned to follow hercompanions, and Dyce stood alone again. 

Half an hour later, the circling currents to which he surrenderedhimself brought him before a row of chairs, where sat the three ladiesand, by the side of Miss Tomalin, Lord Dymchurch. May, flushed andbright-eyed, was talking at a great rate; she seemed to be laying downthe law in some matter, and Dymchurch, respectfully bent towards her, listened with a thoughtful smile. Dyce approached, and spoke toConstance. A few moments afterwards, Lord Dymchurch rose, bowed, andwithdrew; whereupon Lashmar asked Miss Tomalin's permission to take thevacant chair. It was granted rather absently; for the girl's eyes hadfurtively followed her late companion as he moved away, and she seemedmore disposed to reflect than to begin a new conversation. This passed, however; soon she was talking politics with an air of omniscience whichLashmar could only envy. 

"May I take you down to the supper-room?" he asked presently. 

The chaperon and Miss Bride were engaged in conversation with a man whostood behind them. 

"Yes, let us go, " said May, rising. "I'm thirsty. "

She spoke a word to the lady responsible for her, and swept off withLashmar. 

"How delightful it is, ". Dyce exclaimed, "to gather such a lot ofinteresting people!"

"Isn't it!" May responded. "One feels really alive here. You wouldhardly believe--" she gave him a confidential look--"that this is myfirst season in London. "

"Indeed it isn't easy to believe, " said Dyce, in the tone of compliment. 

"I always thought of a London season, " pursued May, "as mere frivolity. Of course there is a great deal of that. But here one sees onlycultured and serious people; it makes one feel how much hope there isfor the world, in spite of everything. The common Socialists talkdreadful nonsense about Society; of course it's mere ignorance. "

"To be sure, " Lashmar assented, with inward mirth. "Their views areinevitably so narrow. --How long do you stay in town?"

"I'm afraid my aunt's health will oblige me to return to Rivenoak verysoon. She has been seeing doctors. I don't know what they tell her, butI notice that she isn't quite herself this last day or two. "

"Wonderful old lady, isn't she?" Dyce exclaimed. 

"Oh, wonderful! You have known her for a long time, haven't you?"

"No, not very long. But we have talked so much, and agree so well inour views, that I think of her as quite an old friend. --What can I getyou? Do you like iced coffee?"

Dyce seated her, and tended upon her as though no such thing as a"method" with women had ever entered his mind. His demeanour waslamentably old-fashioned. What it lacked in natural grace, Miss Tomalinwas not critical enough to perceive. 

"How nice it will be, " she suddenly remarked, "when you are inParliament! Of course you will invite us to tea on the terrace, and allthat kind of thing. "

"I'm sure I hope I shall have the chance. My election is by no means acertainty, you know. The Tories are very strong at Hollingford. "

"Oh, but we're all going to work for you. When we get back to Rivenoak, I shall begin a serious campaign. I could never live without someserious work of the social kind, and I look upon it as a greatopportunity for civilising people. They must be taught that it ismorally wrong to vote for such a man as Robb, and an absolute duty ofcitizenship to vote for you. How I shall enjoy it!"

"You are very kind!"

"Oh, don't think of it in that way!" exclaimed Miss Tomalin. "I havealways thought more of principles than of persons. It isn't in mynature to take anything up unless I feel an absolute conviction that itis for the world's good. At Northampton I often offended people I likedby what they called my obstinacy when a principle was at stake. I don'twant to praise myself, but I really can say that it is my nature to beearnest and thorough and disinterested. "

"Of that I am quite sure, " said Lashmar, fervently. 

"And--to let me tell you--it is such a pleasure to feel that myopportunities will be so much greater than formerly. " May was growingvery intimate, but still kept her air of dignity, with its touch ofcondescension. "At Northampton, you know, I hadn't very much scope; nowit will be different. What an important thing social position is! Whatpower for good it gives one!"

"Provided, " put in her companion, "that one belongs to nature'saristocracy. "

"Well--yes--I suppose one must have the presumption to lay claim tothat, " returned May, with a little laugh. 

"Say, rather, the honesty, the simple courage. Self-depreciation, "added Dyce, "I have always regarded as a proof of littleness. Peoplereally called to do something never lose confidence in themselves, andhave no false modesty about expressing it. "

"I'm sure that's very true. I heard once that someone at Northamptonhad called me conceited, and you can't think what a shock it gave me. Isat down, there and then, and asked myself whether I really wasconceited, and my conscience assured me I was nothing of the kind. Isettled it with myself, once for all. Since then, I have never caredwhat people said about me. "

"That's admirable!" murmured Dyce. 

"I am sure, " went on the girl, with a grave archness, "that you toohave known such an experience. "

"To tell the truth, I have, " the philosopher admitted, bending his heada little. 

"I felt certain that you could understand me, or I should never haveventured to tell you such a thing. --There is Miss Bride!"

Constance had taken a seat not far from them, and the man who had beentalking with her upstairs was offering her refreshments. Presently, shecaught Miss Tomalin's eye, and smiled; a minute or two after, she andher companion came forward to join the other pair, and all re-ascendedto the drawing-rooms together. When he had restored his charge to herchaperon, Lashmar took the hint of discretion and retired into thethrong. There amid, he encountered Iris Woolstan, her eyes wide insearch. 

"So you _are_ here!" she exclaimed, with immediate change ofcountenance. "I despaired of ever seeing you. What a crush!"

"Horrible, isn't it. I've had enough; I must breathe the air. "

"Oh, stay a few minutes. I know so few people. Are Lady Ogram and herniece here?"

"Lady Ogram, I think not. I caught a glimpse of Miss Tomalin somewhereor other, sternly chaperoned. "

He lied gaily, for the talk with May had put him into a thoroughlyblithe humour. 

"I should so like to see her, " said Iris. "Don't you think you couldpoint her out, if we went about a little. "

"Let us look for her by all means. Have you been to the supper-room?She may be there. "

They turned to move slowly towards the staircase. Before reaching thedoor, they were met by Mrs. Toplady, at her side the gentleman who hadbeen Miss Bride's companion downstairs. 

"How fortunate!" exclaimed the hostess to Mrs. Woolstan. "I so want youto know Miss Tomalin, and Mr. Rossendale can take us to her. "

Iris voiced her delight, and looked at Lashmar, inviting him to cometoo. But Dyce stood rigid, an unnatural smile on his features; then hedrew back, turned, and was lost to view. 

Five minutes later, he quitted the house. It was raining lightly. Whilst he looked upward to give the cabman his address, drops fell uponhis face, and he found their coolness pleasant. 

During the ride home, he indulged a limitless wrath against IrisWoolstan. That busybody had spoilt his evening, had thrown disturbanceinto his mind just when it was enjoying the cheeriest hopes. As likelyas not she would learn that he had had a long talk with May Tomalin, and, seeing the girl, she would put her own interpretation on the fibhe had told her. What a nuisance it was to have to do with thesefeminine creatures, all fuss and impulsiveness and sentimentality! Itwould not surprise him in the least if she made a scene about thisevening. Already, the other day, her tone when she accused him ofgiving her a false idea of Lady Ogram's niece proved the possibility ofnonsensical trouble. The thing was a gross absurdity. Had he not, fromthe very beginning of their friendship, been careful to adopt a tone asuncompromising as man could use? Had he not applied to her his "method"in all its rigour? What right had she to worry him with idioticjealousies? Could anyone have behaved more honourably than hethroughout their intercourse? Why, the average man--

His debt? What had that to do with the matter? The very fact of hisaccepting a loan of money from her emphasised the dry nature of theirrelations. That money must quickly be repaid, or he would have nopeace. The woman began to presume upon his indebtedness, he saw thatclearly. Her tone had been different, ever since. 

Deuce take the silly creature! She had made him thoroughlyuncomfortable. What it was to have delicate sensibilities!

CHAPTER XIV

Having an imperious Will and an intelligence merely practical, it wasnatural for Lady Ogram to imagine that, even as she imposed herauthority on others in outward things, so had she sway over theirminds; what she willed that others should think, that, she took forgranted, they thought. Seeing herself as an entirely beneficentpotentate; unable to distinguish for a moment between her arbitraryimpulses and the well-meaning motives which often directed her; sheassumed as perfectly natural that all within her sphere of action mustregard her with grateful submissiveness. So, for example, havingdecided that a marriage between Dyce Lashmar and Constance Bride wouldbe a very good thing for both, and purposing large generosity towardsthem when it should have come about, she found it very difficult toconceive that either of her young friends could take any other view ofthe matter. When observation obliged her to doubt the correctness ofher first impressions, she grew only the more determined that thingsshould be as she wished. Since the coming of May Tomalin, a newreason--or rather, emotion--fortified her resolve; seeing apossibility, even a likelihood, that May and Lashmar might attract eachother, and having very definite views with regard to her niece, she wasimpatient for a declared betrothal of Constance and the aspiringpolitician. Their mutual aloofness irritated her more than she allowedto be seen, and the moment approached when she could no longer enduresuch playing with her serious purposes. 

She knew that she had committed an imprudence in coming to London andentering, however moderately, into the excitements of the season. A dayor two sufficed to prove the danger she was incurring; but she refusedto take count of symptoms. With a weakness which did not lack itspathos, she had, for the first time in her life, put what she called "atouch of colour" onto her cheeks, and the result so pleased her thatshe all but forgot the artificiality of this late bloom; each morning, when her maid had performed the office, she viewed herself withsatisfaction, and was even heard to remark that London evidently didher good. Lady Ogram tried to believe that even age and disease wereamenable to her control. 

She consulted doctors--for the form; behaving with cold civility duringtheir visit, and scornfully satirising them when they were gone. Nonethe less did she entertain friends at luncheon or dinner, and oftentalked to them as if years of activity and enjoyment lay before her. "Wonderful old lady!" was the remark of most who left her presence; butsome exchanged glances and let fall ominous words. 

On the evening when May and Constance were at the crush in Pont Street, she would not go to bed, but lay on a couch in her chamber, occasionally dozing, more often wide awake and quivering with theagitation of her mind. It was one o'clock when the girls returned, butshe had given orders that Miss Tomalin should at once come to see her, and May, flushed, resplendent, entered the dimly-lighted room. 

"Well, have you enjoyed yourself?"

The voice was a shock to May's ears. After those to which she had beenlistening, it sounded sepulchral. 

"Very much indeed. A delightful time!"

No token of affection had a place in their greeting. The old autocratcould not bring herself to offer, or ask for, tenderness; but in hereyes, always expressive of admiration when she looked at May, mighthave been read something like hunger of the heart. 

"Sit down, my dear. " Even this form of address was exceptional. "Tellme all about it. Who was there?"

"Hundreds of people! I can't remember half of those I was introducedto. Lord Dymchurch--"

"Ha! Lord Dymchurch came? And you had a talk with him?"

"Oh, yes. I find he takes a great interest in Old English, and wetalked about Chaucer and so on for a long time. He isn't quite so wellup in it as I am; I put him right on one or two points, and he seemedquite grateful. He's very nice, isn't he? There's something so quietand good-natured about him. I thought perhaps he would have offered totake me down to supper, but he didn't. Perhaps he didn't think of it; Ifancy he's rather absentminded. "

Lady Ogram knitted her brows. 

"Who did go down with you?" she asked. 

"Oh, Mr. Lashmar. He was very amusing. Then I talked with--"

"Wait a minute. Did you only have one talk with Lord Dymchurch?"

"Only one. He doesn't care for 'At Homes. ' Mrs. Toplady says he hardlyever goes anywhere, and she fancies"--May laughed lightly--"that hecame to-night only because _I_ was going to be there. Do you think itlikely, aunt?"

"Why, I don't think it impossible, " replied Lady Ogram, in a tone ofrelief. "I have known more unlikely things. And suppose it were true?"

"Oh, it's very complimentary, of course. "

The old eyes dwelt upon the young face, and with a puzzled expression. Notwithstanding her own character, it was difficult for Lady Ogram toimagine that the girl seriously regarded herself as superior to LordDymchurch. 

"Perhaps it's more than a compliment, " she said, in rather a mumblingvoice; and she added, with an effort to speak distinctly, "I supposeyou didn't tire him with that talk about Old English?"

"Tire him?" May exclaimed. "Way, he was delighted!"

"But he seems to have been satisfied with the one talk. "

"Oh, he went away because Mr. Lashmar came up, that was all. He's verymodest; perhaps he thought he oughtn't to prevent me from talking toother people. "

Lady Ogram looked annoyed and worried. 

"If I were you, May, I shouldn't talk about Old English next time yousee Lord Dymchurch. Men don't care to find themselves at school in adrawing-room. "

"I assure you, aunt, that is not my only subject of conversation, "replied May, amused and dignified. "And I'm perfectly certain that itwas just the thing for Lord Dymchurch. He has a serious mind, and Ilike him to know that mine is the same. "

"That's all right, of course. I dare say you know best what pleaseshim. And I think it very probable indeed, May, that he went to PontStreet just in the hope of meeting you. "

"Perhaps so. "

May smiled, and seemed to take the thing as very natural; whereuponLady Ogram again looked puzzled. 

"Well, go to bed, May. I'm very glad Lord Dymchurch was there; veryglad. Go to bed, and sleep as late as you like. I'm glad you've enjoyedyourself, and I'm very glad Lord Dymchurch was there--very. "

The voice had become so senile, so indistinct, that May could hardlycatch what it said. She lightly kissed her aunt's cheek--a ceremonythat passed between them only when decorum seemed to demand it--andleft the room. 

On the following morning, Dyce Lashmar received a telegram, couchedthus:

"Please call at Bunting's Hotel at 3 this afternoon. "

In order to respond to this summons, he had to break an engagement; buthe did it willingly. Around the hotel in Albemarle Street circled allhis thoughts, and he desired nothing more than to direct his stepsthither. Arriving with perfect punctuality, he was shown into LadyOgram's drawing-room, and found Lady Ogram alone. Artificial complexionnotwithstanding, the stern old visage wore to-day a look as of natureall but spent. At Lashmar's entrance, his hostess did not move; sunktogether in her chair, head drooping forward, she viewed him from underher eyebrows: even to give her hand when he stood before her seemedalmost too great an effort, and the shrivelled lips scarce made audibleher bidding that he should be seated. 

"You are well, I hope?" said Dyce, feeling uncomfortable, but affectingto see nothing unusual in the face before him. 

Lady Ogram nodded, impatiently. There was a moment's silence; then, turning her gaze upon him, she said abruptly, in a harsh croak:

"What are you waiting for?"

Lashmar felt a cold touch along his spine. He thought the ghastly oldwoman had lost her senses, that she was either mad or delirious. Yether gaze had nothing wild; on the contrary, it searched him with allthe wonted keenness. 

"Waiting--? I'm afraid I don't understand--"

"Why haven't you done what you know I wish?" pursued the untunefulvoice, now better controlled. "I'm speaking of Constance Bride. "

Relieved on one side, Dyce fell into trouble on the other. 

"To tell you the truth, Lady Ogram, " he answered, with his air ofutmost candour, "I have found no encouragement to take the step ofwhich you are thinking. I'm afraid I know only too well what the resultwould be. "

"You know nothing about it. "

Lady Ogram moved. As always, a hint of opposition increased her force. She was suffering acute physical pain, which appeared in every line ofher face, and in the rigid muscles of her arms as she supported herselfon the arms of the chair. 

"Answer me this, " she went on--and her utterance had something whichtold of those far-off days before education and refined society hadsoftened her tongue. "Will you see Miss Bride this afternoon, and makeher an offer of marriage? Are you willing? Just answer me yes or no. "

Dyce replied mechanically and smiled as he replied. 

"I am quite willing, Lady Ogram. I only wish I could feel assured thatMiss Bride--"

He was rudely interrupted. 

"Don't talk, but listen to me. " For a moment the lips went on moving, yet gave no sound; then words came again. "I've told you once alreadyabout Constance, what I think of her, and what I intend for her. Ineedn't go over all that again. As for you, I think I've given proofthat I wish you well. I was led to it at first because I saw thatConstance liked you; now I wish you well for your own sake, and you maytrust me to do what I can to help you on. But till a man a married, noone can say what he'll make of his life. You've plenty of brains, morethan most men, but I don't think you've got too much of what I callbackbone. If you make a fool of yourself--as most men do--in marriage, it's all up with you. I want to see you safe. Go where you will, you'llfind no better wife, better in every way for _you_, than ConstanceBride. You want a woman with plenty of common sense as well as uncommonability; the kind of woman that'll keep you going steadily--up--up! Doyou understand me?"

The effort with which she spoke was terrible. Her face began to shinewith moisture, and her mouth seemed to be parched. Lashmar must havebeen of much sterner stuff for these vehement and rough-cut sentencesto make no impression upon him; he was held by the dark, fierce eye, and felt in his heart that he had heard truths. 

"And mind this, " continued Lady Ogram, leaning towards him. "Constance's marriage alters nothing in what I had planned for herbefore I knew you. She'll have her duties quite apart from yourinterests and all you aim at. I know her; I'm not afraid to trust her, even when she's married. She's honest--and that's what can be said offew women. This morning I had a talk with her. She knows, now, theresponsibility I want her to undertake, and she isn't afraid of it. Isaid nothing to her about _you_; not a word: but, when you speak toher, she'll understand what was in my mind. So let us get thingssettled, and have no more bother about it. On Saturday"--it was threedays hence--"I go back to Rivenoak; I've enough of London; I want to bequiet. You are to come down with us. You've business at Hollingford onthe 20th, and you ought to see more of the Hollingford people. "

Whatever Lady Ogram had proposed (or rather dictated) Dyce would haveagreed to. He was under the authority of her eye and voice. Theprospect of being down at Rivenoak, and there, of necessity, living indaily communication with May Tomalin, helped him to disregard the otherfeatures of his position. He gave a cheerful assent. 

"Now go away for half an hour, " said Lady Ogram. "Then come back, andask for Miss Bride, and you'll find her here. "

She was at the end of her strength, and could barely make the lastwords audible. Dyce pressed her hand silently, and withdrew. 

After the imposed interval, he returned from a ramble in Piccadilly, where he had seen nothing, and was conducted again to the drawing-room. There Constance sat reading. She was perfectly calm, entirely herself, and, as Lashmar entered, she looked up with the usual smile. 

"Have you been out this afternoon?" he began by asking. 

"Yes. Why?"

"You went on business of Lady Ogram's?"

"Yes. Why?"

Dyce gave no answer. He laid aside his hat and stick, sat down not farfrom Constance, and looked at her steadily. 

"I have something rather odd to say to you. As we are both rationalpersons, I shall talk quite freely, and explain to you exactly theposition in which I find myself. It's a queer position, to say theleast. When I was at Rivenoak, on the last day of my visit, Lady Ogramhad a confidential talk with me; your name came prominently into it, and I went away with certain vague impressions which have kept me, eversince, in a good deal of uneasiness. This afternoon, I have had anotherprivate conversation with Lady Ogram. Again your name had a prominentpart in it, and this time there was no vagueness whatever in thecommunication made to me. I was bidden, in plain terms, to make you anoffer of marriage. "

Constance drooped her eyes, but gave no other sign of disturbance. 

"Now, " resumed Dyce, leaning forward with hands clasped between hisknees, "before I say anything more about this matter as it concernsyou, I had better tell you what I think about our friend. I feel prettysure that she has a very short time to live; it wouldn't surprise me ifit were a question of days, but in any case I am convinced she won'tlive for a month. What is your opinion?"

"I fancy you are right, " answered the other, gravely. "If so, thisrather grotesque situation becomes more manageable. It is fortunatethat you and I know each other so well, and have the habit ofstraightforward speech. I may assume, no doubt, that, from the veryfirst, our friendship was misinterpreted by Lady Ogram; reasonablerelations between man and woman are so very rare, and, in this case, the observer was no very acute psychologist. I feel sure she isactuated by the kindest motives; but what seems to her my inexplicabledelay has been too much for her temper, and at last there was nothingfor it but to deal roundly with me. One may suspect, too, that shefeels she has not much time to spare. Having made up her mind that weare to marry, she wants to see the thing settled. Looking at itphilosophically, I suppose one may admit that her views and herbehaviour are intelligible. Meanwhile, you and I find ourselves in avery awkward position. We must talk it over--don't you think?--quitesimply, and decide what is best to do. "

Constance listened, her eyes conning the carpet. There was silence fora minute, then she spoke. 

"What did Lady Ogram tell you about me?"

"She repeated in vague terms something she had already said atRivenoak. It seems that you are to undertake some greatresponsibility--to receive some proof of her confidence which willaffect all the rest of your life. More than that I don't know, but Iunderstand that there has been a conversation between you, in whicheverything was fully explained. "

Constance nodded. After a moment's reflection she raised her eyes toLashmar's, and intently regarded him; her expression was one of anxietyseverely controlled. 

"You shall know what that responsibility is, " she said, with a justperceptible tremor in her voice. "Lady Ogram, like a good many otherpeople nowadays, has more money than she knows what to do with. Formany years, I think, she has been troubled by a feeling that a womanrich as she ought to make some extraordinary use of her riches--oughtto set an example, in short, to the wealthy world. But she never coulddiscover the best way of doing this. She has an independent mind, andlikes to strike out ways for herself. Ordinary Charities didn't satisfyher; to tell the truth, she wanted not only to do substantial good, butto do it in a way which should perpetuate her name--cause her to bemore talked about after her death than she has been in her lifetime. Time went on, and she still could hit upon nothing brilliant; all shehad decided was to build and endow a great hospital at Hollingford, tobe called by her name, and this, for several reasons, she keptpostponing. Then came her acquaintance with me--you know the story. Shewas troubling about the decay of the village, and trying to hit onremedies. Well, I had the good luck to suggest the paper-mill, and itwas a success, and Lady Ogram at once had a great opinion of me. Fromthat day--she tells me--the thought grew in her mind that, instead ofdevoting all her wealth, by will, to definite purposes, she would leavea certain portion of it to _me_, to be used by me for purposes ofpublic good. I, in short"--Constance smiled nervously--"was to be soleand uncontrolled trustee of a great fund, which would be used, afterher death, just as it might have been had she gone on living. The ideais rather fine, it seems to me; it could only have originated in a mindcapable of very generous thought, generous in every sense of the word. It implied remarkable confidence, such as few people, especially fewwomen, are capable of. It strikes me as rather pathetic, too--thefeeling that she would continue to live in another being, not a mereinheritor of her money, but a true representative of her mind, thinkingand acting as she would do, always consulting her memory, desiring herapproval. Do you see what I mean?"

"Of course I do, " answered Dyce, meditatively. "Yes, it's fine. Itincreases my respect for our friend. "

"I have always respected her, " said Constance, "and I am sorry now thatI did not respect her more. Often she has irritated me, and in badtemper I have spoken thoughtlessly. I remember that letter I wrote you, before you first came to Rivenoak; it was silly, and, I'm afraid, rather vulgar. "

"Nothing of the kind, " interposed Lashmar. "It was very clever. Youcouldn't be vulgar if you tried. "

"Have you the letter still?"

"Of course I have. "

"Then do me the kindness to destroy it--will you?"

"If you wish. "

"I do, seriously. Burn the thing, as soon as you get home. "

"Very well. "

They avoided each-other's look, and there was a rather long pause. 

"I'll go on with my story, " said Constance, in a voice still understudious control. "All this happened when Lady Ogram thought she had noliving relative. One fine day, Mr. Kerchever came down with news ofMiss Tomalin, and straightway the world was altered. Lady Ogram had anatural heiress, and one in whom she delighted. Everything had to bereconsidered. The great hospital became a dream. She wanted May Tomalinto be rich, very rich, to marry brilliantly. I have always suspectedthat Lady Ogram looked upon her life as a sort of revenge on thearistocratic class for the poverty and ignorance of her own people; didanything of the kind ever occur to you?"

"Was her family really mean?"

"Everyone says so. Mrs. Gallantry tells me that our illustrious M. P. Has made laborious searches, hoping to prove something scandalous. Ofcourse she tells it as a proof of Mr. Robb's unscrupulous hatred ofLady Ogram. I daresay the truth is that she came of a low class. At allevents, Miss Tomalin, who represents the family in a progressive stage, is to establish its glory for ever. One understands. It's very human. "

Lashmar wore the Toplady smile. 

"It never occurred to our friend, " he said, "that her niece mightundertake the great trust instead of you?"

"She has spoken to me quite frankly about that. The trust cannot be sogreat as it would have been, but it remains with me. Miss Tomalin, it'nay be hoped, will play not quite an ordinary part in the fashionableworld; she has ideas of her own, and"--the voice was modulated--"somefaith in herself. But my position is different, and perhaps my mind. Lady Ogram assures me that her faith in me, and her hopes, havesuffered no change. For one thing, the mill is to become my property. Then--"

She hesitated, and her eyes passed over the listener's face. Lashmarwas very attentive. 

"There's no need to go into details, " she added quickly. "Lady Ogramtold me everything, saying she felt that the time had come for doingso. And I accepted the trust. "

"Without knowing, however, " said Dyce, "the not unimportant conditionwhich her mind attached to it. "

"There was no condition, expressed or reserved. "

Constance's tone had become hard again. Her eyes were averted, her lipsset in their firmest lines. 

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Quite, " was the decisive reply. 

"How do you reconcile that with what has passed today between LadyOgram and me?"

"It was between Lady Ogram and _you_, " said Constance, subduing hervoice. 

"I see. You mean that I alone am concerned; that your position will inno case be affected?"

"Yes, I mean that, " answered Constance, quietly. 

Lashmar thought for a moment, then moved on his chair, and spoke in alow tone, which seemed addressed to his hearer's sympathy. 

"Perhaps you are right. Probably you are. But there is one thing ofwhich _I_ feel every assurance. If it becomes plain that her projectmust come to nothing, Lady Ogram's interest in me is at an end. I maysay good-bye to Hollingford. "

"You are mistaken, " replied Constance, in a voice almost ofindifference. 

"Well, the question will soon be decided. " Lashmar seemed to submithimself to the inevitable. "I shall write to Lady Ogram, telling herthe result of our conversation. We shall see how she takes it. "

He moved as if about to rise, but only turned his chair slightly aside. Constance was regarding him from under her brows. She spoke in her mostbusinesslike tone. 

"It was this that you came to tell me?"

"Why, no. It wasn't that at all. "

"What had you in mind, then?"

"I was going to ask if you would marry me--or rather, if you wouldpromise to--or rather, if you would make believe to marry me. I thoughtthat, under the circumstances, it was a justifiable thing to do, for Ifancied your future, as well as mine, was at stake. Seeing our friend'scondition, it appeared to me that a formal engagement between us wouldbe a kindness to her, and involve no serious consequences for us. Butthe case is altered. You being secure against Lady Ogram's displeasure, I have, of course, no right to ask you to take a part in such aproceeding--which naturally you would feel to be unworthy of you. All Ihave to do is to thank you for your efforts on my behalf. Who knows? I_may_ hold my own at Hollingford. But at Rivenoak it's all over withme. "

He stood up, and assumed an attitude of resigned dignity, smiling tohimself. But Constance kept her seat, her eyes on the ground. 

"I believe you were going down on Saturday?" she said. 

"So it was arranged. Well, I mustn't stay--"

Constance rose, and he offered his hand. 

"Between us, it makes no difference, I hope?" said Dyce, with anemphasised effort of cheeriness. "Unless you think me a paltry fellow, ready to do anything to get on?"

"I don't think that, " replied Constance, quietly. 

"But you feel that what I was going to ask would have been rather asevere test of friendship?"

"Under the circumstances, I could have pardoned you. "

"But you wouldn't have got beyond forgiveness?"

Constance smiled coldly, her look wandering. 

"How can I tell?"

"But--oh, never mind! Good-bye, for the present. "

He pressed her hand again, and turned away. Before he had reached thedoor, Constance's voice arrested him. 

"Mr. Lashmar--"

He looked at her as if with disinterested inquiry. 

"Think well before you take any irreparable step. It would be a pity. "

Dyce moved towards her again. 

"Why, what choice have I? The position is impossible. If you hadn'tsaid those unlucky words about being so sure--"

"I don't see that they make the slightest difference, " answeredConstance, her eyebrows raised. "If you had intended a genuine offer ofmarriage--yes, perhaps. But as all you meant was to ask me to save thesituation, with no harm to anybody, and the certainty of giving greatpleasure to our friend--"

"You see it in that light?" cried Lashmar, flinging away his hat. "Youreally think I should be justified? You are not offended?"

"I credit myself with a certain measure of common sense, " answeredConstance. 

"Then you will allow me to tell Lady Ogram that there is an engagement?"

"You may tell her so, if you like. "

He seized her hand, and pressed his lips upon it. But, scarce had hedone so, when Constance drew it brusquely away. 

"There is no need to play our comedy in private, " she said, with coldreproof. "And I hope that at all times you will use the discretion thatis owing to me. "

"If I don't, I shall deserve to fall into worse difficulties thanever, " cried Lashmar. 

"As, for instance, to find yourself under the necessity of making yourmock contract a real one--which would be sufficiently tragic. "

Constance spoke with a laugh, and thereupon, before Dyce could make anyrejoinder, walked from the room. 

The philosopher stood embarrassed. "What did she mean by that?" heasked himself. He had never felt on very solid ground in his dealingswith Constance; had never felt sure in his reading of her character, his interpretation of her ways and looks and speeches. An odd thingthat he should have been betrayed by his sense of triumphant diplomacyinto that foolish excess. And he remembered that it was the second suchindiscretion, though this time, happily, not so compromising as hisyouthful extravagance at Alverholme. 

What if Lady Ogram, feeling that her end drew near, called for theirspeedy marriage? Was it the thought of such possibility that hadsupplied Constance with her sharp-edged jest? If she could laugh, therisk did not seem to her very dreadful. And to him?

He could not make up his mind on the point. 

CHAPTER XV

Lord Dymchurch was at a critical moment of his life. 

Discontent, the malady of the age, had taken hold upon him. No ignobleform of the disease; for his mind, naturally in accord with generousthoughts, repelled every suggestion which he recognised as of unworthyorigin, and no man saw more clearly how much there was of vanity and ofevil in the unrest which rules our time. He was possessed by thatturbid idealism which, in the tumult of a day without consciousguidance, is the peril of gentle souls. Looking out upon the world, heseemed to himself to be the one idle man in a toiling and aspiringmultitude; for, however astray the energy of most, activity was visibleon every side, and in activity--so he told himself--lay man's onlyhope. He alone did nothing. Wearing his title like a fool's cap, hemooned in by-paths which had become a maze. Was it not the foolishtitle that bemused and disabled him? Without it, would he not long agohave gone to work like other men, and had his part in the onwardstruggle? Discontented with himself, ill at ease in his socialposition, reproachfully minded towards the ancestors who had ruinedhim, he fell into that most dangerous mood of the cultured andconscientious man, a feverish inclination for practical experiment inlife. 

His age was two and thirty. A decade ago he had dreamt ofdistinguishing himself in the Chamber of Peers; why should poverty barthe way of intellect and zeal? Experience taught him that, though moneymight not be indispensable to such a career as he imagined, the lack ofit was only to be supplied by powers such as he certainly did notpossess. Abashed at the thought of his presumption he withdrewaltogether from the seat to which his birth entitled him, and at thesame time ceased to appear in Society. He had the temper of a student, and among his books he soon found consolation for the firstdisappointments of youth. Study, however, led him by degrees to all thequestions rife in the world about him; with the inevitable result thathis maturer thought turned back upon things he fancied himself to haveoutgrown. His time had been wasted. At thirty-two all he had clearlylearnt was a regret for vanished years. 

He resisted as a temptation the philosophic quietism which had been hisstrength and his pride. From the pages of Marcus Aurelius, which he hadalmost by heart, one passage only was allowed to dwell with him: "Whenthou art hard to be stirred up and awaked out of thy sleep, admonishthyself and call to mind that to perform actions tending to the commongood is that which thine own proper constitution, and that which thenature of man, do require. " Morning and night, the question with himbecame, what could he do in the cause of civilisation? And about thistime it chanced that he made the acquaintance of Dyce Lashmar. Helistened, presently, to the bio-sociological theory of human life, believing it to be Lashmar's own, and finding in it a great deal thatwas not only intellectually fruitful, but strong in appeal to hissympathies. Here he saw the reconciliation of his aristocraticprejudices--which he had little hope of ever overcoming--with thehumanitarian emotion and conviction which were also a natural part ofhis being. All this did but contribute to his disquiet. No longeroccupied with definite studies, he often felt time heavy on his hands, and saw himself more obnoxious than ever to the charge of idleness. Lashmar, though possibly his ambition had some alloy of self-seeking, gave an example of intellect applied to the world's behoof; especiallydid his views on education, developed in a recent talk at the club, strike Dymchurch as commendable and likely to have influence. He askednothing better than an opportunity of devoting himself to a movementfor educational reform. The abstract now disgusted him well nigh asmuch as the too grossly actual. Thus, chancing to open Shelley, hefound with surprise that the poet of his adolescence not merely lefthim cold, but seemed verbose and tedious. 

Some anxiety about his private affairs aided this mental tendency. Sometime ago, he had been appealed to by the tenant of his Kentish farm fora reduction of rent, which, on consideration of the facts submitted tohim, he felt unable to refuse. The farmer was now dead, and it was notwithout trouble that the land had been leased again on the same reducedterms; moreover, the new tenant seemed to be a not very satisfactoryman, and Dymchurch had to consider the possibility that this part ofhis small income might become uncertain, or fail him altogether. Nowand then he entertained the thought of studying agriculture, livingupon his farm, and earning bread in the sweat of his brow; but a littletalk with practical men showed him all the difficulties of such anundertaking. So far as his own day-to-day life was concerned, he feltsmall need of money; but it constantly worried him to think of hissisters down in Somerset, their best years going by, not indeed inactual want, but with so little of the brightness or hope natural toladies of their birth. They did not appear unhappy; like him, they hada preference for the tranquil mode of life; none the less, he saw howdifferent everything would have been with them but for their narrowmeans, and, after each visit to the silent meadow-circled house, hecame away reproaching himself for his inertness. 

The invitation to Lashmar's restaurant-dinner annoyed him a little, forcasual company was by no means to his taste; when it was over, he feltglad that he had come, and more than ever fretted in spirit about hispersonal insignificance, his uselessness in the scheme of things. Hewas growing to hate the meaningless symbol which distinguished him fromordinary men; the sight of an envelope addressed to him stirred hisspleen, for it looked like deliberate mockery. How if he cast away thisempty lordship? Might it not be the breaking down of a barrier betweenhim and real life? In doing so, what duty would he renounce? Who careda snap of the fingers whether he signed himself "Dymchurch" or "WalterFallowfield?" It was long enough since the barony of Dymchurch hadjustified its existence by any public service, and, as most peopleknew, its private record had small dignity. The likelihood was that hewould never marry, and, unless either of his sisters did so, every daya more improbable thing, the title might fall into happy oblivion. What, in deed, did such titles mean nowadays? They were a sillyanachronism, absurdly in contradiction with that scientific teachingwhich rules our lives. Lashmar, of course, was right in his demand fora new aristocracy to oust the old, an aristocracy of nature, of theborn leaders of men. It might be that he had some claim to a humbleposition in that spiritual hierarchy, and perhaps the one manifest wayto make proof of it was by flinging aside his tinsel privilege--anexample, a precedent, to the like-minded of his caste. 

Mrs. Toplady had begged him to come and see her. Mrs. Toplady, vaguelyknown to him by name, would, but a short time ago, have turned him toflight; having talked with her at the restaurant, he inclined to thinkher a very intelligent and bright-witted woman, the kind of woman whodid a service to Society by keeping it in touch with modern ideas. After a little uneasy hesitation, he betook himself to Pont Street. Next, he accepted an invitation to dine there, and found himself in thecompany of an old Lady Ogram, of whom he had never heard, and a girlwith an odd name, her niece, who rather amused him. Calling presentlyin Pont Street, to discharge his obligation of ceremony, he found Mrs. Toplady alone, and heard from her, in easy, half-confidential chat, agreat deal about Lady Ogram and Miss Tomalin, information such as hewould never himself have sought, but which, set off by his hostess'spleasant manner, entertained and somewhat interested him. For the younglady and her aged relative shone in no common light as Mrs. Topladyexhibited them. The baronet's widow became one of the most remarkablewomen of her time, all the more remarkable because of lowly origin;Miss Tomalin, heiress of a great fortune, had pure colonial blood inher veins, yet pursued with delightful zeal the finest culture of anold civilisation. As Mrs. Toplady talked thus, the door opened toadmit--Mr. Lashmar, and there was an end of confidences for that day. 

So far, Dymchurch had yielded without much reflection to the friendlypressure which brought him among strangers and disturbed his habits ofseclusion. These dinners and afternoon calls had no importance; verysoon he would be going down into Somerset, where it might be hoped thathe would think out the problems which worried him, and arrive at someclear decision about the future. But when he found himself, reluctantly, yet as it seemed inevitably, setting forth to Mrs. Toplady's "At Home, " the reasonable man in him grew restive. Why was heguilty of this weakness? Years had passed since he did anything sofoolish as to leave home towards the middle of the night for thepurpose of hustling amid a crowd of unknown people in staircases anddrawing-rooms. He saw himself as the victim of sudden fatuity, ownbrother to the longest-eared of fashion's worshippers. Assuredly thisshould be the last of his concessions. 

Inwardly pishing and pshawing, he drifted about the rooms till broughtup beside Miss Tomalin. Then his mood changed. This girl, with herqueer mixture of naivete and conceit and examination-room pedantry, decidedly amused him. Was she a type of the young Canadian? He knewnothing of her life at Northampton, and thought she had come over fromCanada only a year or two ago. Yes, she amused him. By contrast withthe drawing-room young lady, of whom he had always been afraid, sheseemed to have originality of character, spontaneity of talk. Of courseher learning was not exactly profound; the quality of her mind leftsomething to be desired; her breeding fell short of what is demanded bythe fastidious; but there was something healthy and genuine about her, which made these deficiencies a matter for indulgence rather than forcensure. And then, she was by no means ill-looking. Once or twice hecaught an aspect of her features which had a certain impressiveness;with nature cast in a more serious mould, she might have become areally beautiful woman. 

Just as he had found courage to turn the talk in a personal direction, with an inquiry about Canadian life, he saw the approach of DyceLashmar. A glance at Miss Tomalin showed him that she had perceived theyoung politician, who was looking with manifest interest at her. Abruptly he rose. He had thought of asking the girl to let him take herto the supper-room, but at the sight of Lashmar he did not hesitate fora moment about retreating. And at once he quitted the house. 

Dymchurch had never inclined to tender experiences; his life so far waswithout romance. Women more often amused than interested him; hishumorous disposition found play among their lighter characteristics, and on the other hand--natural complement of humour--he felt a certainawe of the mysterious in their being. Except his own sisters, whom, naturally enough, he regarded as quite exceptional persons, he hadnever been on terms of intimacy with any woman of the educated world. Regarding marriage as impracticable--for he had always shrunk from thethought of accepting money with a wife--he gave as little heed aspossible to the other sex, tried to leave it altogether out of accountin his musings and reasonings upon existence. Frankly he said tohimself that he knew nothing about women, and that he was just aslikely to be wrong as right in any theory he might form about theirplace in the world, their dues, their possibilities. By temper, heleaned to the old way of regarding them; women militant, women in thepublic eye, were on the whole unpleasing to him. But he was satisfiedwith an occasional laugh at these extravagances, and heard withtolerable patience anyone who pleaded the cause of female emancipation. In brief, women lay beyond the circle of his interests. 

The explanation of his abrupt withdrawal on Lashmar's appearance was, simply, that he all at once imagined a private understanding betweenhis political friend and Miss Tomalin. The possibility had not hithertooccurred to him: he had given too little thought to Lady Ogram's niece. Now, of a sudden, it flashed upon him that Lashmar was seeking the girlin marriage, perhaps had already won her favour. The thought thatLashmar might perchance regard him as a rival pricked his pride; notfor a moment could he rest under that misconstruction. He left thefield clear, and drew breath like a man who has shaken off anembarrassment. 

On the way home he saw how natural it was that such a man as Lashmarshould woo Miss Tomalin. He might be a little too good for her; yetthere was no knowing. That half grim, half grotesque Lady Ogram hadevidently taken Lashmar under her wing, and probably would make noobjection to the alliance; perhaps she had even projected it. Utterlywithout idle self-consciousness, Dymchurch had perceived no specialsignificance in Mrs. Toplady's social advances to him. The sense ofpoverty was so persistent in his mind that he had never seen himself asa possible object of matrimonial intrigue; nor had he ever come incontact with a social rank where such designs must have been forced onhis notice. Well, his "season" was over; he laughed as he looked backupon it. When Lashmar and Miss Tomalin were married, he might or mightnot see something of them. The man had ideas: it remained to be provedwhether his strength was equal to his ambitions. 

A few days later, Dymchurch heard that one of his sisters was not verywell. She had caught a cold, and could not shake it off. This decidedhim to plan a summer holiday. He wrote and asked whether the girlswould go with him to a certain quiet spot high in the Alps, and howsoon they could leave home. The answer came that they would prefer notto go away until the middle of July, as a friend was about to visitthem, whom they hoped to keep for two or three weeks. Disappointed atthe delay, Dymchurch tried to settle down to his books; but books hadlost their savour. He was consumed by dreary indolence. 

Then came a note from Mrs. Toplady. He knew the writing, and opened theenvelope with a petulant grimace, muttering "No, no, no!"

"Dear Lord Dymchurch, " wrote his correspondent, "I wonder whether youare going to the performance of 'As You Like It' at Lady Honeybourne'son the 24th? It promises to be very good. If only they have fineweather, the play will be a real delight in that exquisite Surreywoodland. I do so hope we may meet you there. By we I mean Miss Tomalinand myself. Lady Ogram has gone back into the country, her health beingunequal to London strain, and her niece stays with me for a little. Youhave heard, no doubt, of the engagement of Mr. Lashmar and Miss Bride. I knew it was coming. They are admirably suited to each other. To-dayMr. Lashmar gives his address at Hollingford, and I hope for good newstomorrow--"

The reader hung suspended at this point. Miss Bride? Who was MissBride? Oh, the lady whom he had seen once or twice with Lady Ogram; hersecretary, had he not heard? Why, then he was altogether wrong in hisconjecture about Lashmar and Miss Tomalin. He smiled at the error, characteristic of such an acute observer of social life!

He had received a card of invitation to Lady Honeybourne's, but had byno means thought of going down into Surrey to see an amateur open-airperformance of "As You Like It. " After all, was it not a way of passingan afternoon? And would not Miss Tomalin's running comment have apiquancy all its own? She would have "got up" the play, would beprepared with various readings, with philological and archaeologicalillustrations. Dymchurch smiled again as he thought of it, and alreadywas half decided to go. 

A copy of the _Hollingford Express_, posted, no doubt, by Lashmar, informed him that the private meeting of Liberals at the Saracen's Headhad resulted in acceptance of his friend's candidature. There was along report of Lashmar's speech, which he read critically, and notwithout envy. Whether he came to be elected or not, Lashmar was doingsomething; he knew the joy of activity, of putting out his strength, ofmoving others by the energy of his mind. This morning, his Highgatelodgings seemed to Dymchurch, a very cave in the wilderness. Thecomforts and the graceful things amid which he lived had bat allmeaning; unless, indeed, they symbolised a dilettante decadence ofwhich he ought to be heartily ashamed. He ran over the contents of theprovincial newspaper, and in every column found something that rebukedhim. These municipal proceedings, what zeal and capability theyimplied! Was it not better, a thousand times, to be excited about thescheme for paving "Burgess Lane" than to sit here amid books andpictures, and do nothing at all but smoke one's favourite mixture? Theworld hummed about him with industry, with triumphant effort; and healone of all men could put his hand to nothing. 

His thought somehow turned upon Miss Tomalin. What was it that he foundso piquant in that half-educated, indifferently-bred girl? Might it notbe that she represented an order of Society with which he had noacquaintance, that vague multitude between the refined middle class andthe rude toilers, which, as he knew theoretically, played such animportant part in modern civilisation? Among these people, energy wasnaked, motives were direct. There the strength and the desires of thepeople became vocal; they must be studied, if one wished to know thetrend of things. Had he not seen it remarked somewhere that from thisclass sprang nearly all the younger representatives of literature andart, the poets, novelists, journalists of to-day; all the vigorousyoung workers in science? Lashmar, he felt sure, was but one removefrom it. That busy and aspiring multitude would furnish, most likely, by far the greater part of the spiritual aristocracy for which ourworld was waiting. 

From this point of view, the girl had a new interest. She was destined, perhaps, to be the mother of some great man. He hoped she would notmarry foolishly; the wealth she must soon inherit hardly favoured herchances in this respect; doubtless she would be surrounded byunprincipled money-hunters. On the whole, it seemed rather a pity thatLashmar had not chosen and won her; there would have been a fitness, one felt, in that alliance. At the same time, Lashmar's selection of anundowered mate spoke well for him. For it was to be presumed that LadyOgram's secretary had no very brilliant prospects. Certainly she didnot make much impression at the first glance; one would take her for asensible, thoughtful woman, nothing more. 

After a lapse of twenty-four hours, he replied to Mrs. Toplady. Yes, ifthe weather were not too discouraging, he hoped to be at LadyHoneybourne's. He added that the fact of Lashmar's engagement had comeas news to him. 

So, after all, his "season" was not yet over. But perhaps kind Jupiterwould send rain, and make the murdering of Shakespeare animpossibility. Now and then he tapped his barometer, which for somedays had hovered about "change, " the sky meanwhile being clouded. Onthe eve of Midsummer Day there was every sign of unseasonable weather. Dymchurch told himself, with a certain persistency, that he was glad. 

Yet the morrow broke fair, and at mid-day was steadily bright. Throughout the morning, Dymchurch held himself at remorseless study, and was rewarded by the approval of his conscience; whence, perhaps, the cheerfulness of resignation with which he made ready to keep hisengagement at the Surrey house. With a half smile on his meditativeface, he went out into the sunshine. He was thinking of Rosalind inArden. 

Lord Honeybourne and he had been schoolfellows; they were together atOxford, but not in the same set, for Dymchurch read, and the otherostentatiously idled. What was the use of exerting oneself in anyway--asked the Hon. L. F. T. Medwin-Burton--when a man had only anincome of four or five thousand in prospect, fruit of a wretchedlyencumbered estate which every year depreciated? Having left theUniversity without a degree--his only notable performance a veryamusing speech at the Union, proposing the abolition of the House ofLords--he allied himself with young Sir Evan Hungerford in ajournalistic enterprise, and for a year or two the bi-monthly _Skylark_supplied matter for public mirth, not without occasional scandal. Thencame his succession to the title, and Viscount Honeybourne, as thepapers made known, presently set forth on travel which was to cover allBritish territory. He came back with an American wife, an incalculablefortune, and much knowledge of Greater Britain; moreover he had gaineda serious spirit, and henceforth devoted himself to Colonial affairs. His young wife--she was seventeen at the time of hermarriage--straightway took a conspicuous place in English Society, hernote being intellectual and social earnestness. 

The play was to begin at three o'clock. Arriving half an hour before, Dymchurch found his hostess in the open-air theatre, beset withmanagerial cares, whilst her company, already dressed for their parts, sat together under the greenwood tree, and a few guests strayed aboutthe grass. He had met Lady Honeybourne only once, and that a couple ofyears ago; with difficulty they recognised each other. LordHoneybourne, she told him, had hoped to be here, but the missing of asteamer (he had run over, just for a day or two, to Jamaica) would makehim too late. 

"You know Miss Tomalin?" the lady added with a bright smile. "She hasbeen lunching with me, and we are great friends. I wish I had known hersooner; she would have had a part. There she is, talking with MissDolbey. --Yes, of course we have had to cut the play down. It'sshocking, but there was no choice. "

Dymchurch got away from this chatter, and stood aside. Then MissTomalin's radiant glance discovered him; she broke from the lady withwhom she was conversing, and stepped in his direction with a look offrank pleasure. 

"How do you do, Lord Dymchurch! I came early, to lunch with LadyHoneybourne and some of her actors. We have been getting on togethersplendidly. Let us settle our places. Mrs. Toplady may be a littlelate; we must keep a chair for her. Which do you prefer?--Isn't itadmirably managed? This big tree will give shade all the time. Supposewe take these chairs? Of course we needn't sit down at once. Put yourcane across two, and I'll tie my handkerchief on the third. There! Nowwe're safe. --Did you ever see an open-air play before? Charming idea, isn't it? You don't know Lady Honeybourne very well, I think? Oh, she'svery bright, and has lots of ideas. I think we shall be real friends. She must come down to Rivenoak in August. "

"I'm sorry, " interposed Dymchurch, as soon as there came a pause, "thatLady Ogram had to leave town so soon. "

"Oh, it was too much for her. I advised her very seriously, as soon asshe began to feel exhausted, not to stay another day. Indeed, Icouldn't have allowed it; I'm convinced it was dangerous, in her stateof health. I hear from her that she is already much better. Rivenoak issuch a delightfully quiet place, and such excellent air. Did you see areport of Mr. Lashmar's speech? Rather good, I thought. Perhaps just alittle too vague: the fault I hoped he would avoid. But of course it'svery difficult to adapt oneself all at once to electioneeringnecessities. Mr. Lashmar is theoretical; of course that is his strongpoint. "

Dymchurch listened with an air of respectful, though smiling, attention. The girl amused him more than ever. Really, she had such apleasant voice that her limitless flow of words might well be pardoned, even enjoyed. 

"Lady Honeybourne and I have been talking about the condition of thepoor. She has capital ideas, but not much experience. Of course I amable to speak with some authority: I saw so much of the poor atNorthampton. "

Once or twice Dymchurch had heard mention of Northampton in May's talk, but his extreme discretion had withheld him from putting a question onthe subject. Catching his look, she saw inquiry in it. 

"You know that I lived at Northampton, before I made my home atRivenoak? Oh, I thought that I had told you all about that. "

Acting on her aunt's counsel, approved by Mrs. Toplady, May was carefulnot to let it be perceived by casual acquaintances that, until a monthago, she had been an absolute stranger to her titled relative. At thesame time, it was necessary to avoid any appearance of mystery, andpeople were given to understand that she had passed some years with herfamily in the midland town. 

"And what work did you take part in?" asked her companion. 

"It was a scheme of my own, mainly educational. I'll tell you all aboutit, when we have time. What a lot of people all at once! Ah, it's the2. 40 train that brings them. You came by the one before? There's Mrs. Toplady; so she isn't late, after all. "

The audience began to seat itself. A string-band, under a marquee asidefrom the plot of smooth turf which represented the stage, began todiscourse old English music; on this subject, as soon as they wereseated side by side, Dymchurch had the full benefit of May's recentlyacquired learning. How quick the girl was in gathering any kind ofinformation! And how intelligently she gave it forth! Babble as shemight, one could never (thought the amused peer) detect a note ofvulgarity; at worst, there was excess of ingenuousness; a fault, afterall, in the right direction. She was very young, and had littleexperience of Society; in a year or two these surface blemishes wouldbe polished away. The important thing was that she did sincerely carefor things of the mind, and had a mind to apply to them. 

He sat on Miss Tomalin's right hand; on her left was Mrs. Toplady. Thehumourist of Pont Street, as she listened to the talk beside her, smiled very roguishly indeed. Seldom had anything so surprised andentertained her as the progress of intimacy between May and LordDymchurch But she was vexed, as well as puzzled, by Lashmar's recentstep, which seemed to deprive the comedy of an element on which she hadcounted. Perhaps not, however; it might be that the real complicationwas only just beginning. 

"As You Like It, " was timed for a couple of hours, intervals included. Miss Tomalin did not fail to whisper her neighbours at every noteworthyomission from the text, and once or twice she was moved to a painedprotest. Her criticism of the actors was indulgent; she felt the valueof her praise, but was equally aware of the weight of her censure. Sothe sunny afternoon went by. Here and there a spectator noddeddrowsily; others conversed under their breath--not of the bard of Avon. The air was full of that insect humming which is nature's music at highsummer-tide. 

Upon the final applause followed welcome refreshment. A table ladenwith dainties gleamed upon the sward. Dymchurch looked after hisladies; but the elder of them soon wandered off amid the friendlythrong, and May, who ate and drank with enjoyment, was able to give hercompanion the promised description of her activity at Northampton. Thelistener smiled and smiled; had much ado, indeed, not to exhibit opengaiety; but ever and again his eyes rested on the girl's countenance, and its animation so pleased him that he saw even in her absurdities aspirit of good. 

"You never did any work of that sort?" inquired May, regarding him froma good-natured height. 

"Never, I'm sorry to say. "

"But don't you sometimes feel as if it were a duty?"

"I often feel I ought to do _something_, " answered Dymchurch, in agraver voice. "But whether I could be of any use among the poor, isdoubtful. "

"No, I hardly think you could, " said May, reflectively. "Your socialposition doesn't allow of that. Of course you help to make laws, whichis more important. "

"If I really did so; but I don't. I have no more part in law-makingthan you have. "

"But, why not?" asked May, gazing at him in surprise. "Surely _that_ isa duty about which you can have no doubt. "

"I neglect _all_ duties, " he answered. 

"How strange! Is it your principle? You are not an Anarchist, LordDymchurch?"

"Practically, I fancy that's just what I am. Theoretically, no. Suppose, " he added, with his pleasantest smile, "you advise me as towhat use I can make of my life. "

The man was speaking without control of his tongue. He had sunk into alimp passivity; in part, it might be, the result of the drowsilyhumming air; in part, a sort of hypnotism due to May's talk and thefeminine perfume which breathed from her. He understood the idleness ofwhat fell from his lips, but it pleased him to be idle. Therewithal--strange contradiction--he was trying to persuade himselfthat, more likely than not, this chattering girl had it in her power tomake him an active, useful man, to draw him out of his mouldy hermitageand set him in the world's broad daylight. The analogy of LordHoneybourne came into his mind; Lord Honeybourne, whose marriage hadbeen the turning-point of his career, and whose wife, in many respects, bore a resemblance to May Tomalin. 

"I shall have to think very seriously about it, " May was replying. "Butnothing could interest me more. You don't feel at all inclined forpublic life?"

Their dialogue was interrupted by the hostess, who came forward with agentleman she wished to present to Miss Tomalin. Hearing the name--Mr. Langtoft--Dymchurch regarded him with curiosity, and, moving aside withLady Honeybourne as she withdrew, he inquired whether this was _the_Mr. Langtoft. 

"It is, " the hostess answered. "Do you take an interest in his work?Would you like to know him?"

Dymchurch declined the introduction for the present, but he was glad tohave seen the man, just now frequently spoken of in newspapers, muchlauded, and vehemently attacked. A wealthy manufacturer, practicallylord of a swarming township in Lancashire, Mr. Langtoft was trying toget into his own hands the education of all the lower-class childrengrowing up around his mill chimneys. He disapproved of theboard-school; he looked with still less favour on the schools of theclergy; and, regardless of expense, was establishing schools of hisown, where what he called "civic instruction" was gratuitouslyimparted. The idea closely resembled that which Dyce Lashmar hadborrowed from his French sociologist, and Dyce had lately been incorrespondence with Mr. Langtoft. Lashmar's name, indeed, was nowpassing between the reformer and Miss Tomalin. 

"His work, " said Dymchurch to himself. "Yes, everybody has hiswork--except me. "

And the impulse to experiment in life grew so strong with him, that hehad to go apart under the trees, and pace nervously about; idle talkbeing no longer endurable. 

The gathering began to thin. He had noted the train by which he wouldreturn to London, and a glance at his watch told him that he must startif he would reach the station in time. Moving towards the group ofpeople about the hostess, he encountered Mrs. Toplady. 

"Have you a cab?" she asked. "If not, there's plenty of room in ours. "

Dymchurch would have liked to refuse, but hesitation undid him. Face toface with Mrs. Toplady and May, he drove to the station, and, as wasinevitable, performed the rest of the journey in their company. Theafternoon had tired him; alone, he would have closed his eyes, andtried to shut out the kaleidoscopic sensation which resulted fromtheatrical costumes, brilliant illustrations of the feminine mode, bluesky and sunny glades; but May Tomalin was as fresh as if new-risen, andstill talked, talked. Enthusiastic in admiration of Lady Honeybourne, she heard with much interest that Dymchurch's acquaintance with theViscount went back to Harrow days. 

"That's what I envy you, " she exclaimed, "your public school andUniversity education! They make us feel our inferiority, and it isn'tfair. "

Admission of inferiority was so unexpected a thing on Miss Tomalin'slips, that her interlocutor glanced at her. Mrs. Toplady, in her cornerof the railway carriage, seemed to be smiling over a newspaper article. 

"The feeling must be very transitory, " said Dymchurch, with humorousarch of brows. 

"Oh, it doesn't trouble me very often. I know I should have done justas much as men do, if I had had the chance. "

"Considerably more, no doubt, than either Honeybourne or I. "

"You have never really put out your strength, I'm afraid, LordDymchurch, " said May, regarding him with her candid smile. "Never inanything--have you?"

"No, " he responded, in a like tone. "A trifler--always a trifler!"

"But if you _know_ it--"

Something in his look made her pause. She looked out of the window, before adding:

"Still, I don't think it's quite true. The first time I saw you, I feltyou were very serious, and that you had thought much. You ratheroverawed me. "

Dymchurch laughed. In her corner, Mrs. Toplady still found matter forironic smiling as she rustled over the evening journal; and the trainswept on towards London. 

CHAPTER XVI

For a week after Lady Ogram's return, Dr. Baldwin called daily atRivenoak. His patient, he said, was suffering from over-exertion; hadshe listened to his advice, she would never have gone to London; themarvel was that such an imprudence had had no worse results. Lady Ogramherself of course refused to take this view of the matter; she wasperfectly well, only a little tired, and, as the hot nights interferedwith her sleep just now, she rested during the greater part of the day, seeing Lashmar for half an hour each afternoon in the littledrawing-room upstairs. Her friendliness with Dyce had much increased;when he entered the room, she greeted him almost affectionately, andtheir talk was always of his brilliant future. 

"I want to see you safely in Parliament, " she said one day. "I can'texpect to live till you've made your name; that isn't done so quickly. But I shall see you squash Robb, and that's something. "

Of his success at Hollingford she seemed never to entertain a doubt, and Lashmar, though by no means so sanguine, said nothing to discourageher. His eye noted ominous changes in her aspect, and her way oftalking, even the sound of her voice, made plain to him that she wasvery rapidly losing the reserve of force which kept her alive. Constance, who was on friendly terms with the doctor, learnt enough ofthe true state of things to make her significantly grave after eachvisit; she and Dyce, naturally, exchanged no remark on the subject. 

"What do your parents say?" Lady Ogram asked of Lashmar, during one oftheir conversations. 

"They are delighted. Especially my mother, who has always been veryambitious for me. "

"But I mean about your engagement. "

Dyce had of course omitted all mention of Constance in his letters toAlverholme. 

"They give their approval, " he replied, "because they have confidencein my judgment. I fancy, " he added with a modest smile, "that theirambition, in this respect, is not altogether satisfied, but--I havesaid nothing whatever to them about the peculiarity of Constance'sposition; I didn't feel justified in doing so. "

"You may tell them everything, " said Lady Ogram, graciously. 

She one day received a letter from Mrs. Toplady, which gave her greatsatisfaction. It seemed to re-establish her vigour of mind and body;she came downstairs, lunched with her young friends, and talked ofgoing to Wales. 

"May is enjoying herself greatly; she must stay a little longer. Theday before yesterday she was at a garden party at Lady Honeybourne's, where they acted 'As You Like It' in the open air. "

"There was mention of it yesterday in the papers, " remarked Lashmar. 

"Yes, yes; I saw. And May's name among the guests--of course, ofcourse. I notice that Lord Dymchurch was there too. "

She ended with a quavering laugh, unexpected and rather uncanny. 

"And the much-discussed Mr. Langtoft, " put in Constance, after a keenlook at the mirthful hippocratic face. 

"Langtoft, yes, " said Dyce. "I don't quite know what to think of thatfellow. There seems to me something not quite genuine about him. Whatis he doing at Lady Honeybourne's garden party? It looks liketuft-hunting--don't you think, Constance?"

Dyce was secretly annoyed that an idea of his own (that is to say, fromhis own French philosopher) should be put into practice by someone elsebefore he could assert his claim to it. Very vexatious that Langtoft'sactivity was dragged into public notice just at this moment. 

"I don't at all like the tone of his last letter to you, " saidConstance. "He writes in a very flippant way, not a bit like a man inearnest. "

Not long ago, Miss Bride's opinion of Langtoft would have been quitedifferent. Now, she was disposed to say things that Dyce Lashmar likedto hear. Dyce had remarked the change in her; it flattered him, butcaused him at the same time some uneasiness. 

Inevitably, they passed much time together. On the journey from London, Constance had asked him whether he would not like to begin cycling. Hereceived the suggestion with careless good-humour. At Rivenoak, Constance returned to it, insisted upon it, and, as he had little todo, Dyce went into Hollingford for lessons; in a week's time he couldride, and, on a brand-new bicycle of the most approved make, accompanied his nominally betrothed about the country ways. Constanceevidently enjoyed their rides together. She was much more amiable inher demeanour, more cheerful in mind; she dropped the habit of irony, and talked hopefully of Lashmar's prospects. 

"What's the news from Breakspeare?" she inquired, as they werepedalling softly along an easy road one afternoon, Dyce having spentthe morning in Hollingford. 

"Oh, he's a prancing optimist, " Dyce replied. "He sees everythingrose-colour--or pretends to, I'm not quite sure which. If Dobbin thegrocer meets him in the street, and says he's going to vote Liberal atnext election, Breakspeare sings the Paean. "

"I notice that you seem rather doubtful, lately, " said Constance, hereyes upon him. 

"Well, you know, there is a good deal of doubt. It depends so much onwhat happens between now and the dissolution. "

He entered into political detail, showing the forces arrayed againsthim, dwelling on the in-grained Toryism of Hollingford, or, as hecalled it, the burgesses' _Robbish_ mind. 

"There's no use, is there, in blinking facts?"

"Of course not. It's what I never do, as I think you are aware. We mustremember that to contest the seat is something. It makes you known. Ifyou don't win, you will wait for the next chance--not necessarily here. "

Dyce had observed that the pronoun "we" was rather frequently onConstance's lips. She was identifying their interests. 

"True, " he admitted. "Look at that magnificent sycamore!"

"Yes; but I shouldn't have known it was a sycamore. How is it you knowtrees so well?"

"That's my father's doing, " replied Dyce. "He used to teach me themwhen I was a youngster. "

"Mine was thinking more about social statistics. I knew the number ofpaupers in London before I had learnt to distinguish between an ash andan oak. Do you ever hear from your father?"

"Now and then, " said Lashmar, his machine wobbling a little, for he hadnot yet perfect command of it, and fell into some peril if his thoughtsstrayed. "They want me to run over to Alverholme presently. Perhaps Imay go next week. "

Constance was silent. They wheeled on, without speaking, for someminutes. Then Dyce asked:

"How long does Lady Ogram wish me to stay here?"

"I don't quite know. Are you in any hurry to get away?"

"Not at all. Only, if I'm soon going back to London, I should takeAlverholme on the journey. Would you probe our friend for me?"

"I'll try. "

At this time, they were both reading a book of Nietzsche. Thatphilosopher had only just fallen into their hands, though of coursethey had heard much of him. Lashmar found the matter considerably tohis taste, though he ridiculed the form. Nietzsche's individualism was, up to a certain point, in full harmony with the tone of his mind; heenjoyed this frank contempt of the average man, persuaded that his ownplace was on the seat of the lofty, and that disdain of the humdrum, inlife or in speculation, had always been his strong point. To be sure, he counted himself Nietzsche's superior as a moralist; as a thinker, heimagined himself much more scientific. But, having regard to hiscircumstances and his hopes, this glorification of unscrupulousstrength came opportunely. Refining away its grosser aspects, Dyce tookthe philosophy to heart--much more sincerely than he had taken tohimself the humanitarian bio-sociology on which he sought to build hisreputation. 

And Constance, for her part, was hardly less interested in Nietzsche. She, too, secretly liked this insistence on the right of the strong, for she felt herself one of them. She, too, for all her occupation withsocial reform, was at core a thorough individualist, desiring far lessthe general good than her own attainment of celebrity as a publicbenefactress. Nietzsche spoke to her instincts, as he does to those ofa multitude of men and women, hungry for fame, avid of popularapplause. But she, like Lashmar, criticised her philosopher from amoral height. She did not own to herself the intimacy of his appeal toher. 

"He'll do a great deal of harm in the world, " she said, this sameafternoon, as Dyce and she drank tea together. "The jingo impulse, andall sorts of forces making for animalism, will get strength from him, directly or indirectly. It's the negation of all we are working for, you and I. "

"Of course it is, " Dyce replied, in a voice of conviction. "We have tofight against him. " He added, after a pause, "There is a truth in him, of course; but it's one of those truths which are dangerous to thegenerality of men. "

Constance assented, with a certain vagueness. 

"Of course. And he delivers his message so brutally. "

"That, no doubt, increases its chance of acceptance. The weak, whodon't know how else to assert, themselves, tend naturally to brutality. Carlyle taught pretty much the same thing, at bottom; but his humourand his puritanism made the effect different. Besides, the time wasn'tripe then for the doctrine of irresponsible force; religion hadn'tutterly perished in the masses of men, as it has now. Given a worldwithout religious faith, in full social revolution, with possibilitiesof wealth and power dangled before every man's eyes--what can youexpect but the prevalences of a more or less ferocious egoism? We, whoare _not_ egoists"--he looked into his companion's eyes--"yet areconscious of unusual strength, may, it seems to me, avail ourselves ofthe truth in Nietzsche, which, after all, is very much the same as myown theory of the selection of the fit for rule. The difference is, that we wish to use our power for the common good, whilst Nietzsche'steaching results in a return to sheer barbarism, the weak trampledbecause of their weakness. "

Constance approved. Yes, their aim, undoubtedly, was the common good, and, whilst keeping this in view, they need not, perhaps, beover-fastidious as to the means they employed. She had for yearsregarded herself as at war with society, in the narrow sense of theword; its creeds, great or small, had no validity for her; she hadstriven for what she deemed her rights, the rights of a woman born withintellect and will and imagination, yet condemned by poverty to rankamong subordinates. The struggle appeared to have brought her withinview of triumph, and was it not to herself, her natural powers andqualities, that she owed all? At this moment she felt her right topursue any object which seemed to her desirable. What was good for_her_, was good for the world at large. 

The next morning they started at the usual hour for their ride, but thesky was cloudy, and, as they were leaving the park, spots of rain fell. It was not by the lodge gates that they usually set forth; moreconvenient for their purpose was a postern in the wall which enclosedthe greater part of Rivenoak; the approach to it was from the back ofthe house, across a paddock, and through a birch copse, where stood anold summer-house, now rarely entered. Constance, with her own key, hadjust unlocked the door in the wall; she paused and glanced cloudward. 

"I think it'll be a shower, " said Lashmar. "Suppose we shelter in thesummer-house. "

They did so, and stood talking under the roof of mossy tiles. 

"What have you worked at this morning?" asked Constance. 

"Nothing particular. I've been thinking. "

"I wish you would try to tell me how you worked out your bio-sociology. You must have had a great deal of trouble to get together yourscientific proofs and illustrations. "

"A good deal, of course, " answered Dyce modestly. "I had read foryears, all sorts of scientific and historical books. "

"I rather wonder you didn't write a book of your own. Evidently youhave all the material for one. Don't you think it might be well?"

"We have spoken of that, you know, " was Dyce's careless reply. "Iprefer oral teaching. "

"Still, a solid book, such a one as you could easily write, would doyou a great deal of good. Do think about it, will you?"

Her voice had an unusual quality; it was persuasive, and almost gentle. In speaking, she looked at him with eyes of unfamiliar expressiveness, and all the lines of her face had softened. 

"Of course if you really think--" began Lashmar, affecting to ponderthe matter. 

"I should so like you to do it, " Constance pursued, still with themarkedly feminine accent, which she certainly did not assume. "Willyou--to please me?"

Her eyes fell before the other's quick, startled look. There was asilence; rain pattered on the tiles. 

"I'll think about it, " Dyce replied at length, moving and speakinguneasily. "It's raining quite hard, you know, " he added, moving intothe doorway. "The roads will be no good after this. "

"No. We had better go in, " said Constance, with sudden return to dry, curt speech. 

It was evident that, in his anomalous situation, Lashmar's method withwomen could not have fair play. He was in no small degree beholden toConstance, and her odd behaviour of late kept him in mind of hisobligation. Doubtless, he thought, she intended that; and his annoyanceat what he considered a lack of generosity outweighed the satisfactionhis vanity might have found in her new manner towards him. That manner, especially this morning, reminded him of six years ago. Was Constancecapable of exacting payment of a debt which she imagined him to haveincurred at Alverholme? Women think queerly, and are no lessunaccountable in their procedure. 

His curiosity busied itself with the vaguely indicated compact betweenConstance and Lady Ogram, but no word on the subject, not even adistant allusion to it, ever fell from his nominally betrothed, and theold lady herself, however amiable, spoke not at all of the things hedesired to know. Was it not grossly unjust to him? Until he clearlyunderstood Constance's future position, how could he decide upon hiscourse with regard to her? Conceivably, the proposed marriage mightcarry advantages which it behooved him to examine with all care;conceivably also, it might at a given moment be his sole rescue fromembarrassment or worse. Meanwhile, ignorance of the essential factorsof the problem put him at a grave disadvantage. Constance was playing agame (so Dyce saw it) with all the cards visible before her, and, tosuch a profound observer as he, it was not unnatural to suppose thatshe played for something worth the while. Curiously enough, Dyce didnot presume to believe that he himself, his person, his mind, hisprobable career, were gain sufficient. A singular modesty ruled hismeditations at this juncture. 

Other things were happening which interfered with the confident calmessential to his comfort. Since the vexatious little incident at Mrs. Toplady's, he had not seen Iris Woolstan. On the eve of his departurefor Rivenoak, he wrote to her, a friendly letter in the usual strain, just to acquaint her with his movements, and to this letter there cameno reply. It was unlikely that Iris's answer had somehow failed toreach hi in; of course she would address to Rivenoak. No doubt she haddiscovered his little deception, and took it ill. Iris was quite absurdenough to feel jealousy, and to show it. Of all the women he knew, shehad the most essentially feminine character. Fortunately she was asweak as foolish; at any time, he could get the upper hand of her in aprivate interview. But his sensibility made him restless in the thoughtthat she was accusing him of ingratitude--perhaps of behaviour unworthya gentleman. Yes, there was the true sting. Dyce Lashmar prided himselfon his intellectual lucidity, but still more on his possession of theinstincts, of the mental and moral tone, which are called gentlemanly. It really hurt him to think that anyone could plausibly assail hisclaims in this respect. 

When he had been a week at Rivenoak, he again wrote to Mrs. Woolstan. Of her failure to answer his last letter, he said nothing. She had ofcourse received the _Hollingford Express_, with the report of hisspeech on the 20th. How did she like it? Could she suggest anyimprovement? She knew that he valued her opinion. "Write, " heconcluded, "as soon as you have leisure. I shall be here, I think, foranother week or so. By the bye, I have taken to cycling, and I fancy itwill be physically good for me. "

To this communication, Mrs. Woolstan replied She began with a fewformal commendations of his speech. "You are so kind as to ask if I cansuggest any way in which it could have been improved, but of course Iknow that that is only a polite phrase. I should not venture tocriticise anything of yours _now_, even if I had the presumption tothink that I was capable of saying anything worth your attention. I amsure you need no advice from me, nor from anyone else, now that youhave the advantage of Miss Bride's counsels. I regret very much that Ihave so slight an acquaintance with that lady, but Mrs. Toplady tellsme that she is admirably suited to be your companion, and to encourageand help you in your career. I shall have the pleasure of watching youfrom a distance, and of sincerely wishing you happiness as well assuccess. "

The formal style of this letter, so different from Iris's ordinaryeffusions, made sufficient proof of the mood in which it was written. Dyce bit his lips over it. He had foreseen that Mrs. Woolstan wouldhear of his engagement, but had hoped it would not be just yet. Therewas for the present no help; in her eyes he stood condemned of something more than indelicacy. Fortunately, she was not the kind ofwoman--he felt sure--to be led into any vulgar retaliation. All hecould do was to write a very brief note, in which he expressed a hopeof seeing her very soon. "I shall have much to tell you, " he added, andtried to think that Iris would accept this as a significant promise. 

After all, were not man and woman, disguise the fact as one might, condemned by nature to mutual hostility? Useless to attempt rationalmethods with beings to whom reason was fundamentally repugnant. Dycefell from mortification into anger, and cursed the poverty whichforbade him to act in full accordance with his ideal of conduct. 

He had spent nearly a fortnight at Rivenoak, when Lady Ogram, nowseemingly restored to her ordinary health, summoned him at eleven inthe morning to the green drawing-room. 

"I hope I didn't disturb your work, " she began, kindly. "As you areleaving so soon--" Dyce had said nothing whatever about departure--"Ishould like to have a quiet word with you, whilst Constance is in thetown. All goes well at Hollingford, doesn't it?"

"Very well indeed, I think. Breakspeare gets more hopeful every day. "

Lady Ogram nodded and smiled. Then a fit of abstraction came upon her;she mused for several minutes, Dyce respectfully awaiting her nextwords. 

"What are your own wishes about the date?"

Imagining that she referred to the election, and that this was merelyanother example of failing intelligence, Dyce answered that, for hisown part, he was ready at any time; if a dissolution--

"Pooh!" Lady Ogram interrupted, "I'm talking about your marriage. "

"Ah! Yes--yes. I haven't asked Constance--"

"Suppose we say the end of October? You could get away for a month ortwo. "

"One thing is troubling me, Lady Ogram, " said Dyce, in tone of gracefulhesitancy. "I feel that it will be a very ill return for all yourkindness to rob you of Constance's help and society, which you prizeso. "

The keen old eyes were fixed upon him. 

"Do you think I am going to live for ever?" sounded abruptly andharshly, though, it was evident, with no harsh intention. 

"I'm sure I hope--"

"Well, we won't talk about it. I must do without Constance, that's all. You'll of course have a house in London, but both of you will often bedown here. It's understood. About the end of October. Time enough tomake arrangements. I'll settle it with Constance. So to-morrow morningyou leave us, on a visit to your parents. I suppose you'll spend acouple of days there?"

In his confused mind, Dyce could only fix the thought that Constancehad evidently told Lady Ogram of his intention to go to Alverholme. Itwas plain that those two held very intimate colloquies. 

"A couple of days, " he murmured in reply. 

"Good. Of course you'll write to me when you're in town again. "

At luncheon, Lady Ogram talked of Lashmar's departure. Constance, hefelt sure, already knew about it. Really, he was treated with somewhatscant ceremony. An obstinate mood fell upon him; he resolved that hewould say not a word to Constance of what had passed this morning. Ifshe wished to speak of the proposed date of their marriage, let herbroach the subject herself. Through the meal he was taciturn. 

Miss Bride and he dined alone together that evening. They had not metsince mid-day. Dyce was still disinclined for talk; Constance, on theother hand, fell into a cheerful vein of chat, and seemed not at all tonotice her companion's lack of amiability. 

"I shall go by the 8. 27, " said Dyce, abruptly, towards the end of themeal. 

"Yes, that's your best train. You'll be at Alverholme before teno'clock. "

After dinner, they sat together for scarcely a quarter of an hour, Constance talking of politics. Dyce absolutely silent. Then Miss Briderose, and offered her hand. 

"So, good-bye!"

She spoke so pleasantly, and looked so kindly, that Lashmar for amoment felt ashamed of himself. He pressed her hand, and endeavoured tospeak cordially. 

"Shall I hear from you?" Constance asked, trying to meet his eyes. 

"Why, of course, very soon. "

"Thank you. I shall be very glad. "

Thus they parted. And Dyce, for a couple of hours, sat smoking andbrooding. 

On the morrow, at luncheon, Lady Ogram mentioned to Constance that MayTomalin would arrive on the following afternoon. She added, presently, that Lord Dymchurch had accepted an invitation to Rivenoak for a day ortwo in the ensuing week. 

That morning, the post had brought Constance a letter and a packet. Theletter was from Mrs. Toplady, who wrote thus:

"Dear Miss Bride, "This morning I came across an article in an American magazine which itstruck me would interest you. The subject is: 'Recent SociologicalSpeculations. ' It reviews several books, among them one by a Frenchauthor which seems to be very interesting. When I showed the article toMiss Tomalin, she agreed with me that there seemed a strikingresemblance between the theories of this French sociologist and thosewhich Mr. Lashmar has independently formed. Probably Mr. Lashmar wouldlike to see the book. In any case, you and he will, I am sure, beinterested in reading this article together. 

"To my great regret, Miss Tomalin--or May, as I have come to callher--leaves me the day after to-morrow. But the advantage is yours atRivenoak. Please give my love to dear Lady Ogram, who I hope is nowquite well again. With kindest regards. 

"Sincerely yours, "GERALDINE TOPLADY. "

Constance had read the article in question, and, immediately afterdoing so, had dispatched an order to London for the French sociologicalwork therein discussed. 

CHAPTER XVII

Pillow-propped at her morning studies, the humourist of Pont Street, asshe glanced rapidly over the close-printed pages of a trans-Atlanticmonthly, had her eye caught by the word "bio-sociological. " Whom hadshe heard using that sonorous term? It sounded to her with the Oxfordaccent, and she saw Lashmar. The reading of a few lines in the contextseemed to remind her very strongly of Lashmar's philosophic eloquence. She looked closer; found that there was question of a French book ofsome importance, recently published; and smilingly asked herselfwhether it could be that Lashmar knew this book. That he was capable ofreticence regarding the source of his ideas, she had little doubt; andwhat would be more amusing than to see "the coming man" convicted ofaudacious plagiarism? She wished him no harm; none whatever. Itdelighted her to see a man make his way in the stupid world bysuperiority of wits, and Dyce Lashmar was a favourite of hers; she hadby no means yet done with him. All the same, this chance ofentertainment must not be lost. 

Having gone down rather earlier than usual, she found Miss Tomalin alsostudiously engaged, a solid tome open before her. 

"My dear May, what waste of time that is! If you would only believe methat all the substance of big books is to be found in little ones! Onegets on so much more quickly, and has a much clearer view of things. Why, no end of poor people nowadays make their living by boiling downthese monsters to essence. It's really a social duty to make use oftheir work. Look, for instance, at this article I have just beenreading--'Recent Sociological Speculations. ' Here the good man gives usall that is important in half a dozen expensive and heavy volumes. Here's all about bio-sociology. Haven't I heard you talk ofbio-sociology?"

"But, " cried May, "that's Mr. Lashmar's theory! Has he been publishingit?"

"No. Someone else seems to have got hold of the same idea. Perhaps it'slike Darwin and Wallace--that kind of thing. "

May took the periodical, and read. 

"Why, this is astonishing!" she exclaimed. "There's a passage quotedwhich is exactly like Mr. Lashmar--almost the very words I have heardhim use!"

"Yet, you see, it's from a French book. This would certainly interesthim. Perhaps he doesn't see the American reviews. Suppose I sent it toMiss Bride? They can read it together, and it will amuse them. "

May assented, and the periodical was addressed to Rivenoak. 

Friends came to lunch with them. In the afternoon, they made threecalls. At dinner some score of persons were Mrs. Toplady's guests. Onlyas the clock pointed towards midnight did they find an opportunity ofreturning to the subject of bio-sociology. Mrs. Toplady wished for anintimate chat with her guest, who was soon to leave her; she reclinedcomfortably in a settee, and looked at the girl, who made a prettypicture in a high-backed chair. 

"I hear that Mr. Lashmar leaves Rivenoak to-morrow, " she said, referring to a letter that had arrived from Lady Ogram this evening. "Ihope he won't be gone when the magazine arrives. "

"Indeed? He comes back to-morrow?" said May. 

"Not to London. He goes to spend a day or two with his people, itseems. You don't know them?"

"Not at all. I only know that his father is a rural clergyman. "

Mrs. Toplady had observed that May's tone in speaking of Lashmar lackedsomething of its former vivacity. The change had been noticeable sincethe announcement of the philosopher's betrothal. More than that; thedecline of interest was accompanied by a tendency to speak of Lashmaras though pityingly, or perhaps even slightingly; and this it was thatmanifested itself in May's last remark. 

"I don't think it's very common;" Mrs. Toplady let fall, "for thecountry clergy--or indeed the clergy anywhere--to have brilliant sons. "

"It certainly isn't, " May agreed. And, after reflecting, she added: "Isuppose one may call Mr. Lashmar brilliant?"

Miss Tomalin had continued to profit by her opportunities. Beforecoming to London, it would have been impossible for her to phrase athought thus, and so utter it. That easy superciliousness smacked notat all of provincial breeding. 

"On the whole, I think so, " was Mrs. Toplady's modulated reply. "He hasvery striking ideas. How odd that somebody else should have hit uponhis theory of civilisation! He ought to have written a book, as I toldhim. "

"But suppose, " suggested May, with some uneasiness, "that he knew aboutthat French book?"

"Oh, my dear, we can't suppose that! Besides, we haven't read the book. It may really be quite different in its tendency from Mr. Lashmar'sview. "

"I don't see how it _can_ be, Mrs. Toplady. Judging from thosequotations, and the article, it's Mr. Lashmar from beginning to end. "

"Then it's a most curious case of coincidence. Poor Mr. Lashmar willnaturally be vexed. It's hard upon him, isn't it?"

May did not at once respond. The friend, watching her with the roguishsmile, let fall another piece of intelligence. 

"I hear that his marriage is to be in the autumn. "

"Indeed?" said May, indifferently. 

"Between ourselves, " pursued the other, "didn't you feel just a littlesurprised?"

"Surprised?"

"At his choice. Oh, don't misunderstand me. I quite appreciate MissBride's cleverness and seriousness. But one couldn't help thinking thata man of Mr. Lashmar's promise--. Perhaps you don't see it in that way?"

"I really think they are rather well suited, " said May, again calmlysupercilious. 

"It may be so. I had almost thought that--how shall I express it?" Mrs. Toplady searched for a moment. "Perhaps Lady Ogram might have made asuggestion, which Mr. Lashmar, for some reason, did not feel able todisregard. He has quite a chivalrous esteem for Lady Ogram, haven't younoticed? I like to see it. That kind of thing is rare nowadays. Nodoubt he feels reason for gratitude; but how many men does one know whocan be truly grateful? That's what I like in Mr. Lashmar; he hascharacter as well as intellect. "

"But how do you mean, Mrs. Toplady?" inquired May, losing something ofher polish in curiosity. "Why should my aunt have wanted him to marryMiss Bride?"

"Ah, that I don't know. Possibly she thought it, knowing him as shedoes, really the best thing for him. Possibly--one could makeconjectures. But one always can. "

May puzzled over the hint, her brow knitted; Mrs. Toplady regarded herwith veiled amusement, wondering whether it would really be necessaryto use plainer words. The girl was not dull, but perhaps her smallexperience of life, and her generally naive habit of mind, obscured toher what to the more practised was so obvious. 

"Do you mean, " said May, diffidently, "that she planned it out ofkindness to Miss Bride? Of course I know that she likes Miss Bride verymuch. Perhaps she thought there would never be a better opportunity. "

"It might be so, " replied the other, absently. 

"Miss Bride is very nice, and very clever, " pursued May, sounding thewords on the thinnest possible note. "But one didn't think of her asvery likely to marry. "

"No; it seemed improbable. "

There was a pause. As if turning to quite another subject, Mrs. Topladyremarked:

"You will have visitors at Rivenoak next week. Sir William Amys is tobe there for a day or two, and Lord Dymchurch--"

"Lord Dymchurch?"

The girl threw off her air of cold concentration, and shonetriumphantly. 

"Does it surprise you, May?"

"Oh, I hadn't thought of it--I didn't know my aunt had invited him--"

"The wonder is that Lord Dymchurch should have accepted, " said Mrs. Toplady, with a very mature archness. "Did he know, by the bye, thatyou were going down?"

"I fancy he did. "

Their eyes met, and May relieved her feelings with a little laugh. 

"Then perhaps the wonder ceases. And yet, in another way--" Mrs. Toplady broke off, and added in a lower voice, "Of course you know allabout his circumstances?"

"No, in deed I don't. Tell me about him, please. "

"But haven't you heard that he is the poorest man in the House ofLords?"

"I had no idea of it, " cried May. "How should I have known? Really? Heis so poor?"

"I imagine he has barely enough to live upon. The family was ruinedlong ago. "

"But why didn't you tell me? Does my aunt know?" May's voice did notexpress resentment, nor, indeed, strong feeling of any kind. Therevelation seemed merely to surprise her. She was smiling, as if at theamusingly unexpected. 

"Lady Ogram certainly knows, " said Mrs. Toplady. 

"Then of course that's why he does nothing, " May exclaimed. "Fancy!"Her provincialism was becoming very marked. "A lord with hardly enoughto live upon! But I'm astonished that he seems so cheerful. "

"Lord Dymchurch has a very philosophical mind, " said the older lady, with gravity humorously exaggerated. 

"Yes, I suppose he has. Now I shall understand him better. I'm gladhe's going to be at Rivenoak. You know that he asked me to advise himabout what he should do. It'll be rather awkward, though. I must gethim to tell me the truth. "

"You'll probably have no difficulty in that. It's pretty certain thathe thinks you know all about him already. If he hadn't, I feel sure hewouldn't go to Rivenoak. "

The girl mused, smiling self-consciously. 

"I had better tell you the truth, Mrs. Toplady, " were her next words, in a burst of confidence. "I think Lord Dymchurch is very nice--as afriend. But only as a friend. "

"Thank you for your confidence, May. Do you know that I suspectedsomething of the kind. "

"I want to be friends with him, " pursued May, impulsively. "I shall gethim to tell me all about himself, and we shall see what he can do. Ofcourse there mustn't be any misunderstanding. "

Mrs. Toplady had not been prepared for this tranquil reasonableness. May was either more primitive, or much more sophisticated, than she hadsupposed. Her interest waxed keener. 

"Between ourselves, my dear, " she remarked, "that is exactly what Ishould have anticipated. You are very young, and the world is at yourfeet. Of money you have no need, and, if Lord Dymchurch _had_ had thegood fortune to please you--. But you are ambitious. I quiteunderstand; trust me. Poor Dymchurch will never do anything. He ismerely a bookish man. But, whilst we are talking of it, there's no harmin telling you that your aunt doesn't quite see the matter with oureyes. For some reason--I don't know exactly what it is--Lady Ogram isvery favourable to poor Lord Dymchurch. "

"I have noticed that, " said May, quietly. "Of course it makes nodifference. "

"You think not?" asked Mrs. Toplady, beginning to be genuinelyimpressed by this young woman's self-confidence. 

"I mean that my aunt couldn't do more than suggest, " May answered, slightly throwing back her head. "I have only to let her know how Ithink about anything. "

"You are sure of that?" asked the other, sweetly. 

"Oh, quite!"

May's smile was ineffable. The woman of the world, the humourist andcynic, saw it with admiration. 

"Ah, that puts my mind at ease!" murmured Mrs. Toplady. "To tell thetruth, I have been worrying a little. Sometimes elderly people are sovery tenacious of their ideas. Of course Lady Ogram has nothing butyour good at heart. "

"Of course!" exclaimed the girl. 

"Shall I confess to you that I almost fancied _this_ might be theexplanation of Miss Bride's engagement?"

"Miss Bride--? How?"

"I only tell you for your amusement. It occurred to me that, having sether heart on a scheme which had reference to Lord Dymchurch, your auntwas perhaps a little uneasy with respect to a much more brilliant andconspicuous man. Had that been so--it's all the merest supposition--shemight have desired to see the brilliant and dangerous man madeharmless--put out of the way. "

A gleam of sudden perception illumined the girl's face. For a momentwonder seemed tending to mirth; but it took another turn, and becamenaive displeasure. 

"You think so?" broke from her, impetuously. "You really think that'swhy she wanted them to be engaged?"

"It's only what I had fancied, my dear--"

"But I shouldn't wonder if you were right! Indeed, I shouldn't! Nowthat you put it in that way--. I remember that my aunt didn't care forme to see much of Mr. Lashmar. It amused me, because, to tell you thetruth, Mrs. Toplady, I should never have thought of Mr. Lashmar asanything but a friend. I feel quite sure I shouldn't. "

"I quite understand _that_, " replied the listener, the corners of herlips very eloquent. 

"Such a thing had never entered my mind, " pursued May, volubly and withemphasis. "Never!"

"It may have entered someone else's mind, though, " interposed Mrs. Toplady, again maturely arch. 

"Oh, do you think so!" exclaimed the girl, with manifest pleasure. "I'msure I hope not. But, Mrs. Toplady, how could my aunt oblige such a manas Mr. Lashmar to engage himself against his will?"

"You must remember, May, that, for the moment at all events, Mr. Lashmar's prospects seem to depend a good deal on Lady Ogram's goodwill. She has a great deal of local influence. And then--by the bye, isMr. Lashmar quite easy in his circumstances?"

"I really don't know, " May answered, with an anxious fold in herforehead "Surely he, too, isn't quite poor?"

"I hardly think he is wealthy. Isn't it just possible that somethingmay depend upon the marriage--?"

Mrs. Toplady's voice died away in a considerate vagueness. But May wasnot at all disposed to leave the matter nebulous. 

"If he is really poor, " she said, in a clear-cut tone, "it's quitenatural that he should want to marry someone who can help him. But whydidn't he choose someone really suitable?"

"Poor Mr. Lashmar!" sighed the other, humorously. "If he had noencouragement, my dear May!"

"But he didn't wait to see whether he had any or not!"

"What if he had very good reason for knowing that lady Ogram wouldnever, never, never consent to--something we needn't specify?"

"But, " May ejaculated, "surely he needn't take it for granted that myaunt would never change her mind. If it's as you say, how foolishly hemust have behaved! It doesn't concern me in the least. You see I canspeak quite calmly about it. I'm only sorry and astonished that heshould be going to marry--well, after all, we must agree that MissBride isn't quite an ideal for him, however one looks at it. Of courseit's nothing to me. If it _had_ been, I think I should feel moreoffended than sorry. "

"Offended?"

"That he had taken for granted that I had no will of my own, and noinfluence with my aunt. "

"It seems rather faint-hearted, I admit. "

The dialogue lasted but a few minutes longer. May repeated once ortwice that she had no personal interest in Lashmar's fortunes, but herutterance grew mechanical, and she was evidently withdrawing into herthoughts. As a clock in the room told softly the first hour of themorning, Mrs. Toplady rose; she spoke a few words about her engagementsfor the day which had nominally begun, then kissed her friend on thecheek. 

"Don't think any more of it, May. It mustn't interfere with your sleep. "

"That indeed it won't, Mrs. Toplady!" replied the girl, with amusically mocking laugh. 

Appearances notwithstanding, May told the truth when she declared thatshe had never thought of marrying Lashmar. This, however, did notnecessarily involve an indifference to Lashmar's homage. That thecoming man should make his court to her, she saw as a natural andagreeable thing; that he should recognise her intellectual powers, andsubmit to her personal charm, was only what she had hoped and expectedfrom the first. After their conversation in the supper-room, shecounted him a conquest, and looked forward with no little interest tothe development of this romance. Its sudden termination astonished andmortified her. Had Lashmar turned away to make some brilliant alliance, her pique would have endured only for a moment; Lord Dymchurch'sapproach would have more than compensated the commoner's retirement. But that she should merely have amused his idle moments, whilst hisserious thoughts were fixed on Constance Bride, was an injury not easyto pardon. For she disliked Miss Bride, and she knew the sentiment wasmutual. 

Seeing the situation in the new light shed by Mrs. Toplady's ingeniousconjectures, her sense of injury was mitigated; the indignant feelingthat remained she directed chiefly against Lady Ogram, who seemedinclined to dispose of her in such a summary way. Constance, naturally, she disliked more than ever, but Lashmar she viewed with something ofcompassion, as a victim of circumstances. Were those circumstancesirresistible? Was there not even now a possibility of defeatingthem?--not with a view to taking Miss Bride's place, but for thepleasure of asserting herself against a plot, and reassuring herrightful position as arbitress of destinies. Lady Ogram was a kind oldwoman, but decidedly despotic, and she had gone too far. If indeedLashmar were acting in helpless obedience to her, it would be themerest justice to make an attempt at rescuing him and restoring hisliberty. 

Not without moral significance was the facial likeness between LadyOgram in her youth and May Tomalin. One who had seen the girl as shesat to-night in her bedroom, brooding deeply, without the leastinclination for repose, must have been struck by a new vigour in thelines of her countenance. Thus--though with more of obstinatepurpose--had Arabella Tomalin been wont to look at moments of crisis inher adventurous youth. 

The clock was pointing to two, when May rose from the velvet-seatedchair, and went to the little writing-table which stood in another partof the room. She took a plain sheet of note-paper, and, with a hand farfrom steady, began, not writing, but printing, certain words, in large, ill-formed capitals. 

"HAVE MORE COURAGE. AIM HIGHER. IT IS NOT TOO LATE. "

At this achievement she gazed smilingly. The ink having dried, shefolded the paper, and put it into an envelope, which she closed. Thenher face indicated a new effort. She could think of only one way ofdisguising her hand in cursive--the common device of sloping itbackwards. This she attempted. The result failing to please her, shetried again on a second envelope, and this time with success; thewriting looked masculine, and in no respect suggested its trueauthorship. She had addressed the letter to Dyce Lashmar, Esq. , atRivenoak. 

Nine o'clock next morning saw her out of doors. In Sloane Street shefound a hansom, and was driven rap idly eastward. Before ten she sat inher own room again, glowing with satisfaction. 

CHAPTER XVIII

"At last, " declared Mrs. Lashmar, "it really looks as if Dyce was goingto do something. I've just been writing to Lady Susan, and I have lether see unmistakably what I think of her friendship. But I'm very gladDyce isn't indebted to her, for a more unendurable woman, when shethinks she has done anyone a kindness, doesn't exist. If she gets aplace for a servant-girl, all the world is told of it, and she expectsyou to revere her saintly benevolence. I am _very_ glad that she neverdid anything for Dyce. Indeed, I always felt that she was very littleuse. I doubt whether she has the slightest influence with respectablepeople. "

It was just after breakfast, and the day promised to be the hottest ofthe year. The vicar, heavy-laden man, had sat down in his study toworry over parish accounts. When the door opened to admit his wife, hequivered with annoyance. Mrs. Lashmar had a genius for the malapropos. During breakfast, when her talk would have mattered little, she hadkept silence; now that her husband particularly wished to be alone withhis anxieties, she entered with an air forboding long discourse. 

"Twenty-three pounds, four shillings and sixpence, " muttered the vicar, as he passed a handkerchief over his moist forehead. "Dear me! howclose it is! Twenty-three--"

"If Dyce is elected, " pursued the lady, "we must celebrate the occasionin some really striking way. Of course there must be a dinner for allour poor--"

"What I want to know, " interrupted Mr. Lashmar, with mildirritableness, "is, how he proposes to meet his expenses, and what heis going to live upon. If he is still looking to _me_--I hope youhaven't encouraged him in any hope of that kind?"

"Of course not. In my last letter I expressly reminded him that ouraffairs were getting into a lamentable muddle. Of course, if _I_ hadhad the management of them, this wouldn't have come about. --Do you knowwhat I have been thinking? It might be an advantage to Dyce if you madefriends with the clergy at Hollingford. Couldn't you go over one day, and call on the rector. I see he's a Cambridge man, but--"

"Really, " cried Mr. Lashmar, half-distraught, "I must beg you to let meget this work done in quietness. By some extraordinary error--"

A knock sounded at the door, followed by a man's voice. 

"May I come in?"

"There you are!" Mrs. Lashmar exclaimed. "It's Dyce himself. Come in!Come in! Why, who could have thought you would get here so early!"

"I chose the early train for the sake of coolness, " answered Dyce, whoshook hands with his parents. "The weather is simply tropical. And twodays ago we were shivering. What is there to drink, mother?"

Mrs. Lashmar took her son to the dining-room, and, whilst he wasrefreshing himself, talked of the career before him. Her sanguine mindsaw him already at Westminster, and on the way to high distinction. 

"There's just one thing I'm anxious about, " she said, sinking hervoice. "You know the state of your father's affairs. It happens mostunfortunately, just when a little help would be so important to you. For years I have foreseen it, Dyce. Again and again I have urgedprudence; but you know your father, the most generous of men, but amere child in matters of business. I feared; but it was only the otherday that I discovered the real state of things. I shouldn't be at allsurprised, Dyce, if some day we have to look to you for succour. "

"Don't worry, " answered her son. "Things'll come right, I think. Justgo on as prudently as you can, for the present. Is father really in ahobble?"

"My dear, he doesn't know where to turn for a five-pound note!"

Dyce was sincerely troubled. He seldom thought of his parents; none theless they represented his only true affection, and he becameuncomfortable at the prospect of disaster befalling their latter years. 

"Well, well, don't bother about it, more than you can help. Things aregoing pretty well with me, I fancy. "

"So I supposed, Dyce. But your father is afraid--you know how he lookson the dark side of everything--lest you should be incurringliabilities. I have told him that that was never your habit. "

"Of course not, " said Dyce, confidently. "You may be sure that Ihaven't taken such serious steps without seeing my way clear before me. "

"I knew it! I have always had the fullest faith in you. And, Dyce, howyou are improving in looks! You must go to a photographer again--"

"I've just been sitting at Hollingford. The local people wanted it, youknow. But I'll send you one from London presently. "

"And you assure me that there is no money difficulty?" asked Mrs. Lashmar, with inquisitive eyes. 

"None whatever. The fact of the matter is that I am standing to pleaseLady Ogram, and of course--" He waved an explanatory hand. "Things arenot finally arranged yet, but all will be smooth. "

His smile made dignified deprecation of undue insistence on trivialdetail. 

"I'm delighted to hear it!" exclaimed his mother. "It's just what I hadsupposed. What could be more natural. Do you think, by the bye, that Iought to go and see Lady Ogram? It might seem to her a right andnatural thing. And, from what you tell me of her, I feel sure we shouldhave a good deal in common. "

"I've thought of that too, " Dyce answered, averting his look. "But waita little. Just now Lady Ogram isn't at all well; she sees hardlyanybody. "

"Of course I shall be guided by your advice. A little later, then. And, Dyce, you haven't told me anything about Miss Bride. Is she still withLady Ogram?"

"Oh yes. Still acting as secretary. "

"Of course you don't see much of her?"

"Why, to tell you the truth, we have to see each other a good deal, owing to her duties. "

"Ah, yes, I understand. She writes to dictation, and that kind ofthing. Strange that Lady Ogram should have engaged such a veryunpleasant young woman. I've seldom known anyone I disliked so much. "

"Really? She's of the new school, you know; the result of theemancipation movement. " Dyce smiled, as if indulgently. "Lady Ogramthinks a great deal of her, and, I fancy, means to leave her money. "

"Gracious! You don't say so!"

Mrs. Lashmar put the subject disdainfully aside, and Dyce was glad tospeak of something else. 

Throughout the day, the vicar was too busy to hold conversation withhis son. But after dinner they sat alone together in the study, Mrs. Lashmar being called forth by some parochial duty. As he puffed at hisnewly-lighted pipe, Dyce reflected on all that had happened since helast sat here, some three months ago, and thought of what might havebeen his lot had not fortune dealt so kindly with him. Glancing at hisfather's face, he noted in it the signs of wearing anxiety; it seemedto him that the vicar looked much older than in the spring, and he wasimpressed by the pathos of age, which has no hopes to nourish, whichcan ask no more of life than a quiet ending. He could not imaginehimself grey-headed, disillusioned; the effort to do so gave him athrill of horror. Thereupon he felt reproach of conscience. For all thecare and kindness he had received from his father, since the days whenhe used to come into this very room to show how well he could read apage of some child's story, what return had he made? None whatever inwords, and little enough in conduct. All at once, he felt a desire toprove that he was not the insensible egoist his father perhaps thoughthim. 

"I'm afraid you're a good deal worried, father, " he began, looking atthe paper-covered writing-table. 

"I'm putting my affairs in order, Dyce, " the vicar replied, runningfingers through his beard. "I've been foolish enough to let them getvery tangled; let me advise you never to do the same. But it'll all bestraight before long. Don't trouble about me; let me hear of your ownprojects. I heartily wish it were in my power to help you. "

"You did that much longer than I ought to have allowed, " returned Dyce. "I feel myself to a great extent the cause of your troubles--"

"Nothing of the kind, " broke in his father, cheerily. "Troublesbe--excommunicated! This hot weather takes it out of me a little, butI'm very well and not at all discouraged; so don't think it. To tellyou the truth, I've been feeling anxious to hear more in detail fromyou about this Hollingford enterprise. Have you serious hopes?"

"I hardly think I shall be elected the first time, " Dyce answered, speaking with entire frankness. "But it'll be experience, and may openthe way for me. "

"Parliament, " mused the vicar, "Parliament! To be sure, we must haveMembers; it's our way of doing things, of governing the country. And ifyou really feel apt for that--"

He paused dreamily. Dyce, still under the impulse of softened feelings, spoke as he seldom did, very simply, quietly, sincerely. 

"I believe, father, that I am not _un_fit for it. Politics, it's true, don't interest me very strongly, but I have brains enough to get thenecessary knowledge, and I feel that I shall do better work in aprominent position of that kind than if I went on tutoring or took tojournalism. As you say, we must have representatives, and I should notbe the least capable, or the least honest. I find I can speak fairlywell; I find I can inspire people with confidence in me. And, withoutpresumption, I don't think the confidence is misplaced. "

"Well, that's something, " said the vicar, absently. "But you talk as ifpolitics were a profession one could live by. I don't yet understand--"

"How I'm going to live. Nor do I. I'll tell you that frankly. But LadyOgram knows my circumstances, and none the less urges me on. It may betaken for granted that she has something in view; and, after giving agood deal of thought to the matter, I see no valid reason why I shouldrefuse any assistance she chooses to offer me. The case would not bewithout precedent. There is nothing dishonourable--"

Dyce drifted into verbosity. At the beginning, he had lost from sightthe impossibility of telling the whole truth about his present positionand the prospects on which he counted; he spoke with relief, and wouldgladly have gone on unbosoming himself. Strong and deep-rooted is theinstinct of confession. Unable to ease his conscience regarding outwardcircumstances, he turned at length to the question of his intellectualattitude. 

"Do you remember, when I was here last, I spoke to you of a French bookI had been reading, a sociological work? As I told you, it had a greatinfluence on my mind. It helped to set my ideas in order. Before then, I had only the vaguest way of thinking about political and socialquestions. That book supplied me with a scientific principle, which Ihave since been working out for myself. "

"Ha!" interjected the vicar, looking up oddly. "And you really feel inneed of a scientific principle?"

"Without it, I should have remained a mere empiric, like the rest ofour politicians. I should have judged measures from the narrow, merelypractical point of view; or rather, I should pretty certainly haveguided myself by some theory in which I only tried to believe. "

"So you have now a belief, Dyce? Come, that's a point to have reached. That alone should give you a distinction among the aspiring men ofto-day. And _what_ do you believe?"

After drawing a meditative puff or two, Dyce launched into his familiardemonstration. He would very much rather have left it aside; he feltthat he was not speaking as one genuinely convinced, and that hisfather listened without serious interest. But the theory had all to begone through; he unwound it, like thread off a reel, rathermechanically and heavily towards the end. 

"And that's what you are going to live for?" said his father. "That isyour faith necessary to salvation?"

"I take it to be the interpretation of human history. "

"Perhaps it is; perhaps it is, " murmured the vicar, abstractedly. "Formy own part, " he added, bestirring himself to refill his pipe, "I canstill see a guiding light in the older faith. Of course the world hasrejected it; I don't seek to delude myself on that point; I shrink withhorror from the blasphemy which would have us pretend that ourcivilisation obeys the spirit of Christ. The world has rejected it. Nowas ever, 'despised and rejected of men. ' The world, very likely, willdo without religion. Yet, Dyce, when I think of the Sermon on theMount--"

He paused again, holding his pipe in his hand, unlit, and lookingbefore him with wide eyes. 

"I respect that as much as anyone can, " said Dyce, gravely. 

"As much as anyone can--who doesn't believe it. " His father took him upwith gentle irony. "I don't expect the impossible. You _cannot_ believein it; for you were born a post-Darwinian. Well, your religion istemporal; let us take that for granted. You do not deny yourself; youbelieve that self-assertion to the uttermost is the prime duty. "

"Provided that self-assertion be understood aright. I understand it asmeaning the exercise of all my civic faculties. "

"Which, in your case, are faculties of command, faculties which pointyou to the upper seat, Dyce. Tom Bullock, my gardener, is equally toassert himself, but with the understanding that _his_ faculties pointto the bottom of the table, where the bread is a trifle stale, andbutter sometimes lacking. Yes, yes: I understand. Of course you will doyour very best for Tom; you would like him to have what the sweetlanguage of our day calls a square meal. But still he must eat belowthe salt; there you can't help him. "

"Because nature itself cannot, " explained Dyce. "One wants Tom toacknowledge that, without bitterness, and at the same time tounderstand that, but for _him_, his honest work, his clean life, theworld couldn't go on at all. If Tom _feels_ that, he is a religiousman. "

"Ah! I take your point. But, Dyce, I find as a painful matter of factthat Tom Bullock is by no means a religious man. Tom, I have learnt, privately calls himself 'a hagnostic, ' and is obliging enough to sayamong his intimates that, if the truth were told, I myself am the same. Tom has got hold of evolutionary notions, which he illustrates in hisdaily work. He knows all about natural selection, and the survival ofthe fittest. Tom ought to be a very apt disciple of yourbio-sociological creed. Unhappily a more selfish mortal doesn't walkthe earth. He has been known to send his wife and children supperlessto bed, because a festive meeting at a club to which he belongsdemanded all the money in his pocket. Tom, you see, feels himself oneof the Select; his wife and children, holding an inferior place ingreat nature's scheme, must be content to hunger now and then, and it'stheir fault if they don't feel a religious satisfaction in theprivilege. "

"Why on earth do you employ such a man?" cried Dyce. 

"Because, my dear boy, if I did not, no one else would, and Tom's wifeand children would have still greater opportunities of proving theirdisinterested citizenship. "

Dyce laughed. 

"Speaking seriously again, father, Tom is what he is just because hehasn't received the proper education. Had he been rightly taught, whoknows but he would, in fact, have been an apt disciple of the civicreligion?"

"I fear me, Dyce, that no amount of civic instruction, or any otherinstruction, would have affected Tom's ethics. Tom is representative ofhis age. Come, come; I have every wish to be just to you. A newreligion must have time; its leaven must work amid the lump. You, mydear boy, are convinced that the leaven is, though a new sort, a verysound and sufficient yeast; let that be granted. I, unfortunately, cannot believe anything of the kind. To me your method of solutionseems a deliberate insistence on the worldly in human nature, sure tohave the practical result of making men more and more savagelymaterialist: I see no hope whatever that you will inspire the worldwith enthusiasm for a noble civilisation by any theory based onbiological teaching. From my point of view, a man becomes noble _inspite_ of the material laws which condition his life, never inconsequence of them. If you ask me how and why--I bow my head and keepsilence. "

"Can you maintain, " asked Dyce, respectfully, "that Christianity isstill a civilising power?"

"To all appearances, " was the grave answer, "Christianity hasfailed--utterly, absolutely, glaringly failed. At this moment, theworld, I am convinced, holds more potential barbarism than did theRoman Empire under the Antonines. Wherever I look, I see a monstrouscontrast between the professions and the practice, between the assumedand the actual aims, of so-called Christian peoples. Christianity hasfailed to conquer the human heart. "

"It must be very dreadful for you to be convinced of that. "

"It is. But more dreadful would be a loss of belief in the Christianspirit. By belief, I don't mean faith in its ultimate triumph; I am notat all sure that I can look forward to _that_. No; but a persuasionthat the Sermon on the Mount is good--is the best. Once upon a time, multitudes were in that sense Christian. Nowadays, does one man in athousand give his mind's allegiance (lips and life disregarded) to thatideal of human thought and conduct? Take your newspaper writer, whospeaks to and for the million; he simply scorns every Christianprecept. How can he but scorn a thing so unpractical? Nay, I noticethat he is already throwing off the hypocrisy hitherto thought decent. I read newspaper articles which sneer and scoff at those who venture toremind the world that, after all, it nominally owes allegiance to aChristian ideal. Our prophets begin openly to proclaim thatself-interest and the hardest materialism are our only safe guides. Nowand then such passages amaze, appal me--but I am getting used to them. So I am to the same kind of declaration in everyday talk. Men in mostrespectable coats, sitting at most orderly tables, hold the language ofpure barbarism. If you drew one of them aside, and said to him, 'Butwhat about the fruits of the spirit?'--what sort of look would he giveyou?"

"I agree entirely, " exclaimed Dyce. "And for that very reason I want towork for a new civilising principle. "

"If you get into the House, shall you talk there about bio-sociology?"

"Why no, " answered Dyce, with a chuckle. "If I were capable of that, Ishould have very little chance of getting into the House at all, or ofdoing anything useful anywhere. "

"In other words, " said his father, still eyeing an unlit pipe, "onemust be practical--eh, Dyce?"

"In the right way. "

"Yes, yes: one must be practical, practical. If you know which _is_ theright way, I am very glad, I congratulate you. For my own part, I seekit vainly; I seek it these forty years and more; and it grows clear tome that I should have done much better not to heed that question atall. 'Blessed are the merciful--blessed are the pure in heart--blessedare the peacemakers. ' It is all strikingly unpractical, Dyce, my boy;you can't, again in to-day's sweet language, 'run' the world on thoseprinciples. They are utterly incompatible with business; and businessis life. "

"But they are not at all incompatible with the civilisation I have inview, " Dyce exclaimed. 

"I am glad to hear it; very glad. You don't, however, see your way tothat civilisation by teaching such axioms. "

"Unfortunately not. "

"No. You have to teach 'Blessed are the civic-minded, for they shallprofit by their civism. ' It has to be profit, Dyce, profit, profit. Live thus, and you'll get a good deal out of life; live otherwise, andyou _may_ get more, but with an unpleasant chance of getting a gooddeal less. "

"But isn't it unfortunately true that Christianity spoke also ofrewards?"

"Yes, it is true. The promise was sometimes adapted to the poorerunderstanding. More often, it was nobler, and by that I take my stand. 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are thepeacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God. ' The words, you know, had then a meaning. Now they have none. To see God was not alittle thing, I imagine, but the vision, probably, brought with itneither purple nor fine linen. --For curiosity's sake, Dyce, readMatthew v. To vii. Before you go to sleep. You'll find the old Bible inyour bedroom. "

The door was thrown open, and Mrs. Lashmar's voice broke upon the stillair of the study. 

"Dyce, have you seen to-day's _Times_? There's a most interestingarticle on the probable duration of Parliament. Take it up to your roomwith you, and read it before you sleep. "

CHAPTER XIX

"There's a letter for you, Dyce; forwarded from Rivenoak, I see. "

It lay beside his plate on the breakfast table, and Dyce eyed it withcuriosity. The backward-sloping hand was quite unknown to him. Hetapped at an egg, and still scrutinised the writing on the envelope; itwas Constance who had crossed out the Rivenoak address, and had writtenbeside it "The Vicarage, Alverholme. "

"Have you slept well?" asked his mother, who treated him with much moreconsideration than at his last visit. 

"Very well indeed, " he replied mechanically, taking up his letter andcutting it open with a table-knife. 

"HAVE MORE COURAGE. AIM HIGHER. IT IS NOT TOO LATE. "

Dyce stared at the oracular message, written in capitals on a sheet ofpaper which contained nothing else. He again examined the envelope, butthe post-mark in no way helped him. He glanced at his mother, and, finding her eye upon him, folded the sheet carelessly. He glanced athis father, who had just laid down a letter which evidently worriedhim. The meal passed with very little conversation. Dyce puzzled overthe anonymous counsel so mysteriously conveyed to him, and presentlywent apart to muse unobserved. 

He thought of Iris Woolstan. Of course a woman had done this thing, andIris he could well believe capable of it. But what did she mean? Didshe really imagine that, but for lack of courage, he would have madesuit to _her_? Did she really regard herself as socially his superior?There was no telling. Women had the oddest notions on such subjects, and perhaps the fact of his engaging himself to Constance Bride, a meresecretary, struck her as deplorable. "Aim higher. " The exhortation wasamusing enough. One would have supposed it came at least from somegreat heiress--

He stopped in his pacing about the garden. An heiress?--May Tomalin?

Shaking of the head dismissed this fancy. Miss Tomalin was amatter-of-fact young person; he could not see her doing such a thing asthis. And yet--and yet--when he remembered their last talk, was it notconceivable that he had made a deeper impression upon her than, in hismodesty, he allowed himself to suppose? Had she not spoken, with acertain enthusiasm, of working on his behalf at Hollingford? Thedisturbing event which immediately followed had put Miss Tomalin intothe distance; his mind had busied itself continuously with surmises asto the nature of the benefit he might expect if he married Constance. After all, Lady Ogram's niece _might_ have had recourse to thisexpedient. She, at all events, knew that he was staying at Rivenoak, and might easily not have heard on what day he would leave. Or, perhaps, knowing that he left yesterday, she had calculated that theletter would reach him before his departure; it had possibly beendelivered at Rivenoak by the mid-day post. 

Amusing, the thought that Constance had herself re-addressed thiscommunication!

Another possibility occurred to him. What if the writer were indeedIris Woolstan, and her motive quite disinterested? What if she did notallude to herself at all, but was really pained at the thought of hismaking an insignificant marriage, when, by waiting a little, he wassure to win a wife suitable to his ambition? Of this, too, Iris mightwell be capable. Her last letter to him had had some dignity, and, allthings considered, she had always shown herself a devoted, unexactingfriend. It seemed more likely, it seemed much more likely, than theother conjecture. 

Nevertheless, suppose Miss Tomalin _had_ taken this romantic step? Thesupposition involved such weighty issues that he liked to harbour it, to play with it. He pictured himself calling in Pont Street; he enteredthe drawing-room, and his eyes fell at once upon Miss Tomalin, in whosemanner he remarked something unusual a constraint, a nervousness. Saluting, he looked her fixedly in the face; she could not meet hisregard; she blushed a little--

Why, it was very easy to determine whether or not she had sent thatletter. In the case of Iris Woolstan, observation would have no certainresults, for she must needs meet him with embarrassment. But MissTomalin would be superhuman if she did not somehow betray a nervousconscience. 

Dyce strode into the house. His father and mother stood talking at thefoot of the stairs, the vicar ready to go out. 

"I must leave you at once, " he exclaimed, looking at his watch. "Something I had forgotten--an engagement absurdly dropt out of mind. Imust catch the next train--10. 14, isn't it?"

Mrs. Lashmar sang out protest, but, on being assured that theengagement was political, urged him to make haste. The vicar all butsilently pressed his hand, and with head bent, walked away. 

He just caught the train. It would bring him to town by mid-day, incomfortable time to lunch and adorn himself before the permissible hourof calling in Pont Street. Rapid movement excited his imagination; heclung now to the hypothesis which at first seemed untenable; he builthopes upon it. Could he win a confession from May Tomalin, why shouldit be hopeless to sway the mind of Lady Ogram? If that were deemedimpossible, they had but to wait. Lady Ogram would not live till theautumn. To be sure, she looked better since her return to Rivenoak, butshe was frail, oh very frail, and sure to go off at a moment's notice. As for Constance--oh, Constance!

At his lodgings he found unimportant letters. Every letter would haveseemed unimportant, compared with that he carried in his pocket. Roach, M. P. , invited him to dine. The man at the Home Office wanted him to goto a smoking concert. Lady Susan Harrop sent a beggarly card for anevening ten days hence. Like the woman's impudence! And yet, as it hadbeen posted since her receipt of his mother's recent letter, it provedthat Lady Susan had a sense of his growing dignity, which was good inits way. He smiled at a recollection of the time when a seat at thosepeople's table had seemed a desirable and agitating thing. 

Before half-past three he found himself walking in Sloane Street. Afterconsulting his watch several times in the course of a few minutes, hedecided that, early as it was, he would go on at once to Mrs. Toplady's. Was he not privileged? Moreover, light rain began to fall, with muttering of thunder: he must seek shelter. 

At a door in Pont Street stood two vehicles, a brougham and a cab. Wasit at Mrs. Toplady's? Yes, so it proved; and, just as Dyce went up tothe house, the door opened. Out came a servant, carrying luggage;behind the servant came Mrs. Toplady, and, behind her, Miss Tomalin. Hat in hand, Lashmar faced the familiar smile, at this momentundisguisedly mischievous. 

"Mr. Lashmar!" exclaimed the lady, in high good humour. "We are justgoing to St. Pancras. Miss Tomalin leaves me to-day. --Why, it israining! Can't we take you with us? Yes, yes, come into the carriage, and we'll drop you where you like. "

Lashmar's eye was on the heiress. She said nothing as she shook hands, and, unless he mistook, there was a tremour about her lips, hereyelids, an unwonted suggestion of shyness in her bearing. The ladiesbeing seated, he took his place opposite to them, and again perusedMiss Tomalin's countenance. Decidedly, she was unlike herself;manifestly, she avoided his look. Mrs. Toplady talked away, in thegayest spirits; and the rain came down heavily, and thunder rolled. Half the distance to St. Pancras was covered before May had utteredanything more than a trivial word or two. Of a sudden she addressedLashmar, as if about to speak of something serious. 

"You left all well at Rivenoak?"

"Quite well. "

"When did you come away?"

"Early yesterday morning, " Dyce replied. 

May's eyebrows twitched; her look fell. 

"I went to Alverholme, " Dyce continued, "to see my people. "

May turned her eyes to the window. Uneasiness appeared in her face. "She wants to know"--said Dyce to himself--"whether I have receivedthat letter. "

"Do you stay in town?" inquired Mrs. Toplady. 

"For a week or two, I think. " He added, carelessly, "A letter thismorning, forwarded from Rivenoak, brought me back. "

May made a nervous movement, and at once exclaimed:

"I suppose your correspondence is enormous, Mr. Lashmar?"

"Enormous--why no. But interesting, especially of late. "

"Of course--a public man--"

Impossible to get assurance. The signs he noticed might mean nothing atall; on the other hand, they were perhaps decisive. More about theletter of this morning he durst not say, lest, if this girl had reallywritten it, she should think him lacking in delicacy, in discretion. 

"Very kind of you, to come to me at once, " said Mrs. Toplady. "Is theregood news of the campaign? Come and see me to-morrow, can you? Thisafternoon I have an engagement. I shall only just have time to see MissTomalin safe in the railway carriage. "

Dyce made no request to be set down. After this remark of Mrs. Toplady's, a project formed itself in his mind. When the carriageentered Euston Road, rain was still falling. 

"This'll do good, " he remarked. "The country wants it. "

His thoughts returned to the morning, a week ago, when Constance and hehad been balked of their ride by a heavy shower. He saw thesummer-house among the trees; he saw Constance's face, and heard heraccents. 

They reached the station. As a matter of course, Dyce accompanied hisfriends on to the platform, where the train was already standing. MissTomalin selected her scat. There was leave-taking. Dyce walked awaywith Mrs. Toplady, who suddenly became hurried. 

"I shall only just have time, " she said, looking at the clock. "I'mafraid my direction--northward--would only take you more out of yourway. "

Dyce saw her to the brougham, watched it drive off. There remainedthree minutes before the departure of Miss Tomalin's train. He turnedback into the station; he walked rapidly, and on the platform almostcollided with a heavy old gentleman whom an official was piloting to acarriage. This warm-faced, pompous-looking person he well knew bysight. Another moment, and he stood on the step of the compartmentwhere May had her place. At sight of him, she half rose. 

"What is it? Have I forgotten something?"

The compartment was full. Impossible to speak before these listeningpeople. In ready response to his embarrassed look, May alighted. 

"I'm so sorry to have troubled you, " said Dyce, with laughingcontrition. "I thought it might amuse you to know that _Mr. Robb_ is inthe train!"

"Really? How I should have liked to be in the same carriage. Perhaps Ishould have heard the creature talk. Oh, and this compartment is sofull, so hot! Is it impossible to find a better?"

Dyce rushed at a passing guard. He learnt that, if Miss Tomalin werewilling to change half way on her journey, she could travel at ease;only the through carriages for Hollingford were packed. To this May atonce consented. Dyce seized her dressing-bag, her umbrella; they spedto another part of the train, and sprang, both of them, into an emptyfirst-class. 

"This is delightful!" cried the girl. "I _am_ so much obliged to you!"

"Tickets, please. "

"Shown already, " replied May. "Change of carriage. "

The door was slammed, locked. The whistle sounded. 

"But we're starting!" May exclaimed. "Quick! Jump out, Mr. Lashmar!"

Dyce sat still, smiling calmly. 

"It's too late, I'm afraid I mustn't try to escape by the window. "

"Oh, and you have sacrificed yourself just to make me more comfortable!How inconvenient it will be for you! What a waste of time!"

"Not at all. The best thing that could have happened. "

"Well, we have papers at all events. " May handed him one. "Pray don'tfeel obliged to talk. "

"As it happens, I very much wish to talk. Queer thing that I should owemy opportunity to Robb. I shall never again feel altogether hostile tothat man. I wish you had seen him. He looked apoplectic. This weathermust try him severely. "

"You never spoke to him, I suppose?" asked May. 

"I never had that honour. Glimpses only of the great man have beenvouchsafed to me. Once seen, he is never forgotten. To-day he looksalarmingly apoplectic. "

"But really, Mr. Lashmar, " said the girl, settling herself in hercorner, "I do feel ashamed to have given you this useless journey--andjust when you are so busy. "

She was pretty in her travelling costume. Could Lashmar have comparedher appearance to-day with that she had presented on her first arrivalat Rivenoak, he would have marvelled at the change wrought by luxuriouscircumstance. No eye-glasses now; no little paper-cutter hanging at hergirdle. Called upon to resume the Northampton garb, May would have beenhorrified. The brown shoes which she had purchased expressly for hervisit to Lady Ogram would have seemed impossibly large and coarse. Exquisite were her lavender gloves. Such details of attire, formerlyregarded with some contempt, had now an importance for her. She hadcome to regard dress as one of the serious concerns of life. 

"I went to Pont Street this afternoon, " said Dyce, "with a wish that bysome chance I might see you alone. It was Very unlikely, but it hascome to pass. "

May exhibited a slight surprise, and by an imperceptible movement put alittle more dignity into her attitude. 

"What did you wish to speak about?" she asked, with an air meant to bestrikingly natural. 

"Don't let me startle you; it was about my engagement to Miss Bride. "

This time, Dyce felt he could not be mistaken. She was confused; he sawcolour mounting on her neck; the surprise she tried to convey insmiling was too obviously feigned. 

"Isn't that rather an odd subject of conversation?"

"It seems so, but wait till you have heard what I have to say. It is onMiss Bride's account that I speak. You are her friend, and I feel that, in mere justice to her, I ought to tell you a very strange story. It isgreatly to her honour. She couldn't tell you the truth herself, and ofcourse you will not be able to let her know that you know it. But itwill save you from possible misunderstanding of her, enable you tojudge her fairly. "

May hardly disguised her curiosity. It absorbed her self-consciousness, and she looked the speaker straight in the face. 

"To come to the point at once, " pursued Lashmar, "our engagement is nota genuine one. Miss Bride has not really consented to marry me. Sheonly consents to have it thought that she has done so. And verygenerous, very noble, it is of her. "

"What a strange thing!" the girl exclaimed, as ingenuously as she hadever spoken in her life. 

"Isn't it! I can explain in a word or two. Lady Ogram wished us tomarry; it was a favourite project of hers. She spoke to me aboutit--putting me in a very difficult position, for I felt sure that MissBride had no such regard for me as your aunt supposed. I postponed, delayed as much as possible, and the result was that Lady Ogram beganto take my behaviour ill. The worst of it was, her annoyance had a badeffect on her health. I think you know that Lady Ogram cannot bearcontradiction. "

"I know that she doesn't like it, " said May, her chin rising a little. 

"You, of course, are favoured. You have exceptional influence. But Ican assure you that it would have been a very unpleasant thing to haveto tell Lady Ogram either that I couldn't take the step she wished, orthat Miss Bride rejected me. "

"I can believe that, " said May indulgently. 

"When I saw that she was making herself ill about it, I took theresolve to speak frankly to Miss Bride. The result was--our pretendedengagement. "

"Was it your suggestion?" inquired the listener. 

"Yes, it came from me, " Dyce answered, with half real, half affected, embarrassment. "Of course I felt it to be monstrous impudence, but, assome excuse for me, you must remember that Miss Bride and I have knowneach other for many years, that we were friends almost in childhood. Perhaps I was rather a coward. Perhaps I ought to have told your auntthe truth, and taken the consequences. But Miss Bride, no less than I, felt afraid of them. "

"What consequences?"

"We really feared that, in Lady Ogram's state of health--"

He broke off significantly. May dropped her eyes. The train roaredthrough a station. 

"But, " said May at length, "I understand that you are to be married inOctober. "

"That is Lady Ogram's wish. Of course it's horribly embarrassing. Ineedn't say that when our engagement is announced as broken off, Ishall manage so that all the fault appears to be on my side. But I amhoping--that Lady Ogram may somehow be brought to change her mind. AndI even dare to hope that--you will help us to that end. "

"I? How could I, possibly?"

"Indeed, I hardly know. But the situation is so awkward, and you arethe only person who has really great influence with Lady Ogram--"

There was silence amid the noise of the train. May looked through onewindow, Dyce through the other. 

"In any case, " exclaimed Lashmar, "I have discharged what I felt to bea duty. I could not bear to think that you should be living with MissBride, and totally misunderstanding her. I wanted you to do justice toher noble self-sacrifice. Of course I have felt ashamed of myself eversince I allowed her to get into such a false position. You, I fear, think worse of me than you did. "

He regarded her from under his eyelids, as if timidly. May sat veryupright. She did not look displeased; a light in her eyes might havebeen understood as expressing satisfaction. 

"Suppose, " she said, looking away, "that October comes, and you haven'tbeen able to--to put an end to this situation?"

"I'm afraid--very much afraid--that we shall have to do so at any cost. "

"It's very strange, altogether. An extraordinary state of things. "

"You forgive me for talking to you about it?" asked Dyce, leaningrespectfully forward. 

"I understand why you did. There was no harm in it. "

"Do you remember our talk in the supper-room at Mrs. Toplady's?--whenwe agreed that nothing was more foolish than false modesty. Shall Iventure to tell you, now, that, if this marriage came about, it wouldbe something like ruin to my career? You won't misunderstand. I have agreat respect, and a great liking, for Miss Bride; but think howall-important it is, this question of marriage for a public man. "

"Of course I understand that, " May replied. 

He enlarged upon the topic, revealing his hopes. 

"But I rather thought, " said May, "that Miss Bride was just the sort ofcompanion you needed. She is so intelligent and--"

"Very! But do you think she has the qualities which would enable her totake a high position in society? There's no unkindness in touching uponthat. Admirable women may fall short of these particular excellencies. A man chooses his wife according to the faith he has in his future?"

"I understand; I quite understand, " said May, with a large air. "No; ithas to be confessed that Miss Bride--I wonder my aunt didn't think ofthat. "

They turned aside to discuss Lady Ogram, and did so in such detail, with so much mutual satisfaction, that time slipped on insensibly, and, ere they had thought of parting, the train began to slacken down forthe junction where Miss Tomalin would have to change carriages. 

"How annoying that I shan't be able to see you again!" cried Lashmar. 

"But shan't you be coming to Rivenoak?"

"Not for some time, very likely. And when I do--" The train stopped. Dyce helped his companion to alight, and moved along to seek for aplace for her in the section which went to Hollingford. Suddenly analarmed voice from one of the carriage-doors shouted "Guard!Station-master!" People turned in that direction; porters ran;evidently, something serious had happened. 

"What's the matter?" asked May, at her companion's side. 

"Somebody taken ill, I think, " said Dyce, moving towards the doorwhence the shout had sounded. 

He caught a glimpse of a man who had sunk upon the floor of thecarriage, and was just being lifted onto the seat by other passengers. Pressing nearer, he saw a face hideously congested, with horriblestarting eyes. He drew back, and whispered to May:

"It's Robb! Didn't I tell you that he looked apoplectic. "

The girl shrank in fear. 

"Are you sure?"

"Perfectly. Stand here a minute, and I'll ask how it happened. "

From the talk going on he quickly learnt that Mr. Robb, complainingthat he felt faint, had risen, just as the train drew into the station, to open the door and descend. Before anyone could help him, he dropped, and his fellow-travellers shouted. Dyce and May watched the conveyanceof the obese figure across the platform to a waiting-room. 

"I must know the end of this, " said Lashmar, his eyes gleaming. 

"You wouldn't have gone further, should you?"

"I suppose not--though I had still a great deal to tell you. Quick! Wemust get your place. "

"I could stop for the next train, " suggested May. 

"Better not, I think. The carriage will be waiting for you atHollingford. No, better not. I have another idea. "

They found a seat. Dyce threw in the dressing-bag, and alighted again. 

"There's still a minute or two, " he said, keeping May beside him on theplatform. "This affair may be tremendously important for me, you know. "

"It would mean an election at once, " said the girl, excitedly. 

"Of course. " He approached his face to hers, and added in low, rapidtones, "You know the park gate into the Wapham Road?"

"Yes. "

"You have a key. Could you be there at eight tomorrow morning? If it'sfine, take your bicycle, as if you were going for a spin beforebreakfast. Miss Bride never goes out before breakfast, and no one elseis likely to pass that way. "

"You mean you would be there?"

"If there's anything important to tell--yes. From a quarter to eight. Ishall stay here till I know the state of things. If there's recovery, Iwill go back to town, and wire to-morrow to Lady Ogram that Ii haveheard a rumour of Robb's serious illness, asking for information. Doyou agree?"

Doors were slamming; porters were shouting. May had only just time tospring into the carriage. 

"Yes!" she exclaimed, with her head at the window. Dyce doffed his hat. They smiled at each other, May's visage flushed and agitated, and thetrain whirled away. 

In the carriage awaiting Miss Tomalin at Hollingford station satConstance Bride. 

"A horrible journey!" May exclaimed, taking a seat beside her. "No seatin a through carriage at St. Pancras. Had to change at the junction. Somebody in the train had a fit, or something--no wonder, with suchheat! But it's cooler here. Have you had a storm?"

The footman, who had been looking after luggage, stepped up to thecarriage door and spoke to Miss Bride. He said there was a rumour inthe station that Mr. Robb, travelling by this train, had been seizedwith apoplexy on the way. 

"Mr. Robb!" exclaimed Constance. "Then he was the person you spoke of?"

"I suppose so, " May answered. "Queer thing!"

They drove off. Constance gazed straight before her, thinking intently. 

"If the attack is fatal, " said May, "we shall have an election at once. "

"Yes, " fell from her companion's lips mechanically. 

"Who will be the Conservative candidate?"

"I have no idea, " answered Constance, still absorbed in her thoughts. 

May cast a glance at her, and discovered emotion in the fixed eyes, theset lips. There was a short silence, then Miss Tomalin spoke as if anamusing thought had struck her. 

"You received that American magazine from Mrs. Toplady? Isn't it an oddcoincidence--the French book, you know?"

"It didn't seem to me very striking, " replied Constance, coldly. 

"No? Perhaps not. " May became careless. "I hadn't time to read itmyself; I only heard what Mrs. Toplady said about it. "

"There was a certain resemblance between the Frenchman's phraseologyand Mr. Lashmar's, " said Constance; "but nothing more. Mr. Lashmar'ssystem isn't easy to grasp. I doubt whether Mrs. Toplady is quite theperson to understand it. "

"Perhaps not, " May smiled, raising her chin. "I must read the articlemyself. "

"Even then, " rejoined her companion, in a measured tone, "you willhardly be able to decide as to the resemblance of the two theories. "

"Why not?" asked May, sharply. 

"Because you have had no opportunity of really studying Mr. Lashmar'sviews. "

"Oh, I assure you he has made them perfectly clear to me--perfectly. "

"In outline, " said Constance, smiling as one who condescends to achildish understanding. 

"Oh no, in detail. "

Miss Bride contented herself with a half-absent "Indeed?" and seemed toresume her meditations. Whereupon, May's eyes flashed, and her headassumed its most magnificent pose. 

They exchanged not another word on the drive to Rivenoak. 

CHAPTER XX

May awoke very early next morning. It was broad daylight, however, andshe hastened to look at her watch. Reassured as to the time, her nextthought regarded the weather; she stepped to the window, and saw withvexation a rainy sky. An hour later, she again lifted the blind to lookforth. No sun was shining, but rain had ceased. She began to dress. 

At a quarter to eight, equipped for walking, she quietly left her roomand tripped down stairs. A housemaid met her in the hall; she askedwhether the front door was unlocked, and the servant went before toopen for her. Following a path which led to the rear of the house, shewas soon out in the park; in some ten minutes she passed the oldsummer-house among the trees, and, with quickened pace, came to thedoor which led into the Wapham Road. Before using her key, she tappedlightly on the wood; from without there sounded immediately ananswering knock. Then she opened. 

"Do you know?" asked Lashmar, eagerly, as he gave his hand, forgettingthe formal salute. 

"Yes. We had the news after dinner. Mr. Breakspeare sent a message. "

"He lived for about an hour. I came on to Hollingford late, and havepassed the night at the Saracen's Head. It's to be understood, ofcourse, that I got the news in town just in time for the last train. "

Whilst exchanging rapid sentences, they stood, one within, one outside, the park wall. May held the door as if uncertain what to do next. 

"You can spare me a few minutes?" said Dyce, glancing this way and thatalong the public way. 

"Come in. I didn't bring my bicycle, as it's so wet. "

"Of course not. You needn't be anxious. Nobody comes this way. "

He closed the door. May was looking behind her into the frees andbushes, which hid them from the park The sky had begun to brighten; abreeze shook drops from the shining leafage. 

"How does Lady Ogram take the news?" Lashmar inquired, trying to speakwith his wonted calm, but betraying a good deal of nervousness. 

"I haven't seen her. She was in her room when it came. "

"I shouldn't wonder if she's sorry. She had set her mind on our beatingRobb at the poll. No one seems to know who will stand for theConservatives. I saw Breakspeare after midnight; he was in the wildestexcitement. He thinks it's good for us. "

"Of course you'll see Lady Ogram to-day?"

"I shall come at lunch-time. That'll be best, won't it?"

May nodded. Her eyes kept turning in the direction of the house. 

"How very kind of you to have come out so early!" said Dyce. "All nightI've been reproaching myself for giving you the trouble, and when I sawthe rain I didn't think for a moment you would be here. I'm delightedto be able to talk to you before seeing anyone else. Don't you thinkthis event has happened very luckily? Whether I am elected or not, it'll be easier for me to get out of my false position. "

"Why? How?"

"In this way. During the excitement of the election, I shall findopportunities of speaking more freely with Lady Ogram, and who knowsbut I may bring her to see that the plan she made for me was notaltogether to my advantage? Miss Bride, of course, will speak, whenevershe has a chance, in the same sense--"

"Are you sure of that?" asked May, casting a furtive glance at him. Shewas boring the path with the point of her slim umbrella. 

"Do you feel any doubt?" asked Dyce in turn. 

"I really can't judge. It's such a very curious situation--and, " sheadded, "Miss Bride is so peculiar. "

"Peculiar?--I understand. You don't find her very communicative. ButI'm sure you'll make allowance for the difficulty of--"

"Oh, I make all allowances, " interrupted May, with her smile ofsuperiority. "And of course Miss Bride's affairs don't in the leastconcern me. "

"Except I hope in so far as they concern me. "

Dyce spoke with insinuating humour. Both hands resting on his umbrellahandle, he held himself very upright, and looked May steadily in theface. She, as though challenged, straightened herself and met his look. 

"I should be sorry to see your career spoilt, " she said, with ratherexcessive dignity. "But you will admit that you have acted, to say theleast, imprudently. "

"It looks so. You think I should have had _more courage_. But you willsee that it's _not too late_. "

Speaking, he watched her face. He saw her lips twitch, and her eyesstray. 

"You know, " he pursued, "that I _aim high_. "

Her look fell. 

"But no man can do without help. The strong man is he who knows how tochoose his helper, and at the right moment. I am at a crisis of mylife, and--it is to you that I turn. "

"I of course feel that to be a great compliment, Mr. Lashmar, " saidMay, recovering her grand air. "I promise you to do what I can. But youmustn't count on me for impossibilities. "

"I count on nothing that isn't easy for _you_--with your character, your influence. "

"Thank you, again. My first piece of advice to you is to win theelection. "

"I shall do my best. If I am beaten in this, I shall win another; youare aware of that. Are you easily discouraged? I think not. "

He smiled at her with admiration. That it was genuine, May easilyperceived; how much, or how little, it implied, she did not care toask. These two, alike incapable of romantic passion, children of a timewhich subdues everything to interest, which fosters vanity and chillsthe heart, began to imagine that they were drawn to each other by allthe ardours of youth. Their minds remarkably lucid, reviewing thesituation with coolest perspicuity, calculating each on the other'srecognised weaknesses, and holding themselves absolutely free ifcontingency demanded freedom, they indulged, up to a certain point, theprimitive impulse, and would fain have discovered in it a motive of thesoul. May, who had formed her opinion as to Miss Bride's real attituderegarding Lashmar, took a keen pleasure in the treacherous part she wasplaying; she remembered the conversation last evening in the carriage, and soothed her wounded self-esteem. Dyce, gratified by yet anotherproof of his power over womankind, felt that in this case he hadsomething to be really proud of; Miss Tomalin's beauty and herprospects spoke to the world at large. She was in love with him, and hedetected in himself a reciprocal emotion. Interesting and agreeablestate of things!

May, instead of directly answering his last question, allowed her eyesto meet his for a second. Then she said:

"Some people are coming to us this afternoon. "

"To stay? Who are they?"

"Sir William and Lady Amys--and Lord Dymchurch--"

"Dymchurch! Lady Ogram has invited him?"

"He would hardly come to stay without being invited, " said May, archly. "But I thought you most likely knew. Didn't Lady Ogram mention it toyou?"

"Not a word, " answered Dyce. "No doubt she had a reason for sayingnothing. You, possibly, could suggest it?"

His face had changed. There was cold annoyance in his look and in hisvoice. 

"It must have been mere accident, " said May. 

"That it certainly wasn't. How long will Dymchurch stay?"

"I have no idea, Mr. Lashmar. --I must leave you. Many thanks for takingso much trouble to bring me the news. "

She held out her hand. Dyce took and detained it. 

"I am going to stay on at Hollingford, " he said, "at the hotel. I shallrun up to town this evening, but be back to-morrow. At lunchtime to-dayI shall see you, but of course that doesn't count; we shan't be able totalk, Wednesday, to-morrow; on Thursday morning meet me here again, will you?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Lashmar, " she answered withself-possession; trying, unobtrusively, to withdraw her hand. 

"I beg you to! Indeed, you must. "

He tried the power of a smile meant to be at once virile and tender, but May was steadily drawing away her hand; he had not the courage tohold it forcibly. 

"We shall find other opportunities of talking about the things thatinterest us, " she said, moving a step back. 

"It surprises me that you came this morning!" Dyce exclaimed, with atouch of sarcasm. 

"Then, " May answered loftily, "you will be spared a second surprise. "

She turned and left him. Dyce, after watching for a moment her gracefulfigure, strode in pursuit. They were near the summer-house. 

"You are forgetting, " he said, "that you have left the key in the door. "

May uttered an exclamation of alarm. 

"How foolish of me! Thank you so much!"

"I fear I must give you the trouble of walking back, to let me out. "

"Why, of course. "

They returned to the door, and Dyce again took the offered hand. 

"I shall be here at eight on Thursday, " he said. "Unless it rains. Inthat case, on the first fine morning. "

"I don't promise to meet you. "

"I will come without a promise. "

"As you like, " said May, slowly closing the door upon him. "But don'tprepare for yourself another surprise. "

She regained the house, having met no one but a gardener. Within, sheencountered no one at all. Safe in her room, she reflected on themorning's adventure, and told herself that it had been, in a doublesense, decidedly dangerous. Were Constance Bride or Lady Ogram to knowof this clandestine rendezvous, what a storm would break! On thataccount alone she would have been glad of what she had done. But shewas glad, also, of Lashmar's significant behaviour and language. Heperceived, undoubtedly, that the anonymous letter came from her, and, be the upshot what it might, their romantic intimacy gave life a newzest. May flattered herself that she knew the tremours of amorousemotion. "If I liked, I _could_ be really, really in love!" This wasdelightful experience; this was living! Dangerous, yes; for how did shemean to comport herself in the all but certain event of her receivingan offer of marriage from Lord Dymchurch? Mrs. Toplady was right; LadyOgram had resolved upon this marriage, and would it be safe to thwartthat strong-willed old woman? Moreover, the thought was very tempting. A peeress! Could she reasonably look for such another chance, if thiswere lost? Was she prepared to sacrifice it for the sake of DyceLashmar, and the emotional joys he represented?

She thought of novels and poems. Browning was much in her mind. She sawherself as the heroine of psychological drama. How interesting! Howthrilling! During her life at Northampton, she had dreamed of suchthings, with no expectation of their ever befalling her. Truly, she wasfortune's favourite. Destiny had raised her to the sphere where herpowers and sensibilities would have full play. 

So it was with radiant face that she appeared at the breakfast table. Constance and she shook hands as usual; with everyday words. It seemedto her that she saw disquiet in the secretary's countenance--after all, what was Miss Bride but a salaried secretary? Lashmar's betrothed mightwell suffer uneasiness, under the circumstances; _she_, it was obvious, did not regard the engagement as a mere pretence. No, no; ConstanceBride was ambitious, and thought it a great thing to marry a man with aparliamentary career before him. She was of a domineering, jealousnature, and it would exasperate her to feel that Lashmar merely usedher for his temporary purposes. Noble self-sacrifice, indeed! Lashmarhimself did not believe that. Best of all things, at this moment, Maywould have liked to make known her power over Lashmar, and to say, "Ofcourse, dear Miss Bride, he is nothing whatever to me. In my position, you understand--"

There had been a few moments' silence, when Constance asked:

"Do you ever hear of Mr. Yabsley?"

Was the woman a thought-reader? At that instant May had beenthinking--the first time for weeks, perhaps--of her Admirable Crichtonin the old Northampton days, and reflecting with gratification on thevast change which had come upon her life and her mind since shefollowed Mr. Yabsley's spiritual direction. Startled, she gazed at thespeaker. 

"How odd that you should have remembered his name!"

"Not at all. I heard it so often when you first came here. "

"Did you?" said May, pretending to be amused. "Mr. Yabsley is aremarkable man, and I value his friendship. You remind me that I reallyought to write to him. "

Constance seemed to lose all her interest in the matter, and spoke ofsomething trivial. 

In the course of the morning there happened a singular thing. 

Lady Ogram rose earlier than usual. Before leaving her room, she readin the _Hollingford Express_ all about the sudden death of Mr. Robb. The event had kept her awake all night. Though on the one side adisappointment, for of late she had counted upon Robb's defeat at thenext election as an all but certain thing, the fact that she hadoutlived her enemy, that he lay, as it were, at her feet, powerlessever again to speak an insulting word, aroused all the primitiveinstincts of her nature. With the exultation of a savage she gloatedover the image of Robb stricken to the ground. Through the hours ofdarkness, she now and then sang to herself, and the melodies were thoseshe had known when a girl, or a child, common songs of the street. Itwas her chant of victory and revenge. 

Having risen, she went into the drawing-room on the same floor as herbedchamber, and summoned two menservants. After her first seriousillness, she had for a time been carried up and down stairs in a chairmade for that purpose; she now bade her attendants fetch the chair, andconvey her to the top story of the house. It was done. In her hand shehad a key, and with this she unlocked the door of that room which hadbeen closed for half a century. Having stood alone within the garretfor a few minutes, she called to the men, who, on entering, looked withcuriosity at dust-covered forms in clay and in marble. Their mistresspointed to a bust which stood on a wooden pedestal some three feet high. 

"You are to clean that. Bring water and soap. I will wait here whilstyou do it. "

The task was quickly performed; the marble shone once more, and itspedestal of lustrous black looked little the worse for long seclusion. Lady Ogram sat with her eyes fixed upon the work of art, and for aminute or two neither moved nor spoke. 

"Who is that?" she inquired suddenly, indicating the head, and turningher look upon the two men. 

"I think it is yourself, my lady, " answered the bolder of the two. 

Lady Ogram smiled. That use of the present tense was agreeable to her. 

"You are to take it down to the green drawing-room. Carry me there, first, and I will show you where to place it. "

Arrived at the ground-floor, she quitted her chair and walked into thedrawing-room with step which was almost firm. Here, among the flowersand leafage, sat May Tomalin, who, surprised at her aunt's earlyappearance, rose forward with an exclamation of pleasure. 

"How well you look this morning, aunt!"

"I'm glad you think so, my dear, " was the pleased and dignified reply. "Be so kind, May, as to go into the library, and wait there until Isend for you. "

The girl turned pale. For a moment, she thought her escapade of thismorning had been discovered, and that terrible things were about tohappen. Her fright could not escape Lady Ogram's observation. 

"What, have I frightened you? Did it remind you of being sent into thecorner when you were a little girl?"

She laughed with discordant gaiety. 

"Really, for the moment I thought I was being punished, " replied May. And she too laughed, a melodious trill. 

A quarter of an hour passed. Lady Ogram presented herself at thelibrary door, and saw May reading, whilst Constance Bride sat writingat the table. 

"Come, both of you!"

Surprised at the look and tone with which they were summoned, the twofollowed into the drawing-room, where, guided by Lady Ogram's glance, they became aware of a new ornament. They approached; they gazed; theywondered. 

"Who is that?" asked their conductress, turning to Miss Bride. 

Constance felt no doubt as to the person whom the bust was supposed torepresent, and her disgust at what she thought the shameless flatterypractised by the sculptor hardly allowed her to reply. 

"Of course, " she said, in as even a voice as possible, "it is aportrait of Miss Tomalin. "

Lady Ogram's eyes shone; on the point of laughing, she restrainedherself, and looked at her niece. 

"May, what do _you_ think?"

"Really, aunt, I don't know what to think, " answered the girl, in ahappy confusion. "If Miss Bride is right--it's very, very kind of you. But how was it done without my sitting?"

This time, the old lady's mirth had its way. 

"How, indeed! There's a mystery for you both, my dears!--May, it's trueyou are like me, but don't let Constance make you conceited. Go near, and look at the date carved on the marble. "

"Why, aunt, of course it is you yourself!" exclaimed the girl, heraverted face long-drawn in mortification; she saw the smile with whichMiss Bride had received this disclosure. "How wonderful!"

"You can hardly believe it?"

Some incredulity might have been excused in one who turned from thatsuperb head, with its insolent youth and beauty, to the painteddeath-mask grinning there before it. Yet the marble had not flattered, and, looking closely enough, you saw a reminiscence of its contour inthe bloodless visage which, since that proud moment, had chronicled thepassions of three-score years. 

"How stupid not to have understood at once, " said May, the epithetprivately directed towards Constance. 

"It's a magnificent bust!" declared Miss Bride, examining it now withsincere interest. "Who was the sculptor, Lady Ogram?"

"My husband, " answered the old lady, with pride. "Sir Quentin had muchtalent, and this was the best thing he ever did. "

"And it has just come into your possession?" asked May. 

"No, my dear. But I thought you would like to see it. "

An hour later, Dyce Lashmar arrived. He was conducted at once to thedrawing-room, where Lady Ogram still sat with May and Constance. 

"I expected you, " cried the senile voice, on a high note. 

"I heard the news at dinner-time yesterday;" said Lashmar. "Just caughtthe last train, and sat up half the night with Breakspeare. "

"I sent you a telegram the first thing this morning, " said Lady Ogram. "Had you left Alverholme before it arrived?"

"I was in town, " answered Dyce, only now remembering that he had toaccount for his movements. "A letter called me up yesterday morning. "

The old autocrat was in no mood for trifling explanations. She passedthe point, and began to ask the news from Hollingford. Who would be theConservative candidate? They talked, said Dyce, of a stranger to thetown, a man named Butterworth, one of Robb's private friends. 

"It's Butterworth of the hoardings--Butterworth's jams and pickles, youknow. He's made a million out of them, and now thinks of turning hisenergies to the public service. Robb, it seems, didn't mean to faceanother election, and of late had privately spoken here and there ofButterworth. "

"Jams and pickles!" cried Lady Ogram, with a croaking laugh. "Will theHollingford Tories stand that?"

"Why not? Robb evidently thought they would, and he knew them. Butterworth is a stout Unionist, I'm told, and if he makes anothermillion he may look for a peerage. Jam has not hitherto been thought sorespectable as ale or stout, but that's only a prejudice. Robb'senlightened mind saw the budding aristocrat. Breakspeare is thinkingout an article on the deceased champion of aristocratic traditions, tobe followed by another on the blazonry of the jam-pot and pickle-jar. We shall have merry reading when decorum releases our friend's pen. "

As his eyes stole towards May Tomalin, Dyce perceived the marble bust. He gazed at it in silent surprise. The looks of all were upon him;turning, he met smiles of inquiry. 

"Well?" said Lady Ogram, bluntly. 

"Who is that? Is it a new work?" he inquired, with diffidence. 

"It looks new, doesn't it?"

"I should have thought, " said Dyce, reflectively, "that it representedLady Ogram at about the same age as in the painting. "

"Constance, " exclaimed the old lady, vastly pleased, "congratulate Mr. Lashmar. "

"Then I am right, " cried Dyce, encountering Constance's look. "What afine bit of work! What a magnificent head!"

He moved nearer to it, and continued freely to express his admiration. The resemblance to May Tomalin had struck him, he thought it probablethat some sculptor had amused himself by idealising the girl'ssuggestive features; but at this juncture it seemed to him moreprudent, as in any case it would be politic, to affect to see only arevival of Lady Ogram's youth. It startled him to find that his tacthad guided him so well. 

He continued to behave with all prudence, talking through luncheonchiefly with the hostess, and directing hardly a remark to May, who, onher side, maintained an equal discretion. Afterwards, he saw Lady Ogramin private. 

"You mean to stay on at the hotel, no doubt, " she said. "Yes, it'll bemore convenient for you than if you came here. But look in and let usknow how things go on. Let me see, to-morrow is Wednesday; don't cometo-morrow. On Thursday I may have something to tell you; yes, come andlunch on Thursday. You understand--on Thursday. And there's somethingelse I may as well say at once; the expenses of the election are myaffair. "

Dyce began a grateful protest, but was cut short. 

"I say that is my affair. We'll talk about it when the fight is over. No petty economies! In a day or two, when things are in order, we musthave Breakspeare here. Perhaps you had better go away for the day ofRobb's funeral. Yes, don't be seen about on that day. Spare no usefulexpense; I give you a free hand. Only win; that's all I ask of you. Ishan't like it if you're beaten by jams and pickles. And lunch here onThursday--you understand?"

Dyce had never known the old autocrat so babblingly iterative. Nor hadhe ever beheld her in such a mood of gaiety, of exultation. 

"Go and have a word with Constance, " she said at length. "I ratherthink she's going into the town; if so, you can go together. She's ingreat spirits. It isn't her way to talk much, but I can see she feelsvery hopeful. By the bye, I'm expecting Sir William before dinner--SirWilliam Amys, you know. He may be here still when you come on Thursday. "

Why Lady Ogram should be so careful to conceal the fact' that LordDymchurch was expected, Dyce found it difficult to understand. But itwas clear that Dymchurch had been invited in the hope, perhaps thecertainty, that he would propose to May Tomalin. That he was coming atall seemed, indeed, decisive as to his intentions. Plainly, the oldschemer had formed this project at the time of her visit to London, and, improbable as the thing would have appeared to any one knowingDymchurch, she was carrying it successfully through. On the one side;but how about May? Dyce tried to assure himself that, being in lovewith _him_, May would vainly be wooed by anyone else. But had she thecourage to hold out against her imperious relative? Could she safely doso? The situation was extremely disquieting. He wished it were possibleto see May alone, even for a minute. But he did not see her at all, and, as Lady Ogram had suggested, he found himself obliged to return toHollingford in Constance's company. They drove in the landau. On theway, Dyce made known to his companion Lady Ogram's generous intentions. 

"I knew she would do that, " said Constance, regarding him with thesmile which betrayed her inmost thoughts. 

Because of the proximity of their coachman, they talked in subduedtones, their heads close together. To Lashmar this intimacy meantnothing at all; Constance, in his busy thoughts, was as good asnon-existent. He had remarked with vexation the aspect of renewedvigour presented by Lady Ogram, and would have spoken of it, but thathe felt ashamed to do so. 

"Don't you think, " asked his companion, "that everything is goingwonderfully well with you?"

"It looks so, for the present. "

"And, after all, whom have you to thank for it?"

"I don't forget, " Dyce replied, wondering whether she alluded to thefact of her having introduced him to the mistress of Rivenoak, or tothe terms of their engagement. 

"If you win the election, don't you think it would be graceful not onlyto feel, but to show, a little gratitude?"

She spoke in a voice which once more reminded him of the summer-houseon that rainy morning, a voice very unlike her ordinary utterance, softand playfully appealing. 

"Don't be so severe on me, " answered Dyce, with a laugh. "I am not_all_ self-interest. "

He added what was meant for a reassuring look, and began to talk ofelectioneering details. 

CHAPTER XXI

Lady Ogram's life had been much guided by superstition. No one knew it, or suspected it, for this was among the tokens of her origin which shecarefully kept out of sight. Through all the phases of her avowedbelief, she remained subject to a private religion of omens andauspices, which frequently influenced her conduct. Thus, she would longago have brought forth and displayed that marble visage of her beautyin its prime, but for a superstitious fear which withheld her. On thenight before Sir Quentin's death, she dreamt that she ascended to thegarret, took the bust in her arms, and carried it downstairs. Manyyears went by, and again she had the same dream; the next day her firstserious illness fell upon her, and, remembering the vision, she gaveherself up for lost; but the sign this time had less than fatalsignificance. Now once more, on the Sunday night of the present week, she seemed to enter the locked garret, and to carry away the marble. All Monday she lived in a great dread, but at evening came the newsthat her arch-enemy was no more, and behold the vision explained!

On Monday night she dreamt not at all, being kept awake by exultationin what had happened and forecast of triumphs soon to be enjoyed. Buther thoughts turned constantly to the graven image which she longed tosee, and, by a process of reasoning natural to such a mind as hers, shepersuaded herself that now was the moment to fulfil her desire. Thebust once brought down, she would not again dream of going to seek it, and, consequently, it could not serve again to augur evil. Not withouttremors, she executed her resolve, and, the thing once done, her joywas boundless. Looking on that marble face, she seemed to recoversomething of the strength and spirit it had immortalised. Notwithstanding her restless night, she felt so clear in mind, so wellin body, that the forebodings which had perturbed her since herexhausting visit to London were quite dismissed. To-day Lord Dymchurchwas coming; to-morrow May's betrothal would be a fact to noise abroad. She would then summon Kerchever, and in the presence of Sir WilliamAmys, the trusty friend sure to outlive her, would complete that lastwill and testament which was already schemed out. Twice already had sheexecuted a will, the second less than a year ago. When in town, she hadsufficiently discussed with her man of law the new situation broughtabout by her discovery of May Tomalin; but the hope which she connectedwith Lord Dymchurch bade her postpone awhile the solemn signature. Allhad come to pass even as she desired, as she resolved it should. To theend she was supreme in her own world. 

When her guests arrived--all travelled from London by the sametrain--she received them royally. She had clad herself with unusualmagnificence; on the shrivelled parchment of her cheeks shone anaudacious bloom; her eyes gleamed as if in them were concentrated allthe proud life which still resisted age and malady. Rising from herbowered throne in the drawing-room, she took a step towards Lady Amys, pressed her hand cordially--not at all feebly--and welcomed her withaffectionate words. The baronet she addressed as "Willy, " but with sucha dignity of kindness in the familiar name that it was like bestowal ofan honour. Towards the peer her bearing was marked with grave courtesy, softening to intimate notes as their conversation progressed. Scarce atouch of senility sounded in her speech; she heard perfectly, indulgedin no characteristic brusquerie of phrase, fulfilled every formalityproper to the occasion. 

Sir William and his wife were the only people of their world who hadalways seen the lady of Rivenoak in her better aspect; who, whilstappreciating the comedy of her life, regarded her with genuinefriendship. They understood the significance of Lord Dymchurch's visit, and, like Mrs. Toplady, though in a much more human spirit, awaitedwith amusement the successful issue of Lady Ogram's scheme. They saw noharm in it. Dymchurch, it might well be, had fallen in love with thehandsome girl, and it was certain that her wealth would be put to muchbetter use in his hands than in those of the ordinary man who wedsmoney. Lady Ogram's deliberate choice of this landless peer assuredlydid her credit. She wanted the peerage for her niece; but it would nothave been difficult to gratify her ambition in a more brilliant way, had she cared less for the girl's welfare. Society being what it is, they did not see how their energetic old friend could have acted moreprudently and kindly. 

At dinner there was much pleasant talk. The baronet's vein of humourouscriticism flowed freely. Walking through London streets this morning, his eye had caught sight of a couple of posters which held him inmeditation. 

"One was a huge picture of an ox, and beneath it one read in greatletters that sixty thousand bullocks are annually slaughtered for themanufacture of Nokes's beef-tea. The other advertised Stokes's pills, and informed the world, in still bigger lettering, that, every minuteof the day, seven of these pills 'reached their destination. 'Delightful phrase! 'Reached their destination. ' And this, you see, ishow we adorn the walls of our cities. It is not only permitted, butfavoured. I am quite sure that a plebiscite, if some more civilisedalternative were offered, would pronounce in favor of the bullocks andthe pills, as much more interesting. Yet to my mind, spoilt bypottering among old pictures, that bit of wall was so monstrous in itshideousness that I stood moon-stricken, and even yet I haven't got overit. I shall dream to-night of myriads of bullocks massacred forbeef-tea, and of an endless procession of pills--reaching theirdestination. I ask myself, in my foolish theoretic way, what earthlyright we have to lay claim to civilisation. How much better it would bealways to speak of ourselves as barbarians. We should then, perhaps, make some endeavour to improve. The barbarian who imagines himself onthe pinnacle of refinement is in a parlous state--far more likely toretrograde than to advance. "

"There should be a league of landowners, " said Miss Tomalin, "pledgedto forbid any such horror on their own property. "

"I don't know that I have much faith in leagues, " returned Sir William. "I am a lost individualist. Let everyone try to civilise himself;depend upon it, it's the best work he can do for the world at large. "

"And yet, " put in Lord Dymchurch, "the world can't do without apostles. Do you think mere example has ever availed much?"

"Perhaps not. I would say that I don't care. Do you really believe thatthe world ever _will_ be much more civilised than it is? In successiveepochs, there are more or fewer persons of liberal mind--that's all;the proportion rises and falls. Why should we trouble about it? Letthose of us who really dislike the ox and pill placards, keep as muchout of sight of them as possible, that's all. It doesn't do to thinkover much about the problems of life. Nowadays almost everybody seemsto feel it a duty to explain the universe, and with strange results. For instance, I read an article last night, a most profound article, altogether too much for my poor head, on the question of right andwrong. Really, I had supposed that I knew the difference between rightand wrong; in my blundering way, I had always tried to act on theknowledge. But this writer proves to me that I shall have to begin allover again. 'Morality, ' he says, 'depends upon cerebral oxidation. 'That's a terrible dictum for a simpleminded man. If I am not cerebrallyoxidised, or oxidally cerebrised, in the right degree, it's all overwith my hopes of leading a moral life. I'm quite sure that a largenumber of people are worrying over that article, and asking how theycan oxidise if not their own cerebellum, at all events that of theiroffspring. "

"Man and nature, " said Lord Dymchurch presently, "have such differentviews about the good of the world. "

"That, " exclaimed the baronet, "is a very striking remark. Let me giveyou an illustration of its truth. Years ago I had an intimate friend, awonderfully clever man, who wrote and published a delightful littlebook. Few such books have ever been written; it was a marvel ofdelicate thought and of exquisite style. The half-dozen readers whocould appreciate it cried aloud that this man had a great future, thathis genius was a jewel which the world would for ever prize--and so on. Well, my friend married, and since then he has written nothing, norwill he ever again. I know people who lament his fate, who declare thatmarriage was his ruin, and a crime against civilisation. The other day, I called upon him--not having seen him for ages. I found a ratheruncomfortable little house, a pretty, dull little wife, and threebeautiful children in the most vigorous health. 'Alas!' said my friendto me in private, 'I try to work, but I can do nothing. I need absolutetranquillity, such as I had when I wrote my book. I try, but domesticlife is fatal to me. ' Now, what better example of what you say, LordDymchurch? To _us_ it seems a misfortune to the world that this mandidn't live on in bachelorhood and write more exquisite books. Butnature says 'What do I care for his _books_?' 'Look at his _children_!'That's what she meant him for, and from Nature's point of view he is atriumphant success. "

Dymchurch seemed not only amused, but pleased. He grew thoughtful, andsat smiling to himself whilst others carried on the conversation. 

The evening passed. Lady Amys gave the signal of retirement; May andConstance followed; the baronet and the peer chatted for yet a fewminutes with their hostess, then bade her good-night. But, just as hewas leaving the room, Dymchurch heard Lady Ogram call his name; hestepped back towards her. 

"I forgot to tell you, " she said, "that Mr. Lashmar will lunch with usthe day after to-morrow. Of course he is very busy at Hollingford. "

"I shall be glad to see him, " replied the other, cordially. "I wish Icould help him in any way. "

Lady Ogram resumed her seat. She was looking at the marble bust, andDymchurch, following the direction of her eyes, also regarded it. 

"Until this morning, " she said, "I hadn't seen that for more than fiftyyears. I would tell you why--but I should only send you to sleep. "

Her guest begged to hear the story, and sat down to listen. Though theday had been so unusually long and fatiguing, Lady Ogram seemed to feelno effect of it; her eyes were still lustrous she held herself with asmuch dignity as when the guests arrived. She began a narrative of suchclearness and vigour that the listener never thought of doubting itstruth; yet the story of her youth as the lady of Rivenoak wished LordDymchurch to receive it differed in very important points from thatwhich her memory preserved. Not solely, nor indeed chiefly, on her ownaccount did Arabella thus falsify the past; it was as the ancestress ofMay Tomalin that she spoke, and on behalf of May's possible children. Dymchurch, looking back into years long before he was born, saw abeautiful maiden of humble birth loyally wooed and wedded by a romanticartist, son of a proud baronet. Of course she became the butt ofcalumny, which found its chief support in the fact that the youngartist had sculptured her portrait, and indiscreetly shown it tofriends, before their marriage. Hearing these slanderous rumours, shewished all the work which represented her to be destroyed, and herhusband led her to believe that this was done; but on succeeding to thetitle, and coming to live at Rivenoak, Sir Quentin confessed that hehad not been able to destroy that marble bust which was his joy and hispride; he undertook, however, to keep it hidden under lock and key, andonly this day, this very day, had it come forth again into the light. 

"I am an old, old woman, " she said, not without genuine pathos in herutterance. "I have long outlived the few who were my enemies and spokeill of me, as well as those who knew the truth and held me in respect. I fear no one. I wanted to see how I looked when I was a girl, and Iconfess I am glad for others to see it, too. "

Dymchurch murmured that nothing could be more natural. 

"I was almost as good-looking as May, don't you think?" she asked, witha not very successful affectation of diffidence. 

"There is a likeness, " answered Dymchurch. "But--"

She interrupted his effort to describe the points of difference. 

"You very much prefer the other face. That doesn't surprise me and youneedn't be afraid to confess it. May is much better-tempered than Iwas, and she looks it. Did I ever tell you how she is related to me? Icall her my niece, but she is really the grand-daughter of my brother, who emigrated to Canada. "

Thereupon Lady Ogram sketched a portrait of that brother, depicting himas a fine specimen of the colonising Briton, breezy, sturdy, honest tothe core. She traced the history of the Canadian family, which in thedirect line had now no representative but May. Of her long search forthe Tomalins she did not think it necessary to speak; but, turning hackto her own history, she told of the son she had lost, and how all heraffections were now bestowed upon this young girl, who in truth hadbecome to her as a daughter. Then, discreetly, with no undueinsistence, she made known her intention to endow May Tomalin with thegreater part of her fortune. 

"I have lived long enough to know that money is not happiness, but inthe right hands it is a great and good thing. I have no fear of the useMay will make of it, and you can't know what a pleasure it is to beable to give it to her, to one of my own blood, my own name, instead ofleaving it to strangers, as I once feared I must. --But, " she broke offsuddenly in a changed voice, "here I keep you listening to my oldtales, when you ought to be asleep. Good-night, Lord Dymchurch!To-morrow you must see Rivenoak. Good-night!"

For her, there was again no sleep. The weather had changed; through theopen window breathed a cool, sweet air, very refreshing after the hightemperature of the last few days; but Lady Ogram in vain closed hereyes and tried to lull her thoughts to rest. It disappointed her thatDymchurch, in reply to her confidences, had spoken no decisive word. Ofcourse he would declare himself on the morrow; he would have everyopportunity for private talk with May, and of the issue there could beno serious doubt. But Lady Ogram's nerves were tortured withimpatience. In the glimmer of dawn, she wished to rise and walk about, but found herself unequal to the effort. Her head ached; her blood wasfeverish. Though it was a thing she hated to do, she summoned theattendant who lay in an adjoining room. 

At mid-day she was able to descend At the foot of the stairs, sheencountered Constance Bride, who stood glancing over a book. 

"What are they all doing?" was her first question. And, beforeConstance could reply, she asked "Where is Lord Dymchurch?"

"I saw him not long ago in the garden. "

"Alone?"

"No, with Miss Tomalin. "

"Why didn't you say so at once? Where are the others? Tell them I amdown. "

Constance delayed replying for a moment, then said with coldrespectfulness:

"You will find Sir William and Lady Amys in the drawing-room. "

"I shall find them there, shall I? And what if I don't wish to go intothe drawing-room?"

Constance looked into the angry face. In the book she was carrying, aFrench volume arrived by post this morning, she had found things whichtroubled her mind and her temper; she was in no mood for submitting toharsh dictatorship. But those blood-shot eyes and shrivelled lips, thehollow temples and drawn cheeks which told of physical suffering, stilled her irritation. 

"I will tell them at once, Lady Ogram. "

Dymchurch and May Tomalin had strayed from the garden into the park. They were sitting on a bench which encircled a great old tree. For someminutes neither had spoken. Dymchurch held in his hand a last year'sleaf, brown, crisp, but still perfect in shape; he smiled dreamily, and, as his eyes wandered to the girl's face, said in a soft undertone:

"How easily one loses oneself in idle thoughts! I was asking myselfwhere this grew--on which branch, which twig; and it seemed strange tome that by no possibility could anyone discover it. "

May had not a very high opinion of her companion's intelligence, but itstruck her this morning he was duller than usual. She humoured him, replying with her philosophical air:

"No, indeed! Yet we try to find out how life began, and what the worldmeans. "

Dymchurch was pleased. He liked to find her capable of such areflection. It encouraged the movements of vague tenderness which hadbegun to justify a purpose formed rather in the mind than in the heart. 

"Yes! Amusing, isn't it? But you, I think, don't trouble much aboutsuch questions. "

"It seems to me waste of time. "

She was thinking of Dyce Lashmar, asking herself whether she would meethim, or not, to-morrow morning. Certainly she wished to do so. Lashmarat a distance left her coolly reasonable; she wanted to recover theemotional state of mind which had come about during their stoleninterview. With Lord Dymchurch, though his attentions were flattering, she could not for a moment imagine herself touched by romantic feeling. 

"So it is, " he was saying. "To waste time in that way has always beenone of my bad habits. But I am going to get rid of it. "

He seemed on the point of adding more significant words. May heard thesound fail in his throat; saw without looking at him--his suddenembarrassment. When the words came, as surely they would, what was tobe her answer? She hoped for inspiration. Why should it be necessaryfor her to make precise reply? No! She would not. Freedom and theexercise of power were what she wanted. Enough to promise her answer amonth, or half a year, hence. If the old lady didn't like it, let herlearn patience. 

Dymchurch sat bending forward. The dry leaf crackled between hisfingers; he was crushing it to powder. 

"Who, " he asked, "is the lady Miss Bride was speaking of, in connectionwith the servant's training-school?"

"Mrs. Gallantry. A good, active sort of woman at Hollingford. "

"That scheme doesn't interest you much?"

"Not very much, I confess. I quite approve of it. It's just the kind ofthing for people like Miss Bride, plodding and practical; no doubtthey'll make it very useful. But I have rather lost my keenness forwork of that sort. Perhaps I have grown out of it. Of course I wish asmuch as ever for the good of the lower classes, but I feel that my ownwork will lie in another direction. "

"Tell me what you have in mind, " said Dymchurch, meeting her look withsoft eyes. 

"What I really care about now is the spirit of the educated class. There's such a great deal to be done among people of our own kind. Notof course by direct teaching and preaching, but by personal influence, exercised in all sorts of ways. I should like to set the intellectualtone in my own circle. I should like my house to--as it were, toradiate light. "

The listener could not but smile. Yet his amusement had no tincture ofirony. He himself would not have used these phrases, but was not thethought exactly what he had in mind? He, too, felt his inaptitude forthe ordinary forms of "social" usefulness; in his desire and hisresolve to "do something, " he had been imagining just this sort ofendeavour, and May's words seemed to make it less vague. 

"I quite understand you, " he exclaimed, with some fervour. "There'splenty of scope for that sort of influence. You would do your best tooppose the tendencies of vulgar and selfish society. If only in alittle circle one could set the fashion of thought, of living forthings that are worth while! And I see no impossibility. It has beendone before now. "

"I'm very glad you like the idea, " said May, graciously. Again--withoutlooking at him--she saw his lips shaping words which they could notsound; she saw his troubled, abashed smile, and his uneasy movementwhich ended in nothing at all. 

"We have some fine trees at Rivenoak, " fell from her, as her eyeswandered. 

"Indeed you have!"

"You like trees, don't you?"

"Very much. When I was a boy, I once saw a great many splendid oaks andbeeches cut down, and it made me miserable. "

"Where was that?"

"On land that had belonged to my father, and, which, for a year or two, belonged to me. "

He spoke with an uneasy smile, again crushing a brown leaf between hisfingers. May's silence compelled him to proceed. 

"I have no trees now. " He tried to laugh. "Only a bit of a farm, whichseems to be going out of cultivation. "

"But why do you let it do so?"

"It's in the hands of a troublesome tenant. If I had been wise, Ishould have learnt to farm it myself, years ago. Perhaps I shall stilldo so. "

"That would be interesting, " said May. "Tell me about it, will you?It's in Kent, I think?"

The impoverished peer spoke freely of the matter. He had been seekingthis opportunity since the beginning of their talk. Yet, before he hadceased, moral discomfort took hold upon him, and his head drooped inshame. The silence which followed--May was saying to herself that now, now the moment had come did but increase his embarrassment. He wishedto speak of his sisters, to hint at their circumstances, but the thingwas impossible. In desperation, he broke into some wholly foreignsubject, and for this morning, all hope of the decisive step had passed. 

The day brought no other opportunity. Towards midnight, Dymchurch satat the open window of his chamber, glad to be alone, anxious, self-reproachful. To-morrow he must discharge what had become anobvious duty, however difficult it might be. 

He had received a long letter from the younger of his sisters. It spokeof the other's ill health, a subject of disquiet for the past month, and went on to discuss a topic which frequently arose in thiscorrespondence the authority of the Church of Rome. A lady who had justbeen passing a fortnight at the house in Somerset was a Catholic, andDymchurch suspected her of proselytism; from the tone of the presentletter it appeared that her arguments had had considerable success. Though impartial in his judgment of the old faith, Dymchurch feltannoyed and depressed at the thought that one of his sisters, or both, might turn in that direction; he explained their religious unrest bythe solitude and monotony of their lives, for which it seemed to himthat he himself was largely to blame. Were he to marry May Tomalin, everything would at once, he thought, be changed for the better; hissisters might come forth from their seclusion, mingle with wholesomesociety, and have done with more or less morbid speculation. 

He had gone so far that honour left him no alternative. And he had gonethus far because it pleased him to do a thing which broke utterly withhis habits and prejudices, which put him into a position such as he hadnever foreseen. He was experimenting in life. 

May, he told himself, behaved very well. Never for a moment had sheworn the air of invitation; a smirk was a thing unknown to her; thefact of his titular dignity she seemed wholly to disregard. Whateverher faults he saw most of them--she had the great virtue ofunaffectedness. Assuredly he liked her; he could not feel certain thateven a warmer sentiment had not begun to breathe within him. As forMay's willingness to marry him, why, at all events, it appeared aprobability. They had some intellectual sympathies, which were likelyto increase rather than diminish. And, if the marriage would be for hima great material benefit, he hoped that May also might profit by it. 

Lady Ogram desired their union, that was clear. That she should havemade choice of _him_, was not easy to explain, for surely she mighthave wedded her niece more advantageously. But then, Lady Ogram was nomere intriguer; he thought her, on the whole, a woman of finecharacter, with certain defects so obvious that they could never be themeans of misleading anyone. She was acting, undoubtedly, in what shedeemed the best interests of her young relative--and _he_ could hardlyaccuse her of having made a mistake. 

Pacing the room, he took up a review, opened at a philosophicalarticle, and tried to read. 

"Why does man exist? Why does _anything_ exist? Manifestly because theoperations of the energies of nature, under the particular group ofconditions, compel it, just in the same way that they cause everythingelse to happen. "

He paused, and re-read the passage. Was it satire or burlesque? No, hesaw that the writer meant it for a serious contribution to humanknowledge. In disgust he flung the periodical aside. This was the kindof stuff that people feed upon nowadays, a result of the craze forquasi-scientific phraseology, for sonorous explanations of theinexplicable. Why does man exist, forsooth!--To guard his lips againstthe utterances of foolishness, and to be of what use in the world hemay. 

Before mid-day on the morrow, he would offer May Tomalin his heart andhand, offer both with glad sincerity, disregarding all else but thefact that to this point had destiny brought him. 

He thought of her humble origin, and rejoiced in it. His own familyhistory was an illustration of how a once genuinely noble house mightfall into decay if not renewed by alliances with more vigorous blood. May Tomalin had perfect health: she represented generations of hardy, simple folk, their energy of late recruited in the large air of Canada. Why, had he gone forth deliberately to seek the kind of wife bestsuited to him, he could not have done better than chance had done forhim in his indolent shirking existence. If he had children, they mightbe robust and comely. In May's immediate connections, there was nothingto cause embarrassment; as to her breeding it would compare more thanfavourably with that of many high-born young ladies whom Societydelights to honour. Of such young ladies he had always thought with apeculiar dread. If ever he allowed himself to dream of love andmarriage, his mind turned to regions where fashion held no sway, whereambitions were humble. May Tomalin stood between the two worlds, representing a mean which would perchance prove golden. 

So determined and courageous was his mood when he fell asleep that itdid not permit him long slumbers. A bright sunrise gleaming on a skywhich in the night had shed cool showers tempted him to rise muchbefore his usual time. He turned over a volume or two from the shelvesin the bedroom, seeking thus to keep his nerves steady and to tune hismind. Presently he thought he would take a stroll before breakfast. Itwas nearly eight o'clock; servants would be about and the door open. Heleft his room. 

Passing a great window at the end of the corridor, he glanced out uponthe garden lying behind the house. Some one was walking there it was noother than May herself. She moved quickly, in the direction of thepark; evidently bent on a ramble before her friends were stirring. Better chance could not have befallen him. He went quickly downstairs. 

But, when he had made his way to that part of the grounds where May hadappeared, she was no longer discoverable. He strode on in what seemedthe probable direction, taking, as a matter of fact, the wrong path; itbrought him into the park, but at a point whence he looked in vain forthe girl's figure. This was vexatious. Should he linger here for herreturn, or step out at a venture? He strolled vaguely for some minutes, coming at length into a path which promised pleasant things. PerhapsMay had gone to the basky hollow yonder. If he missed her, they weresure of meeting after breakfast. 

He walked towards the clustered trees. 

CHAPTER XXII

Piqued by the uneventfulness of the preceding day, May Tomalin stoleforth this morning in a decidedly adventurous frame of mind. Shescorned danger; she desired excitement. Duplicity on her part was nomore than Lord Dymchurch merited after that deliberate neglect ofopportunity under the great tree. Of course nothing irrevocable mustcome to pass; it was the duty of man to commit himself, the privilegeof woman to guard an ambiguous freedom. But, within certain limits, shecounted on dramatic incidents. A brisk answer to her tap on the door inthe park wall made her nerves thrill delightfully. No sooner had sheturned the key than the door was impatiently pushed open from without. 

"Quick!" sounded Lashmar's voice. "I hear wheels on the road. --Ha! Justin time! It might be someone who would recognise me. "

He had grasped May's hand. He was gazing eagerly, amorously into herface. His emotions had matured since the meeting two days ago. 

"Tell me all the news, " he went on. "Is Dymchurch here?"

"Yes. And the others. You come to lunch to-day, of course? You will seethem. "

She recovered her hand, though not without a little struggle, whichpleased her. For all her academic modernism, May belonged to the classwhich has primitive traditions, unsophisticated instincts. 

"And what has happened?" asked Dyce, advancing as she stepped back. Hespoke like one who has a right to the fullest information. 

"Happened? Nothing particular. What could have happened?"

"I have been tormenting myself. Of course I know why Dymchurch hascome, and so do you. I can't go away in a horrible uncertainty. If Ido, I shall betray myself when I come to luncheon, so I give youwarning. "

"What do you mean!" exclaimed the girl, with an air of dignitysurprised. 

"Tell me the truth. Has Dymchurch spoken?"

"Many times, " answered May; smiling with excessive ingenuousness. "Heis not very talkative, but he doesn't keep absolute silence--I hearthat you have been to see Mrs. Gallantry. "

"What do I care about Mrs. Gallantry! I've seen no end of people, butall the time I was thinking of you. Yesterday morning, I all but wroteto you. "

"What about?"

"All sorts of things. Of course I should have disguised my handwritingin the address. "

May avoided his look, and shaped her lips to severity. "If you had donesuch a thing--I should have been greatly displeased. I'm very glad youdidn't so far forget yourself. "

"So am I, now. Won't you tell me if anything has happened. Won't youput my mind at ease?"

"I can stay only for a few minutes. There's really nothing totell--nothing. But _you_ must have plenty of news. How are things goingon?"

Lashmar hurriedly told of two or three circumstances which seemed tofavour him in the opening campaign. There was now no doubt thatButterworth would be the Conservative candidate, and, on the whole, hisname appeared to excite but moderate enthusiasm. He broke off with animpatient gesture. 

"I can't talk about that stuff! It's waste of time, whilst I am withyou. "

"But it interests me very much, " said May, who seemed to grow calmer asDyce yielded to agitation. "Lord Dymchurch says he would gladly helpyou, if it were in his power. Don't you think he _might_ be of someuse?"

"No, I don't. Dymchurch is a dreaming nobody. "

"What a strange way to speak of him!" said May, as if slightlyoffended. "You used to have quite a different opinion. "

"Perhaps so. I didn't know him so well. There's nothing whatever in theman, and he'll never do anything as long as he lives. You know that aswell as I do. "

"I think you are mistaken, " May answered, in an absent voice, her lookbetraying some travail of the mind, as if she were really debating withherself the question of Dymchurch's prospects. 

"Do you mean that?" cried Lashmar, with annoyance. 

"I certainly shouldn't call him a 'dreaming nobody, '" replied May, inthe tone of dignified reproof. "Lord Dymchurch is very thoughtful, andvery well-informed, and has very high principles. "

"One may admit all that. All I meant was that there is no career beforehim. Would anyone dream of comparing him, for instance, with me? Youneedn't smile. You remember the talk we had at Mrs. Toplady's, thatevening. I know my own qualities, and see no use in pretending that Idon't. --But what are we talking about! Of course you care nothing forDymchurch. I know that very well. If you did, you wouldn't be here. "

He ended on a little laugh of triumph, and therewith, catching hold ofboth her hands, he drew her gently forward, looked close into her face, murmured "May! My beautiful May!" In that moment there came thestrangest look upon May's countenance, a look of alarm, almost ofterror. Her eyes were turned to a spot among the trees, some ten yardsaway. Dyce, seeing the sudden change of her expression, turned in thedirection of her gaze. He was just in time to perceive the back of aretreating figure, which disappeared behind bushes. 

"Who was that?" he asked in a startled voice. 

May could only whisper. 

"It was Lord Dymchurch. "

"I thought so. Confound that fellow! What is he doing here at this timeof the morning?"

"He saw us, " said May, her cheeks burning. "Oh, who could haveexpected--! He saw us distinctly. I shouldn't wonder if he heard whatyou were saying Why, " she added, angrily, "did you speak so loud?"

"Nonsense! He couldn't hear at that distance. "

"But he had been nearer. "

"Then the fellow is a sneak! What right has he to steal upon us?"

"He didn't!" cried the girl. "I saw him as he stopped. I saw his face, and how astonished he looked. He turned away instantly. "

"Well, what does it matter?" exclaimed Dyce, who was quivering withexcitement. "What do I care? What need you care? Haven't we perfectliberty to meet? After all, what _does_ it matter?"

"But you forget, " said May, "that he knows of your engagement. "

"My engagement! Let him know, and let him think what he likes! Myengagement, indeed! Why, I haven't once thought of it since I leftLondon--not once! There'll have to be an end to this intolerable stateof things. Dymchurch isn't likely to tell anyone what he sees; he's agentleman. "

"I must go in at once, " cried May, losing her head. "Somebody else maycome. Go away, please! Don't stay another minute. "

"But it's impossible. We have to come to an understanding. Listen tome, May!"

He grasped her hand, passed his other arm around her. There wasresistance, but Dyce used his strength in earnest. The girl's beautyfired him; he became the fervid lover, leaving her no choice betweenhigh resentment and frank surrender. Indignation was dying out of May'slook. She ceased to struggle, she bent her head to his shoulder. 

"Isn't that much better?" he whispered, laughingly. "Isn't that the wayout of our difficulties?"

May allowed him to breathe a few more such soothing sentences, thenspoke with troubled accent. 

"But you don't understand. What must Lord Dymchurch think ofme--believing that you are engaged?"

"I'll tell him the truth. I'll go and tell him at once. "

"But still you don't understand. My aunt wants me to marry him. "

"I know she does, and know she'll be disappointed, " cried Dyce, exultantly. 

"But do you suppose that Lord Dymchurch will stay here any longer? Hewill leave this very morning, I'm sure he will. My aunt will want toknow what it means. There'll be dreadful explanations. "

"Keep calm, May. If we lose our courage, it's all over with us. We haveto deal boldly with Lady Ogram. Remember that she is very old and weak;I'm perfectly sure she can't resist you and me if we speak to her inthe proper way--quietly and reasonably and firmly. We have made up ourminds, haven't we? You are mine, dearest May! There's no more doubtabout _that_!"

"Miss Bride will be our deadly enemy, " said May, again yielding to hiscaresses. 

"Enemy!" Dyce exclaimed. "Why?"

"Surely you don't need to be told. She dislikes me already (as I doher), and now she will hate me. She'll do her best to injure us withLady Ogram. "

"You're mistaken. I have only to see her and talk to her--as I will, this morning. Before luncheon, she shall be firmly on our side, Ipromise you! Don't have the least anxiety about _her_. The only seriousdifficulty is with Lady Ogram. "

"You mean to tell Miss Bride the truth?" exclaimed May. "You mean totell her what has happened this morning? I forbid you to do so! I_forbid_ you!"

"I didn't mean anything of the kind, " replied Lashmar. "To Dymchurch ofcourse I shall speak quite freely: there's no choice. To Miss Bride Ishall only say that I want our sham engagement to come to an end, because I am in love with _you_. The presence of Dymchurch here will bequite enough to explain my sudden action don't you see? I assure you, she must be made our friend, and I can do it. "

"If you do, it'll be a miracle, " said May, with a face of uttermisgiving. 

"It would be, perhaps, for any other man. Now, we have no time to lose. I must see Dymchurch immediately. I shall hurry round inside the parkwall, and come up to the front of the house, like an ordinary visitor. Election business will account for the early hour, if Lady Ogram hearsabout it; but she isn't likely to be down before eleven, is she? Don'tlet us lose any more time, darling. Go back quietly, and let no one seethat anything has happened. Don't worry; in a quarter of an hour, Dymchurch shall know that there's not a shadow of blame upon you. "

"He won't believe that story. If he does, he'll think it verydishonourable. "

Dyce checked the words in amorous fashion, but they conveyed anunpleasant truth, which he turned about in his mind as he hastenedtowards the interview with Dymchurch. For once in his life, however, hesaw a clear course of action before him, indicated alike by interestand by honour. He was roused by supreme impulse and necessity; seeinghim as he strode along, you might have supposed him bent on some veryhigh purpose, so gallantly did he hold his head, and so radiant was hisvisage. There are men capable of viewing themselves as heroes in veryunheroic situations, and Lashmar was one of them. Because his businesswith Dymchurch and with Constance would be distinctly disagreeable, andyet he was facing it without hesitation, his conscience praised himaloud. Nothing less than brilliant issue could be the reward of suchnoble energy. 

Meanwhile, May had begun to retrace her steps through the little wood. She wished to go quickly, but was afraid, if she did so, of overtakingLord Dymchurch. In her, too, the self-approving mind was active; sheapplauded herself for having given the preference to love overambition. With the choice of becoming a peeress, she had bestowed herbeauty, intellect, wealth upon a man who had nothing to offer but hishopes. Was not this nobler than any nobility of rank? Thesentimentality of a hundred novels surged within her; verses ofBrowning chanted in her brain. "Love is best!" She walked a heroine ofpassion. All obstacles would fall before her burning resolve. This wasliving in high romance!

She passed from among the trees into the open park and there before herstood the man she least wished to see. He had evidently been waiting;he began to move towards her. A score of more or less ingenious liesrose to her tongue, instinctively; but she remembered that deceit wasnot called for. Lord Dymchurch had raised his hat. He looked verygrave, but not at all ill-tempered. May did not offer her hand. Afterthe "good-morning, " he walked beside her, and at once began to speak. 

"I find I must leave Rivenoak, Miss Tomalin. " His voice was low, gentle, not unkind. 

"Must you indeed, Lord Dymchurch?"

"I'm afraid I must, " he answered quietly. 

"I am _so_ sorry. But you will be able to see Lady Ogram?"

"I fear not. I wish to leave almost at once. "

They were drawing near to the garden. Dymchurch paused, glanced at hiscompanion with sad eyes, and, his look cast down, again spoke. 

"Miss Tomalin, I came here wishing to ask you to be my wife. Only afoolish shyness prevented me from doing so yesterday. This morning, Iknow that it would be too late. Pray forgive me for speaking of thematter at all. I feel obliged to explain myself. Perhaps I had bettermake the explanation complete by saying that I saw you go through thegarden, and followed in the same direction, hoping for an opportunityof speaking with you alone. "

May felt that a man in this position could not well have conductedhimself more kindly and delicately. No hint in look or voice that hethought her behaviour extraordinary; he had been defeated by a rival, that was all; his tone begged excuse for unwilling intrusion upon herprivacy. But for the hopelessly compromising moment at which he hadarrived, probably he would have given her all benefit of the doubt, andin one way or another, would still have prosecuted his wooing. Verynervous and confused, she made what seemed to her an appropriate answer. 

"Thank you very much, Lord Dymchurch. I had so hoped we could befriends--simply friends. Do let me think of you still in that way. "

"Will you give me a proof of friendship, " said the other, smilingkindly, "by permitting me to tell Lady Ogram, in a note I shall leavefor her, that you have declined my offer of marriage?"

This, thought May, was indeed a smoothing of her difficulties. Sheglanced at the speaker with gratitude. 

"You will really do that? How generous of you, Lord Dymchurch!"

"Allow me to leave you now, Miss Tomalin. I must prepare for myjourney. "

May offered her hand. Dymchurch just perceptibly pressed it, salutedwith the gravest politeness, and walked away. 

On the terrace before the house, he encountered Lashmar, who came up tohim with a glowing countenance. 

"I hoped I should find you here. Nothing could be better. Just amoment's talk. "

Dyce had thrust out a hand, but as the other appeared not to see it, hedrew it hack again as naturally as he could. Dymchurch stood waiting inan attitude of cold civility. 

"It's rather a delicate matter. Accident has obliged me to speak;otherwise, I shouldn't, of course, have troubled you with my privateaffairs. I wish to tell you that the engagement which once existedbetween Miss Bride and myself is at an end. "

"I presumed so, " was the reply, spoken with unmoved features. 

"Also, that Miss Tomalin has for some days been aware of this state ofthings. "

"I took it for granted. "

"So that, " Dyce continued, in a stumbling way, "you won't retain anydisagreeable impression from this morning's incident? I am very gladindeed to have been able to see you at once. It puts an end to anatural uneasiness on both sides. "

"I am obliged to you, " said Dymchurch. 

With a bow and a look past his interlocutor, he turned to enter thehouse. 

As soon as he had disappeared, Lashmar followed, and rang the doorbell. Of the servant who came, he asked whether Miss Bride was downyet. The domestic went to inquire. Waiting in the hall, Dyce heard afootstep behind him; he turned and saw May, who, with featuresdiscomposed, just met his eyes and hurried away up the staircase. Whenthe servant returned, it was with a request that Mr. Lashmar would stepinto the library. There, in a few minutes, Constance joined him. 

"You are early!" she exclaimed. "No bad news, I hope?"

"No. But I want a little quiet talk with you. Of course it's absurd tocome at this hour. You know I lunch here to-day, and I couldn't havegone through with it without seeing you in private. I'm in a queerstate of mind; very much upset; in fact, I never felt such need of atrue friend to consult. "

Constance kept her eyes fixed upon him. She had been up for a couple ofhours, reading in the French book which had reached her yesterday. Thesame volume had occupied her till long after midnight. Her face showedthe effects of over-study. 

"Tell me all about it, " she said, with voice subdued to the note ofintimacy, and look in which there shone an indulgent kindliness. 

"You have often said that you wished me well, that you desired to helpme in my career. "

"Have I not done more than say it?" returned the other, softly. 

"Indeed you have! Few women would have been capable of suchself-sacrifice on a friend's behalf. You know the law of human nature;we always make old kindness a reason for demanding new. Again I am cometo ask your help, and again it involves heroism on your part. "

The listener's face grew troubled; her lips lost their suavity. Lashmar's eyes fell before her look. 

"I feel ashamed, " he went on, with an uneasy movement of his hands. "It's too bad to expect so much of you. You have more pride than mostpeople, yet I behave to you as if you didn't know the meaning of theword. Do, I beg, believe me when I say that I am downright ashamed, andthat I hardly know how to tell you what has happened. "

Constance did not open her lips; they were sternly compressed. 

"I want you, " Dyce continued, "first of all to consent to thetermination of our formal engagement. Of course, " he hastened to add, "that step in itself is nothing to you. Indeed, you will be rather gladof it than otherwise; it relieves you from an annoying and embarrassingsituation, which only your great good-nature induced you to accept. ButI ask more than that. I want it to be understood that our engagementhad ended when I last left Rivenoak. Can you consent to this? Will youbear me out when I break the news to Lady Ogram?"

"You propose to do that yourself?" asked Constance, with frigid sarcasm. 

"Yes, I shall do it myself. I am alone responsible for what hashappened, and I must face the consequences. "

"Up to a certain point, you mean, " remarked the same pungent voice. 

"It's true, I ask your help in that one particular. "

"You say that something has happened. Is it within my privilege to askwhat, or must I be content to know nothing more?"

"Constance, don't speak like that?" pleaded Dyce. "Be generous to theend! Haven't I behaved very frankly all along? Haven't we talked withperfect openness of all I did? Don't spoil it all, now at the criticalmoment of my career. Be yourself, generous and large-minded!"

"Give me the opportunity, " she answered, with an acid smile. "Tell whatyou have to tell. "

"But this is not like yourself, " he remonstrated. "It's a new spirit. Ihave never known you like this. "

Constance moved her foot, and spoke sharply. 

"Say what you have to say, and never mind anything else. "

Lashmar bent his brows. 

"After all, Constance, I am a perfectly free man. If you are annoyedbecause I wish to put an end to what you yourself recognise as a merepretence, it's very unreasonable, and quite unworthy of you. "

"You are right, " answered the other, with sudden change to ostentatiousindifference. "It's time the farce stopped. I, for one, have had enoughof it. If you like, I will tell Lady Ogram myself, this morning. "

"No!" exclaimed Dyce, with decision. "That I certainly do _not_ wish. Are you resolved, all at once, to do me as much harm as you can?"

"Not at all, I thought I should relieve you of a disagreeable business. "

"If you really mean that, I am very grateful. I wanted to tell youeverything, and talk it over, and see what you thought best to be done. But of course I shouldn't dream of forcing my confidence upon you. It'sa delicate matter and only because we were such intimate friends. "--

"If you will have done with all this preamble, " Constance interrupted, with forced calm, "and tell me what there is to be told, I am quitewilling to listen. "

"Well, I will do so. It's this. I am in love with May Tomalin, and Iwant to marry her. "

Their eyes met, Dyce was smiling, an uneasy, abashed smile. Constancewore an expression of cold curiosity, and spoke in a correspondingvoice. 

"Have you asked her to do so?"

"Not yet, " Lashmar replied. 

For a moment, Constance gazed at him; then she said, quietly:

"I don't believe you. "

"That's rather emphatic, " cried Dyce, affecting a laugh. "It conveys mymeaning. I don't believe you, for several reasons. One of them is--"She broke off, and rose from her chair. "Please wait; I will be back ina moment. "

Lashmar sat looking about the room. He began to be aware that he hadnot breakfasted, --a physical uneasiness added to the various forms ofdisquiet from which his mind was suffering. When Constance re-entered, he saw she had a book in her hand, a book which by its outwardappearance he at once recognised. 

"Do you know this?" she asked, holding the volume to him. "I receivedit yesterday, and have already gone through most of it. I find it veryinteresting. "

"Ah, I know it quite well, " Dyce answered, fingering the pages. "A mostsuggestive book. But--what has it to do with our present conversation?"

Constance viewed him wonderingly. If he felt at all disconcerted, nothing of the kind appeared in his face, which wore, indeed, a look ofgenuine puzzlement. 

"Have you so poor an opinion of my intelligence?" she asked, withsubdued anger. "Do you suppose me incapable of perceiving that all thepolitical and social views you have been living upon were takendirectly from this book? I admire your audacity. Few educated men, nowadays, would have ventured on so bold a--we call it plagiarism. "

Dyce stared at her. 

"You are very severe, " he exclaimed, on the note of deprecation. "ViewsI have been 'living upon?' It's quite possible that now and thensomething I had read there chanced to come into my talk; but who giveschapter and verse for every conversational allusion? You astound me. Isee that, so far from wishing me well, you have somehow come to regardme with positive ill-feeling. How has it come about, Constance?"

"You dare to talk to me in this way!" cried Constance, passionately. "You dare to treat me as an imbecile! This is going too far! If you hadshown ever so little shame I would have thrown the book aside, andnever again have spoken of it. But to insult me by supposing that forceof impudence can overcome the testimony of my own reason! Very well. The question shall be decided by others. All who have heard youexpatiate on your--_your_ 'bio-sociological' theory shall be madeacquainted with this French writer, and form their own opinion as toyour originality. "

Lashmar drew himself up. 

"By all means. " His voice was perfectly controlled. "I have my doubtswhether you will persuade anyone to read it--people don't take veryeagerly to philosophical works in a foreign language--and I think itvery unlikely that anyone but yourself has troubled to keep in mind thetheories and arguments which you are so kind as to say I stole. What'smore, will it be very dignified behaviour to go about proclaiming thatyou have quarrelled with me, and that you are bent on giving me a badcharacter? Isn't it likely to cause a smile?"

As she listened, Constance shook with passion. 

"Are you so utterly base, " she cried, "as to stand there and deny thetruth of what I say?"

"I never argue with anyone in a rage. Why such a thing as this--apurely intellectual matter--a question for quiet reasoning--shouldinfuriate you, I am at a loss to understand. We had better talk no morefor the present. I must hope for another opportunity. "

He moved as though to withdraw, but by no means with the intention ofdoing so, for he durst not have left Constance in this mood of violenthostility. Her outbreak had astonished him; he knew not of what shemight be capable. There flashed through his mind the easy assurance hehad given to May--that Constance Bride should be persuaded to friendlyoffices on their behalf, and he had much ado to disguise hisconsternation. For a moment he thought of flattering her pride byunconditional surrender, by submissive appeal, but to that he could notbring himself. Her discovery, her contempt and menaces, had deeplyoffended him; the indeterminate and shifting sentiments with which hehad regarded her crystallised into dislike--that hard dislike whichcommonly results, whether in man or woman, from trifling with sacredrelations. That Constance had been--perhaps still was tenderly disposedto him, served merely to heighten his repugnance. To stand in fear ofthis woman was a more humiliating and exasperating sensation than hehad ever known. 

"Do as you think fit, " he added in a stern voice, pausing at a littledistance. "It is indifferent to me. In any case, Lady Ogram will soonknow how things stand, and the result must be what it will. I havechosen my course. "

Constance was regarding him steadily. Her wrath had Leased to flare, but it glowed through her countenance. 

"You mean, " she said, "that just at the critical moment of your careeryou are bent on doing the rashest thing you possibly could? And you askme to believe that you are acting in this way before you even knowwhether you have a chance of gaining anything by it?"

"It had occurred to me, " Lashmar replied, "that, when you understoodthe state of things, you might be willing to exert yourself to help me. But that was before I learnt that you regarded me with contempt, if notwith hatred. How the change has come about in you, I am unable tounderstand. I have behaved to you with perfect frankness--"

"When, for instance, you wished me to admire you as a sociologist?"

"It's incredible, " cried Dyce, "that you should harp on that paltrymatter! Who, in our time, is an original thinker? Ideas are in the air. Every man uses his mind--if he has any--on any suggestion whichrecommends itself to him. If it were worth while, I could point outmost important differences between the bio-sociological theory asmatured by me and its crude presentment in that book you have got holdof. --By the bye, how did it come into your hands?"

After an instant's reflection, Constance told him of Mrs. Toplady'sletter and the American magazine. 

"And, " he asked, "does Mrs. Toplady regard me as a contemptibleplagiarist?"

"It is probable that she has formed conclusions. "

Lashmar's eyes fell. He saw that Constance was watching him. In theturmoil of his feelings all he could do was to jerk out an impatientlaugh. 

"It's no use, " he exclaimed. "You and I have come to a deadlock. We nolonger understand each other. I thought you were the kind of woman whoma man can treat as his equal, without fear of ridiculous misconceptionsand hysterical scenes. One more disillusion!"

"Don't you think?" asked Constance, with a bitter smile, "that you arepreparing a good many others for yourself?"

"Of course I know what you mean. There are certain things it wouldn'tbe easy to discuss with you at any time; you can't expect me to speakof them at present. Suppose it an illusion. I came to you, in allhonesty, to tell you what had happened. I thought of you as my friend, as one who cared about my happiness. "

"Why this morning?"

"For the reason I began by explaining. I have to come here to lunch. "

"Would it surprise you, when you do come, to be met with the news thatLord Dymchurch has proposed to Miss Tomalin and been accepted?"

"Indeed, " Dyce answered, smiling, "it would surprise me very much. "

"Which is as much as to say that I was right, just now, in refusing tobelieve you. Do you know, " Constance added, with fresh acerbity, "thatyou cut a very poor figure? As a diplomatist, you will not go very far. As an ordinary politician, I doubt whether you can make your way withsuch inadequate substitutes for common honesty. Perhaps you _do_represent the coming man. In that case, we must look anxiously for thecoming woman, to keep the world from collapse. --Be so good, now, as toanswer a plain question. You will do so, simply because you know that Ihave but to speak half-a-dozen words to Lady Ogram, and you would bespared the trouble of coming here to lunch. What is your scheme? If Ihad been so pliant as you expected, what would you have asked of me?"

"Merely to use your influence with Lady Ogram when she is vexed bylearning that May Tomalin is not to marry Dymchurch. What could besimpler and more straightforward? Scheme there is none. I have donewith that kind of thing. I wish to marry this girl, for her own sake, but if I can keep Lady Ogram's good-will at the same time, I supposethere's nothing very base in wishing to do so?"

"You speak of 'vexation. ' Do you really imagine that that word willdescribe Lady Ogram's state of mind if she learns that Lord Dymchurchis rejected?"

"Of course there will be a scene. We can't help that. We must face it, and hope in Lady Ogram's commonsense. "

"Answer another question. How do you _know_ that May Tomalin willrefuse Lord Dymchurch?"

"I had better refuse to answer. You talk much of honour. If you knowwhat it means, you will accept my refusal as the only thing possibleunder the circumstances. "

Constance stood in hesitation. It seemed as if she might concede thispoint, but at the critical moment jealous wrath again seized her, extinguishing the better motive. 

"You will answer my question. You will tell me what has passed. "

She glared at him, and it was Lashmar's turn to betray indecision. 

"You are at my mercy, " Constance exclaimed, "and you will do as I bidyou. "

Lashmar yielded to exasperation. 

"I have enough of this, " he cried angrily. "Go and do as you please!Take your silly feminine revenge, and much good may it do you! I haveno more time to waste. "

He caught up his hat, and left the room. 

Passing the foot of the staircase, he saw someone descending. It wasMay. Involuntarily he stopped; the girl's gesture of alarm, bidding himbe off, was disregarded. He waved to her, and she joined him. 

"I've seen them both. It's all right. Keep up your courage!"

"Go! Go!" whispered May in fright. "Someone will see us. "

"At lunch!"

He pressed her hand, smiled like a general in the thick of battle, andhurried away. Scarcely had he vanished through the portal, whenConstance, issuing from the library, encountered Miss Tomalin. Mayuttered an unnaturally suave "good-morning!" The other looked her inthe eye, and said in a voice of satisfaction:

"Mr. Lashmar has just been here. Didn't you see him?"

"Mr. Lashmar?--No. "

Gazing full at the confused face, Constance smiled, and passed on. 

CHAPTER XXIII

At the door of the breakfast-room, Miss Bride was approached by LadyOgram's maid, who in an undertone informed her that Dr. Baldwin hadbeen sent for. Lady Ogram had passed a very bad night, but did not wishit to be made known to her guests, whom she hoped to meet at luncheon. Of the possibility of this, the maid declared herself very doubtful;she did not think the doctor would allow her mistress to get up. 

"Let me know when the doctor is leaving, " said Constance. "I shouldlike to see him. "

Sir William and his wife breakfasted with the two young ladies. LordDymchurch did not appear. When the others had left the room, Constanceasked a servant if his lordship was down yet, and learnt that he hadthis morning gone away, leaving a note for Lady Ogram. At the samemoment, word was brought to Miss Bride that Dr. Baldwin waited in thelibrary. Constance replied that she would see him. Then, turning to theother attendant, she asked whether Lord Dymchurch's note had beendelivered to Lady Ogram. It lay, she learnt, with the rest of themorning's letters, which the maid had not yet taken up. ThereuponConstance sought and found it, and carried it with her as she enteredthe library. 

"How do you find your patient, doctor?" she inquired, in her usual tone. 

"Quite unfit to get up to-day, though I fear she is determined to doso, " replied Dr. Baldwin. "Wonderful, the influence of her mind uponher physical state. I found her alarmingly weak, but, as usual, sheinsisted on hearing the news of the town, and something I was able totell her acted with more restorative force than any drug in thepharmacopaeia. "

"What was that?"

"Mr. Robb's will. I hear on good authority that he leaves not a pennyto our hospital. Lady Ogram was delighted. It makes the field clear forher. She declares that she will buy the site on Burgess Hillimmediately. The will is dated fifteen years ago, they say; no doubt hemeant to make another. "

"That, I am sure, was a cordial, " exclaimed Constance. "Impossible forMr. Robb to have done Lady Ogram a greater kindness. "

After a few more inquiries concerning the patient, she let the doctortake his leave. Then she stood looking at the outside of LordDymchurch's letter, and wondering what might be its contents. Beyond adoubt, they were of an explosive nature. Whatever his excuse, LordDymchurch's abrupt departure would enrage Lady Ogram. Had he beenrefused by May? Or had something come to pass which made it impossiblefor him to offer marriage something connected with Lashmar's earlyvisit this morning? That he had intended a proposal, Constance couldnot doubt. Meanwhile, she felt glad of the outbreak in prospect; hermood desired tumultuous circumstances. What part she herself would playin to-day's drama, she had not vet decided; that must largely dependupon events. Her future was involved in the conflict of passions anddesigns which would soon be at its height. How much it would havehelped her could she have read through the envelope now in her hand!

There came a knock to the door. Lady Ogram wished to speak with MissBride. 

It was the rarest thing for the secretary to be summoned to herladyship's bedroom. In the ante-chamber, the maid encountered her. 

"My lady means to get up, " whispered this discreet attendant. "Shethinks herself very much better, but I am sure she is very ill indeed. I know the signs. The doctor forbade her to move, but I durstn't opposeher. "

"Does she know that Lord Dymchurch has gone?" asked Constance. 

"No, miss. I thought it better to say nothing just yet. Everythingexcites her so. "

"You were very wise. Keep silence about it until Lady Ogram leaves herroom. "

"My lady has just asked for her letters, miss. "

"Bring up those that have come by post. I will deliver the othermyself. "

Constance entered the bedroom. With cheeks already touched into ghastlysemblance of warm life, with her surprising hair provisionally rolledinto a diadem, the old autocrat lay against upright pillows. At sightof Constance, she raised her skeleton hand, and uttered a croak oftriumph. 

"Do you know the news?" followed in scarce articulate utterance. "Robb's will! Nothing to the hospital--not a penny for town charities. "

Constance affected equal rejoicing, for she knew how the singular oldphilanthropist had loathed the thought that Hollingford's new hospitalmight bear Robb's name instead of her own. 

"But I beg you not to excite yourself, " she added. "Try to thinkquietly--"

"Mind your own business!" broke in the thick voice, whilst the darkeyes flashed with exultation. "I want to know about Lord Dymchurch. What are the plans for this morning?"

"I don't think they are settled yet. It's still early. "

"How is May?"

"Quite well, I think. "

"I shall be down at mid-day, if not before. Tell Lord Dymchurch that. "

The morning's correspondence was brought in. Lady Ogram glanced overher letters, and bade Constance reply to two or three of them. Shegave, also, many instructions as to matters which had been occupyingher lately; her mind was abnormally active and lucid; at times herspeech became so rapid that it was unintelligible. 

"Now go and get to work, " she said at length, coming to an abruptclose. "You've enough to occupy you all the morning. "

Constance had paid little attention to these commands, and, onreturning to the library, she made no haste to begin upon hersecretarial duties. For more than an hour she sat brooding. Only as arelief to her thoughts did she at length begin to write letters. It wasshortly before mid-day when again there came a summons from Lady Ogram;obeying it, Constance took Lord Dymchurch's letter in her hand. 

Lady Ogram had risen. She was in the little drawing-room upstairs, reclining upon a sofa; the effort of walking thus far had exhausted her. 

"I hear that Mr. Lashmar has called this morning, " she began, halfraising herself, but at once sinking back again. "What did he comeabout? Can't he come to lunch?"

"Yes, he will be here at one o'clock, " Constance replied. 

"Then why did he come? It was before nine. What had he to say?"

"He wanted to speak to me in private. "

"Oh, I suppose that's privileged, " returned the autocrat, smiling. "What have you got there? Something just come?"

"It's a note for you from Lord Dymchurch. "

"From Lord Dymchurch? Give it me at once, then. Where is he? Whycouldn't he wait till I came down?"

She tore the envelope with weak trembling hands. Constance watched heras she read. Of a sudden, the shrunk, feeble figure sprang upright, andstood as though supported by the vigorous muscles of youth. 

"Do you know what this contains?" sounded a clear, hard voice, strangely unlike that which had just been speaking. 

"I have no idea. "

"But you knew that he had left?"

"Yes, I knew. I kept it from you till now, because I feared you werenot well enough to bear the agitation. "

"And who, " cried the other fiercely, "gave you authority to detainletters addressed to me? What have you to do with my health? When didLord Dymchurch leave?"

"Whilst we were at breakfast, " Constance answered, with a great effortat self-command. "He saw nobody. "

"Then you lied to me when you came up before?"

"I think, Lady Ogram, " said Constance, standing rigid and with whiteface, "you might give me credit for good intentions. It was nothing tome whether you heard this news then or later; but I knew that you hadpassed a sleepless night, and that the doctor had been sent for. "

"You knew--you knew!" cried the listener, with savage scorn. "Did youknow why Lord Dymchurch had gone?"

"I took it for granted that--it had something to do with Miss Tomalin. "

"Answer me in plain words, without a lie, and without shiftiness. Doyou know that Lord Dymchurch has proposed to May, and been refused?"

"I did not know it. "

"You suspected as much. "

"I thought it possible. But the business was none of mine, and I gavevery little heed to it. "

Lady Ogram had begun to totter. She let herself sink upon the sofa, andre-read the letter that shook in her hand. 

"He says he has a sister ill. Did you hear anything of that?"

"Nothing at all. "

The autocrat stared for a moment, as though trying to read Constance'sthoughts; then she waved her hand. 

"Go back to your work. Stay in the library till you hear from me again. "

Constance quivered with the impulse to make indignant reply, butprudence prevailed. She bent her head to conceal wrathful features, andin silence went from the room. 

Five minutes later, May Tomalin entered by the awful door. She knewwhat was before her, and had braced her nerves, but at the first sightof Lady Ogram a sinking heart drew all the blood from her checks. Encountering the bloodshot glare from those fleshless eye-caverns, shebegan to babble a "Good-morning, aunt!" But the words failed, and herfrightened simper, meant for a smile, passed into mere blankness ofvisage. 

"Come here, May. Is it true that you have refused Lord Dymchurch?"

The voice was less terrifying than her aunt's countenance had led herto expect. She was able to recover her wits sufficiently to make thereply she had spent all the morning in preparing. 

"Refused him? I didn't mean that. He must have misunderstood me. "

"What _did_ you mean, then?"

"I hardly knew what Lord Dymchurch meant, " answered May, trying to lookplayfully modest. 

"Let us have no nonsense, " sounded in stern accents. "Lord Dymchurchwrites me a letter, saying distinctly that he has proposed to you, andthat you have refused him, and then he goes off without a word toanyone. Did you know he was leaving this morning?"

"Certainly not, " answered the girl, with a bold plunge into mendacity. "I expected to see him at breakfast. Then I was told he was gone. Idon't understand it at all. "

From the moment of entering the room, she had put away all thought oftruthfulness. This, plainly, was no time for it. As soon as possible, she would let Dyce Lashmar know that they must feign and temporise: thepolicy of courage looked all very well from a distance, but was quiteanother thing in the presence of the mistress of Rivenoak enraged. Lashmar must caution Constance, who seemingly (much to May's surprise)had submitted to his dictation at this juncture. For a time, nothingcould be done beyond cloaking what had really happened, and soothingLady Ogram's wrath with apparent submission. 

"When did you see him last?" pursued the questioner. 

"This morning, before breakfast, for a few minutes in the garden. "

Better to be veracious so far, thought May. She might otherwise fallinto self-contradiction. 

"Was it an appointment?"

"No. By chance. I never thought of meeting him. "

"And what did he say to you? Tell me his words. "

"I couldn't possibly recall them, " said May, who had seated herself, and was becoming all but calm. "Lord Dymchurch has a very vague way oftalking. He rambles from one subject to another. "

"But didn't he say anything at all about marriage?" cried Lady Ogram, in exasperation. 

"He spoke of his position and his prospects. Perhaps he hoped I shouldunderstand--but it was all so vague. "

"Why, then, the man is a scoundrel! He never proposed to you at all, and he runs away leaving a lying letter behind him. Yet I should neverhave thought that of Lord Dymchurch. "

She fixed her eyes on May, and added fiercely:

"Are you telling me the truth?"

The girl bridled, staring straight before her with indignantevasiveness of look. 

"My dear aunt! How can you ask me such a question? Of course I may havemisunderstood Lord Dymchurch, but, if it hadn't been for what you haveonce or twice said to me, I really shouldn't ever have supposed that hemeant anything. He talks in such a rambling way--"

She grew voluble. Lady Ogram listened awhile, then cut her short. 

"Very well. There has been some queer sort of mistake, that's plain. Ishould like to know what Lord Dymchurch means. Why couldn't he see me, like an honest man? It's very extraordinary, this running away beforebreakfast, saying good-bye to nobody. "

She mused stormily, her eye ever and again turning upon the girl. 

"Look here, May; do you think Constance knows anything about it?"

"I really can't say--I don't see how--"

"It was she that brought me his letter. Do you think he spoke to her?"

"About me?" exclaimed May, uneasily. "Oh! I don't think so--I nevernoticed that they were friendly. "

"Ring the bell. "

Constance Bride was sent for. Some moments passed; Lady Ogram stampedimpatiently. She ordered May to ring again, and demanded why Miss Bridekept her waiting. Considerably more than five minutes had elapsedbefore the figure of the secretary appeared: her face wore anexpression of proud indifference, and at the sight of May's subdued, timid air, she smiled coldly. 

"Why have you been so long?" cried Lady Ogram. 

"I came as soon as I could, " was the clear reply. 

"Now listen to me, Constance, " broke vehemently from the bloodlesslips. "I'll have no nonsense! You understand that? I'll not be playedwith. Deceive me, or treat me in any way unbecomingly, and you shallremember it the longest day you live. I want to know whether LordDymchurch said anything to you to explain his sudden departure?"

"To me? Certainly not. "

"Now mind! I'll get at the truth of this. You know me! May says thatLord Dymchurch never proposed to her at all. What do you make of that?"

Constance glanced at Miss Tomalin, whose eyes fell. Again she smiled. 

"It's very strange, " she answered, with a certain air of sympathy. "That's really all I can say. It's impossible to have any opinion aboutsuch a personal matter, which doesn't in the least concern me. "

"Please remember, aunt, " put in May, "that I only said I didn't_understand_ Lord Dymchurch in that sense. "

"Are you a fool, girl!" screeched the autocrat, violently. "I neverthought you so, and if he had said anything that was meant for an offerof marriage, you would have understood it quickly enough. Either you'retelling me the truth, or you're lying. Either he proposed to you, or hedidn't. "

May caught the look of Constance turned upon her; it suggestedamusement, and this touched her feelings far more deeply than the oldlady's strong language. 

"I am obliged to remind you, aunt, " she said, her cheek flushing, "thatI have no experience of--of this kind of thing. If I made a mistake, Ithink it's excusable. I see that Miss Bride thinks it funny, but shehas the advantage of me in age, and in--in several other ways. "

Even whilst speaking, May knew that she committed an imprudence; sheremembered all that depended upon Constance's disposition towards her. And indeed, she could not have spoken more unwisely. In the inflamedstate of Constance's pride, a feminine slap such as this sent such atingling along her nerves that she quivered visibly. It flashed intoher mind that Dyce Lashmar had all but certainly talked of her toMay--with significant look and tone, whatever his words. How much hadhe told her? Lady Ogram's voice was again heard. 

"Well, that's true. You're only a child, and perhaps you said somethingwhich sounded as you didn't mean it. "

Constance was gazing at the speaker. Her lips moved, as if in anervously ineffectual effort to say something. 

"Miss Bride can go back to her work again, " said Lady Ogram, as ifdismissing a servant. 

May smiled, openly and disdainfully. She could not resist the pleasureof showing her superiority. The smile had not died away, when Constancespoke. 

"I will ask your permission to stay for a few minutes longer, LadyOgram. As Miss Tomalin has so satisfactorily explained her part in thisunfortunate affair, I think I had better use this opportunity formaking known to you something which concerns her, and which, I am sure, will interest you very much. It won't take me long--if you feel able tolisten. "

"What is it?" asked the autocrat, sharply. 

"You are aware that Mr. Lashmar called very early this morning. Hecame, as I said, on private business. He had something of importance totell me, and he asked my help in a great difficulty. "

"Something about the election?"

"It had nothing whatever to do with that. I'll put it in the fewestpossible words, not to waste your time and my own. Mr. Lashmar began bysaying that if I didn't mind, he would be glad to be released from hisengagement to me. "

"What!"

"Pray don't let there be any misunderstanding--this time, " saidConstance, whose grave irony was perhaps somewhat too fine for theintelligence of either of her hearers. "Mr. Lash mar behaved like a manof honour, and I quite approve of the way in which he expressedhimself. His words would have been perfectly intelligible--even to MissTomalin. Admitting his right to withdraw from the engagement if he hadconscientious objections to it, I ventured to ask Mr. Lashmar whetherthere was any particular reason for his wish to be released. He paid methe compliment of perfect frankness. His reason was, that he wished tomarry someone else. "

"And who is that?" came hoarsely from Lady Ogram. 

"Miss Tomalin. "

May had lost her natural colour. She could not take her eyes from thespeaker; her lips were parted, her forehead was wrinkled into a strangeexpression of frightened animosity. Until the utterance of her name, she had hoped against hope that Constance did not intend the worst. Forthe first time in her life, she felt herself struck without pity, andthe mere fact of such stern enmity affected her with no less surprisethan dread. She would have continued staring at Constance, had not analarming sound, a sort of moaning snarl, such as might proceed fromsome suddenly wounded beast, caused her to turn towards her aunt. Theinarticulate sound was followed by words painfully forced out. 

"Go on--what else?--go on, I tell you!"

The speaker's breath came with difficulty. She was bent forward, hereyes starting, her scraggy throat working as if in anguish. Constancehad stepped nearer to her. 

"Are you ill, Lady Ogram? Shall I call for help?"

"Go on! Go _on_, I tell you!" was the hoarse reply. "I hadn't thoughtof that. I see, now. What next did he say?"

"Mr. Lashmar, " pursued Constance, in a voice somewhat less undercontrol, "did me the honour to say that he felt sure I had only hisinterests and his happiness at heart. He knew that there might beconsiderable difficulties in his way, even after it had been made knownthat he was free to turn his attention to Miss Tomalin, and he was sogood as to request my assistance. It had occurred to him that I mightbe able to present his case in a favourable light to you, Lady Ogram. Naturally, I was anxious to do my best. Perhaps this is hardly themoment to pursue the subject. Enough for the present to have made knownMr. Lashmar's state of mind. "

Lady Ogram seemed to have overcome her physical anguish. She satupright once more, and, looking at May, asked in a voice only justabove a whisper:

"What have you to say to this?"

"What can I say, " exclaimed the girl, with high-voiced vehemence. "Iknow nothing about it. Of course it's easy enough to believe that Mr. Lashmar wants to get out of his engagement to Miss Bride. " She laughedscornfully. "He--"

She stopped, checking in her throat words which she suddenly rememberedwould be fatal to the attitude she had assumed. 

"Go on!" cried Lady Ogram. "He--what?"

"I was only going to say that Mr. Lashmar might easily have thoughtthat he had made a mistake. Well, that's my opinion; if it isn'tpleasant to Miss Bride, I can't help it. I tell the truth, that's all. "

"And that I will have!" said her aunt, with new self-command. "The verylast word of it, mind you! Constance, why are you standing all thistime? Sit down here, on this chair. Now I want you to repeat what youhave told me. First of all, at what o'clock did this happen?"

"At about half-past eight this morning. "

Had it been possible, Constance would have rolled oblivion over all shehad spoken. Already she found her vengeance a poor, savourless thing;she felt that it belittled her. The fire of her wrath burnt low, andseemed like to smoulder out under self-contempt. She spoke in a dull, mechanical voice, and gazed at vacancy. 

"May, " Lady Ogram resumed, "when did you get up this morning?

"At about--oh, about half-past seven, I think. "

"Did you go out before breakfast?"

"I have told you that I did, aunt. I saw Lord Dymchurch in the garden. "

"I remember, " said her aunt, with a lowering, suspicious look. "And yousaw Mr. Lashmar as he was coming to the house?"

"No. I didn't see him at all. "

"How was that? If you were in the garden?"

May glibly explained that her encounter with Lord Dymchurch took placenot before, but behind, the house. She had a spot of red on each cheek;her ears were scarlet; she sat with clenched hands, and stared at thelower part of her aunt's face. 

"Constance, " pursued the questioner, whose eyes had become small andkeen as her utterance grew more sober, "tell it me all over again. It'sworth hearing twice. He began--?"

The other obeyed, reciting her story in a curt, lifeless way, so thatit sounded less significant than before. 

"And you promised to help him?" asked Lady Ogram, who repeatedlyglanced at May. 

"No, I didn't. I lost my temper, and said I don't know what foolishthings. "

This was self-punishment, but it, too, sounded idle in her ears as soonas she had spoken. 

"But you consented to release him?"

"Of course. "

"Now, look at me. Have you told me all he said?"

"All. "

"Look at me! If I find that you are keeping any secret--! I shall knoweverything, you understand that. I won't sleep till I know everythingthat has been going on. Deceive me, if you dare!"

"I am not deceiving you, " answered Constance, wearily. "You have heardall I know. "

"Now, then, for what you suspect, " said Lady Ogram, leaning towardsher. "Turn your mind inside out. Tell me what you _think_!"

"That is soon done. I suspect--indeed, I believe that Mr. Lashmar'sbehaviour is that of a man with an over-excited mind. He thinkseverything is within his reach, and everything permitted to him. Ibelieve he spoke to me quite honestly, thinking I might somehow pleadhis cause with you. "

"That isn't what I want. Do you suspect that he had any hopes to goupon?"

"I care so little about it, " answered Constance, "that I can't form anyconjecture. All I can say is, that such a man would be quite capable ofgreat illusions--of believing anything that flattered his vanity. "

Lady Ogram was dissatisfied. She kept a brief silence, with her eyes onMay's countenance. 

"Ring the bell, " were her next words. 

Constance rose and obeyed. A servant entered. 

"When Mr. Lashmar arrives, " said Lady Ogram, "you will bring him atonce to me here. "

"Mr. Lashmar has just arrived, my lady. "

CHAPTER XXIV

"Ask him to come--. No! Stay!"

Lady Ogram stood up, not without difficulty. She took a step or twoforwards, as if trying whether she had the strength to walk. Then shelooked at her two companions, who had both risen. 

"Constance, give me your arm. I will go downstairs. "

They left the room, May slowly following and watching them with anxietyshe vainly endeavoured to disguise. The descent was slow. Constanceheld firmly the bony arm which clung to her own, and felt it quiver atevery step. Just before they reached the bottom, Lady Ogram ordered theservant who came after them to pass before and conduct Mr. Lashmar intothe library. At the foot of the stairs, she paused; on her foreheadstood little points of sweat, and her lips betrayed the painful effortwith which she continued to stand upright. 

"May"--she looked into the girl's face--"if I don't come when theluncheon bell rings, you will excuse me to Sir William and Lady Amys, and take my place at table. "

Slowly she walked on, still supported by Constance, to the librarydoor. When it was opened, and she saw Lashmar awaiting her within (hehad passed into the library by the inner door which communicated withthe drawing-room), she spoke of her companion. 

"Thank you, Constance. If I don't come, sit down with the others. Ihope your meal will not be disturbed, but I may have to send for you. "

"Lady Ogram--"

Constance began in a low, nervous voice. She was looking at Lashmar, who, with an air of constraint, moved towards them. 

"What is it?"

"Will you let me speak to you for a moment before--"

"No!"

With this stern monosyllable, Lady Ogram dismissed her, entered theroom, and closed the door. 

Then her face changed. A smile, which was more than half a grin ofpain, responded to Lashmar's effusive salutation; but she spoke not aword, and, when she had sunk into the nearest chair, her eyes, frombeneath drooping lids, searched the man's countenance. 

"Sit down, " were her first words. 

Lashmar, convinced that Constance Bride had sought to avenge herself, tried to screw up his courage. He looked very serious; he sat stiffly;he kept his eye upon Lady Ogram's. 

"Well, what have you to tell me?" she asked, with a deliberation moredisconcerting than impatience would have been. 

"Everything goes on pretty well--"

"Does it? I'm glad you think so. "

"What do you allude to, Lady Ogram?" Lashmar inquired with graverespectfulness. 

"What do _you_?"

"I was speaking of things at Hollingford. "

"And I was thinking of things at Rivenoak. "

Lashmar's brain worked feverishly. What did she know? If Constance hadbetrayed him, assuredly May also must have been put to the question, and with what result? He was spared long conjecture. 

"Let us understand each other, " said the autocrat, who seemed to berecovering strength as the need arose. "I hear that you want to breakoff with Constance Bride. She is no bride for you. Is that the case?"

"I am sorry to say it is the truth, Lady Ogram. "

Having uttered these words, Dyce felt the heroic mood begin to stir inhim. He had no alternative now, and would prove himself equal to thegreat occasion. 

"You want to marry someone else?"

"I'm sure you will recognise, " Lashmar replied, in his academic tone, "that I am doing my best to act honourably, and without giving anyunnecessary pain. Under certain circumstances, a man is not entirelymaster of himself--"

There sounded the luncheon bell. It rang a vague hope to Lashmar, whosevoice dropped. 

"Are you hungry?" asked the hostess, with impatience. 

"Not particularly, thank you. "

"Then I think we had better get our little talk over and done with. Weshan't keep the others waiting. "

Dyce accepted this as a good omen. "Our little talk!" He had not dreamtof such urbanity. Here was the result of courage and honesty. Evidentlyhis bearing had made a good impression upon the old despot. He began tolook cheerful. 

"Nothing could please me better. "

"Go on, then, " said Lady Ogram, drily. "You were saying--"

"I wish to use complete frankness with you, " Dyce resumed. "As I thinkyou know, I always prefer the simple, natural way of looking at things. So, for instance, in my relations with women I have always aimed atfair and candid behaviour; I have tried to treat women as theythemselves, justly enough, wish to be treated, without affectation, without insincerity. Constance knew my views, and she approved them. When our friendship developed into an engagement of marriage, we bothof us regarded the step in a purely reasonable light; we did not try todeceive ourselves, and, less still, to deceive each other. But a mancannot always gauge his nature. To use the common phrase, I did notthink I should ever fall in love; yet that happened to me, suddenly, unmistakably. What course had I to follow? Obviously I must act on myown principles; I must be straightforward, simple, candid. As soon asmy mind was made up, I came to Constance. "

He broke off, observed the listener's face, and added with aninsinuating smile:

"There was the _other_ course--what is called the unselfish, theheroic. Unfortunately, heroism of that kind is only another name fordeliberate falsehood, in word and deed, and I confess I hadn't thecourage for it. Unselfishness which means calculated deception seems tome by no means admirable. It was not an easy thing to go to Constance, and tell her what I had to tell; but I know that she herself would muchprefer it to the sham-noble alternative. And I am equally sure, LadyOgram, what your own view will be of the choice that lay before me. "

The listener made no sort of response to this appeal. "And what hadConstance to say to you?" she asked. Lashmar hesitated, hisembarrassment half genuine, half feigned. 

"Here, " he replied, in a thoughtfully suspended voice, "I find myselfon very delicate ground. I hardly feel that I should be justified inrepeating what passed between us. I hoped you had already heard it. Wasit not from Constance that you learnt--?"

"Don't begin to question _me_, " broke in Lady Ogram, with suddenseverity. "What I know, and how I know it, is none of your business. You'll have the goodness to tell me whatever I ask you. "

Dyce made a gesture of deprecating frankness. 

"Personally, " he said in a low voice, "I admit your right to be keptfully informed of all that comes to pass in this connection. Will it beenough if I say that Constance accepted my view of what had happened?"

"Did you tell her everything that _had_ happened?" asked Lady Ogram, looking him in the eyes. 

"Not in detail, " Dyce replied, rather nervously, for he could not withcertainty interpret that stern look. "You will understand that--that Iwas not at liberty--that I had to respect--"

He came near to losing himself between the conflicting suggestions ofprudence and hopefulness. At the sight of his confusion, Lady Ogramsmiled grimly. 

"You mean, " she said, in a voice which seemed to croak indulgence, "that you had no right to tell Constance anything about Miss Tomalin?"

Lashmar's courage revived. He suspected that the old autocrat kneweverything, that both girls had already gone through the ordeal of aprivate interview with her, and had yielded up their secrets. If so, plainly the worst was over, and nothing would now serve but sincerity. 

"That is what I mean, " he answered, quietly and respectfully, admiringhis own dignity as he spoke. 

"We are beginning to understand each other, " said Lady Ogram, the grimsmile still on her face. "I don't mind telling you, now, that I havespoken both with Constance and with May. "

Lashmar manifested his relief. He moved into an easier posture; hiscountenance brightened; he said within himself that destiny was hearinghim on to glorious things. 

"I'm very glad indeed to hear that, Lady Ogram! It ruts my mind atrest. "

"I have talked with them both, " continued the reassuring voice, whichstruggled with hoarseness. "That they told me the truth, I have nodoubt; both of them know me too well to do anything else. Constance, Iunderstand, had your authority for speaking to me, so her part waseasy. "

"She has a fine, generous spirit!" exclaimed Dyce, with the glow ofgenuine enthusiasm. 

"Well for you that she has. As for May, you had put her into a moredifficult position. "

"I fear so. But I am sure, Lady Ogram, that you dealt with her verykindly. "

"Exactly. " The smile was very grim indeed, and the voice very hoarse. "But the things I couldn't ask May to tell me, I expect to hear fromyou. Begin with this morning. You met her, I understand, before youcame to the house to see Constance. "

Dyce fell straight into the trap. He spoke almost gaily. 

"Yes; we met at eight o'clock. "

"Of course by appointment. "

"Yes, by appointment. "

"The best will be for you to begin at the beginning, and tell the storyin your own way. I've heard all my niece cared to tell me; now I giveyou the chance of telling your own tale. All I ask is the truth. Tellme the truth, from point to point. "

At the pass he had reached, Lashmar asked nothing better. He wasbefooled and bedazzled. Every trouble seemed of a sudden to be liftedfrom his mind. Gratitude to Constance, who had proved so much betterthan her word, romantic devotion to May, who had so bravely declaredher love, filled him with fervours such as he had never known. He sawhimself in a resplendent light; his attitude was noble, his head bentwith manly modesty, and, when he began to speak, there was something inhis voice which he had never yet been able to command, a virile music, to which he listened with delighted appreciation. 

"I obey you, Lady Ogram; I obey you frankly and gladly. I must go backto the day of Miss Tomalin's return from London. You will remember Itold you that on that day I was in town, and in the afternoon, early, Icalled at Mrs. Toplady's. "

Omitting the fact of his having told May about the relations betweenMiss Bride and himself, he narrated all else with perfect truth. Sopleasant was the sense of veracity, that he dwelt on unimportantparticulars, and lengthened out the story in a way which would havemade it intolerably tedious to any other hearer. Lady Ogram, however, found it none too long. The smile had died from her face; her lips werecompressed, and from time to time her eyes turned upon the speaker witha fierce glare; but Lashmar paid no heed to these trifles. He ended atlength with beaming visage, his last sentences having a touch ofemotion which greatly pleased him. 

"Ring the bell, " said Lady Ogram, pointing to the electric button. 

Glad to stand up and move, Dyce did her bidding. Only a few momentselapsed before Constance Bride and May Tomalin entered the room. 

"Constance, come here, " said Lady Ogram. "You"--she glared atMay--"stand where I can have a good view of you. "

Lashmar had welcomed their entrance with a smile. The voice and mannerof the autocrat slightly perturbed him, but he made allowances for herbrusque way, and continued to smile at May, who looked pale andfrightened. 

"Constance, did you know or did you not, that these two had a meetingthis morning in the park before Mr. Lashmar came to see you?"

"No, I knew nothing of that, " answered Miss Bride, coldly. 

"And did you know that they had met before, at the same place and time, and that they came from town together by the same train, and that therewas a regular understanding between them to deceive you and me?"

"I knew nothing of all this. "

"Look at her!" exclaimed Lady Ogram, pointing at the terrified girl. "This is her gratitude; this is her honesty. She has lied to me inevery word she spoke! Lord Dymchurch offered her marriage, and shetried to make me believe that he hadn't done so at all, that he was adishonourable shuffler--"

"Aunt!" cried May, stepping hurriedly forward. "He did _not_ offer memarriage! I'll tell you everything. Lord Dymchurch saw me by chancethis morning--Mr. Lashmar and me--saw us together in the park; and heunderstood, and spoke to me about it, and said that the only thing hecould do was to tell you I had refused him--"

"Oh, that's it, is it?" broke in the hoarse voice, all but inarticulatewith fury. "Then he too is a liar; that makes one more. "

Lashmar stood in bewilderment. He caught May's eye, and saw that he hadnothing but hostility to expect from her. 

"_There_ is the greatest of all!" cried the girl, with violent gesture. "He has told you all about _me_, but has he told you all about himself?"

"Lady Ogram, " said Dyce, in a tone of offended dignity, "you shouldremember by what means you obtained my confidence. You told me thatMiss Tomalin had already confessed everything to you. I naturallybelieved you incapable of falsehood--"

"Being yourself such a man of honour!" Lady Ogram interrupted, withsavage scorn. "Constance, you are the only one who has not told melies, and you have been shamefully treated--"

"You think she has told you no lies?" interrupted May, her voice at thehigh pitch of exasperation. "Wait a moment. This man has told you thathe came down from London in the train with me; but did he tell you whathe talked about? The first thing he disclosed to me was that theengagement between him and Miss Bride was a mere pretence. Finding youwished them to marry, they took counsel together, and plotted to keepyou in good humour by pretending to be engaged. This he told mehimself. "

Lady Ogram turned upon Lashmar, who met her eyes with defiance. 

"You believe that?" he asked, in a quietly contemptuous tone. 

She turned to Constance, whose face showed much the same expression. 

"Is that true?"

"I shall answer no charge brought by Miss Tomalin, " was the cold reply. 

"And you are right. " Lady Ogram faced to May. "I give you half an hourto pack your luggage and leave the house! Be off!"

The girl burst into a hysterical laugh, and ran from the room. For somemoments, Lady Ogram sat looking towards the door; then, sinkingtogether in exhaustion, she let her eyes move from one to the other ofthe two faces before her. Lashmar and Constance had exchanged no look;they stood in sullen attitudes, hands behind them, staring at vacancy. 

"I have something to say to you. " The voice that broke the silence wasso faint as to be but just audible. "Come nearer. "

The two approached. 

"That girl has gone. She is nothing to me, and nothing to you. Constance, are you willing to marry Mr. Lashmar?"

There came no reply. 

"Do you hear?" whispered Lady Ogram, with a painful effort to speaklouder. "Answer me. "

"How can you expect me to be willing to marry him?" exclaimedConstance, in whom a violent struggle was going on. Her cheeks wereflushed, and tears of humiliation stood in her eyes. 

"You!" Lady Ogram addressed Lashmar. "Will you marry her?"

"How is it possible, Lady Ogram, " replied Dyce, in an agony ofnervousness, "to answer such a question under these circumstances?"

"But you _shall_ answer!" sounded in a choked sort of scream. "I giveyou the choice, both of you. Either you are married in three days fromnow, or you go about your business, like that lying girl. You can get alicense, and be married at once. Which is it to be? I give you threedays, not an hour more. "

Lashmar had turned very pale. He looked at his partner in the dilemma. 

"Constance, " fell from his lips, "will you marry me?"

There came an answer which he could just hear, but which was inaudibleto Lady Ogram. 

"Speak, girl! Yes or no!" croaked their tormentor. 

"She has consented, " said Dyce. 

"Then be off and get the license! Don't lose a minute. I suppose you'llhave to go to London for it?--Constance, give me your arm. I mustexcuse myself to my guests. "

Constance bent to her, and Lady Ogram, clutching at the offered arm, endeavoured to rise It was in vain; she had not the strength to stand. 

"Mr. Lashmar!" She spoke in a thick mumble, staring with wild eyes. "Come--other side--"

She was drooping, falling. Lashmar had only just time to catch andsupport her. 

"What is it?" he asked, staring at Constance as he supported thehelpless form. "Has she fainted?"

"Lay her down, and I'll get help. "

A moment, and Sir William Amys came hastening into the room; he wasfollowed by his wife and two or three servants. Lady Ogram gave no signof life, but the baronet found that her pulse was still beating. Silent, still, with half-closed eyes, the old autocrat of Rivenoak laystretched upon a sofa awaiting the arrival of Dr. Baldwin. 

CHAPTER XXV

Sir William drew Lashmar aside. 

"What brought this about?" he asked. "What has been going on?"

Dyce, whose nerves were in a tremulous state, did not easily commandhimself to the quiet dignity which the occasion required. He saw thatthe baronet regarded him with something of suspicion, and the tone inwhich he was addressed seemed to him too much that of a superior. Withan effort of the muscles, he straightened himself and looked hisquestioner in the face. 

"There has been a painful scene, Sir William, between Lady Ogram andher niece. Very much against my will, I was made a witness of it. Iknew the danger of such agitation, and did my best to calm Lady Ogram. Miss Tomalin had left the room, and the worst seemed to be over. Wewere talking quietly, when the blow fell. "

"That is all you have to say?"

"I am not sure that I understand you, Sir William, " Lashmar repliedcoldly. Being slightly the taller, he had an advantage in being able togaze at the baronet's forehead instead of meeting his look. "You wouldhardly wish me to speak of circumstances which are purely private. "

"Certainly not, " said the other, and abruptly moved away. 

Lady Amys and Constance stood together near the couch on which LadyOgram was lying. With a glance in that direction, Lashmar walkedtowards the door, hesitated a moment, went out into the hall. He had nowish to encounter May; just as little did he wish for a privateinterview with Constance; yet it appeared to him that he was obliged bydecorum to remain in or near the house until the doctor's arrival. Presently he went out onto the terrace, and loitered in view of thefront windows. That Lady Ogram was dying he felt not the least doubt. Beneath his natural perturbation there stirred a hope. 

Nearly an hour passed before Dr. Baldwin's carriage rolled up thedrive. Shortly after came another medical man, who had been summoned atthe same time. Whilst waiting impatiently for the result of theirvisits, Lashmar mused on the fact that May Tomalin certainly had nottaken her departure; it was not likely now that she would quit thehouse; perhaps at this moment she was mistress of Rivenoak. 

Fatigue compelled him at length to enter, and in the hall he sawConstance. Involuntarily, she half turned from him, but he walked up toher, and spoke in a low voice, asking what the doctors said. Constancereplied that she knew nothing. 

"Are they still in the library?"

"No. Lady Ogram has been carried upstairs. "

"Then I'll go in and wait. "

He watched the clock for another half hour, then the door opened, and aservant brought him information that Lady Ogram remained in the sameunconscious state. 

"I will call this evening to make inquiry, " said Lashmar, and thereuponleft the house. 

Reaching his hotel at Hollingford, he ordered a meal and ate heartily. Then he stepped over to the office of the _Express_, and made known toBreakspeare the fact of Lady Ogram's illness; they discussed theprobabilities with much freedom, Breakspeare remarking how add it wouldbe if Lady Ogram so soon followed her old enemy. At about nine o'clockin the evening, Dyce inquired at Rivenoak lodge: he learnt that therewas still no change whatever in the patient's condition; Dr. Baldwinremained in the house. In spite of his anxious thoughts, Dyce sleptparticularly well. Immediately after breakfast, he drove again toRivenoak, and had no sooner alighted from the cab than he saw that theblinds were down at the lodge windows. Lady Ogram, he learnt, had diedbetween two and three o'clock. 

He dismissed his vehicle, and walked along the roads skirting the wallof the park. Now, indeed, was his life's critical moment. How long mustelapse before he could know the contents of Lady Ogram's will? In avery short time he would have need of money; he had been disbursingfreely, and could not face the responsibilities of the election, without assurance that his finances would soon be on a satisfactoryfooting. He thought nervously of Constance Bride, more nervously stillof May Tomalin. Constance's position was doubtless secure; she wouldenter upon the "trust" of which so much had been said; but what was herstate of mind with regard to _him_? Had not the consent to marry himsimply been forced from her? May, who was now possessor of a greatfortune, might perchance forget yesterday's turmoil, and be willing torenew their tender relations; he felt such a thing to be by no meansimpossible. Meanwhile, ignorance would keep him in a most perplexingand embarrassing position. The Amyses, who knew nothing of the ruptureof his ostensible engagement, would be surprised if he did not callupon Miss Bride, yet it behooved him, for the present, to hold alooffrom both the girls, not to compromise his future chances with eitherof them. The dark possibility that neither one nor the other would cometo his relief, he resolutely kept out of mind; that would be sheerruin, and a certain buoyancy of heart assured him that he had no suchcatastrophe to fear. Prudence only was required; perhaps in less than aweek all his anxieties would be over, for once and all. 

He decided to call, this afternoon, upon Lady Amys. The interview woulddirect his future behaviour. 

It was the day of Robb's funeral, and he had meant to absent himselffrom Hollingford. He remained in his private sitting-room at theSaracen's Head, wrote many letters, and tried to read. At four o'clockhe went out to Rivenoak, only to learn that Lady Amys could receive noone. He left a card. After all, perhaps this was the simplest and bestway out of his difficulty. 

As he turned away from the door, another cab drove up, and from italighted Mr. Kerchever. Dyce had no difficulty in recognising LadyOgram's solicitor, but discretion kept his head averted, and Mr. Kerchever, though observing him, did not speak. 

By the post next morning, he received a formal announcement of LadyOgram's death, with an invitation to attend her funeral. So far, sogood. He was now decidedly light-hearted. Both Constance and May, hefelt sure, would appreciate his delicacy in holding aloof, in seekingno sort of communication with them. Prudence! Reserve! The decisive dayapproached. 

Meanwhile, having need of sable garb, he had consulted Breakspeare asto the tailor it behooved him to patronise. Unfortunately the only goodtailor at Hollingford was a Conservative, who prided himself on havingclad the late M. P. For many years. Lashmar of necessity applied to aninferior artist, but in this man, who was summoned to wait upon him atthe hotel, he found a zealous politician, whose enthusiasm more thancompensated for sartorial defects. 

"I have already been canvassing for you, sir, " declared the tailor. "Ican answer for twenty or thirty votes in my neighbourhood--"

"I am greatly obliged to you, Mr. Bingham, " Dyce replied, in hissuavest tone. "We have a hard fight before us, but if I find manyadherents such as you--"

The tailor went away and declared to all his acquaintances that if theywished their borough to be represented by a _gentleman_, they had onlyto vote for the Liberal candidate. 

As a matter of policy, Dyce had allowed it to be supposed that he was aman of substantial means. With the members of his committee he talkedin a large way whenever pecuniary matters came up. Every day someonedined with him at the hotel, and the little dinners were as good as theSaracen's Head could furnish special wines had been procured for histable. Of course the landlord made such facts commonly known, and thewhole establishment bowed low before this important guest. All day longthe name of Mr. Lashmar sounded in bar and parlour, in coffee-room andcommercial-room. Never had Dyce known such delicious thrills ofself-respect as under the roof of this comfortable hostelry. If he wereelected, he would retain rooms, in permanence, at the hotel. --Unless, of course, destiny made his home at Rivenoak. 

Curiosity as to what was going on at the great house kept him in afeverish state during these days before the funeral. Breakspeare, whomhe saw frequently, supposed him to be in constant communication withRivenoak, and at times hinted a desire for news, but Lashmar's cue wasa dignified silence, which seemed to conceal things of high moment. SirWilliam and Lady Amys he knew to be still in the house of mourning; hepresumed that May Tomalin had not gone away, and it taxed hisimagination to picture the terms on which she lived with Constance. Atthe funeral, no doubt, he would see them both; probably would have toexchange words with them--an embarrassing necessity. 

Hollingford, of course, was full of gossip about the dead woman. Theold, old scandal occupied tongues malicious or charitable. Rivenoakdomestics had spread the news of the marble bust, to which some of themattached a superstitious significance; Breakspeare heard, and credited, a rumour that the bust dated from the time when its original led abrilliant, abandoned life in the artist world of London; but naturallyhe could not speak of this with Lashmar. Highly imaginative stories, too, went about concerning Miss Tomalin, whom everyone assumed to bethe heiress of Lady Ogram's wealth. By some undercurrent, no doubt ofservant's-hall origin, the name of Lord Dymchurch had come intocirculation, and the editor of the _Express_ ventured to inquire ofLashmar whether it was true that Miss Tomalin had rejected an offer ofmarriage from this peer. Perfectly true, answered Dyce, in his discreetway; and he smiled as one who, if he would, could expatiate on theinteresting topic. 

He saw Mrs. Gallantry, and from her learnt--without betraying his ownignorance--that callers at Rivenoak were received by Lady Amys, fromwhom only the barest information concerning Lady Ogram's illness wasobtainable. Neither Miss Tomalin nor Miss Bride had been seen by anyone. 

The day of the funeral arrived; the hour appointed was half-past two. All the morning rain fell, and about mid-day began a violent thunderstorm, which lasted for an hour. Then the sky began to clear, and asLashmar started for Rivenoak be saw a fine rainbow across great sullenclouds, slowly breaking upon depths of azure. The gates of the parkstood wide open, and many carriages were moving up the drive. Afterwards, it became known that no member of the Ogram family had beenpresent on this occasion. Half-a-dozen friends of the deceased camedown from London, but the majority of the funeral guests belonged toHollingford and the immediate neighbourhood. In no sense was it adistinguished gathering; mere curiosity accounted for the presence ofnearly all who came. 

Lashmar had paid his respects to Lady Amys, who received him frigidly, and was looking about for faces that he knew, when a familiar voicespoke at his shoulder; he turned, and saw Mrs. Toplady. 

"Have you come down this morning?" he asked, as they shook hands. 

"Yesterday. I want to see you, and we had better arrange the meetingnow. Where are you staying in Hollingford? An hotel, isn't it?"

She spoke in a low voice. Notwithstanding her decorous gravity, Lashmarsaw a ghost of the familiar smile hovering about her lips. He gave hisaddress, and asked at what hour Mrs. Toplady thought of coming. 

"Let us say half-past five. There's an up train just before eight, which I must catch. "

She nodded, and moved away. Again Lashmar looked about him, and he metthe eye of Mr. Kerchever, who came forward with friendly aspect. 

"Dreadfully sudden, the end, Mr. Lashmar!"

"Dreadfully so, indeed, " Dyce responded, in mortuary tones. 

"You were present at the seizure, I understand?"

"I was. "

"A good age, " remarked the athletic lawyer, with obvious difficultysubduing his wonted breeziness. "The doctor tells me that it wasmarvellous she lived so long. Wonderful woman! Wonderful!"

And he too moved away, Lashmar gazing after him, and wishing he knewall that was in the legal mind at this moment. But that secret mustvery soon become common property. Perhaps the contents of Lady Ogram'swill would be known at Hollingford this evening. 

He searched vainly for Constance and for May. The former he did not seeuntil she crossed the hall to enter one of the carriages; the latterappeared not at all. Had she, then, really left Rivenoak? Sitting inhis hired brougham, in dignified solitude, he puzzled anxiously overthis question. Happily, he would learn everything from Lady Toplady. 

In the little church of Shawe, his eyes wandered as much as histhoughts. Surveying the faces, most of them unknown to him, he noticedthat scarcely a person present was paying any attention to theceremony, or made any attempt to conceal his or her indifference. Atone moment it vexed him that no look turned with interest in hisdirection; was he not far and away the most notable of all the peoplegathered here? A lady and a gentleman sat near him, frequentlyexchanged audible whispers, and he found that they were debating atrivial domestic matter, with some acerbity of mutual contradiction. Hegazed now and then at the black-palled coffin, and found it impossibleto realise that there lay the strange, imperious old woman who forseveral months had been the centre of his thoughts, and to whom he owedso vast a change in his circumstances. He felt no sorrow, yet thoughtof her with a certain respect, even with a slight sensation ofgratitude, which was chiefly due, however, to the fact that she hadbeen so good as to die. Live as long as he might, the countenance andthe voice of Lady Ogram would never be less distinct in his memory thanthey were to-day. He, at all events, had understood and appreciatedher. If he became master of Rivenoak, the marble bust should alwayshave an honoured place under that roof. 

Dyce saw himself master of Rivenoak. He fell into a delightful dream, and, when the congregation suddenly stirred, he realised with alarmthat he had a broad smile on his face. 

Rather before the hour she had named, Mrs. Toplady presented herself atthe Saracen's Head. Lashmar was impatiently expectant; he did his bestto appear gravely thoughtful, and behaved with the ceremonious courtesywhich, in his quality of parliamentary candidate, he had of late beencultivating. His visitor, as soon as the door was closed, became quiteat her ease. 

"Nice little place, " she remarked, glancing about the room. "You makethis your head-quarters, of course?"

"Yes; I am very comfortable here, " Dyce answered, in melodiousundertone. 

"And all goes well? Your committee at work, and all that?"

"Everything satisfactory, so far. The date is not fixed yet. "

"But it'll be all over, no doubt, in time for the partridges, " saidMrs. Toplady, scrutinising him with an amused look. "Do you shoot?"

"Why no, Mrs. Toplady. I care very little for sport. "

"Like all sensible men. I wanted to hear what you think about LadyOgram's will. "

Lashmar was disconcerted. He had to confess that he knew nothingwhatever about the will. 

"Indeed? Then I bring you news. "

They were interrupted by a waiter who appeared with tea. The visitorgraciously accepted a cup. 

"Funerals exhaust one so, _don't_ they?" she remarked. "I don't knowyour opinion, but I think people should be married and buried far morequietly. For my own part, I grieve sincerely for the death of LadyOgram. It's a great loss to me. I liked her, and I owed her gratitudefor very much kindness. But I certainly shouldn't have gone to herfuneral, if it hadn't been a social duty. I should have liked to sitquietly at home, thinking about her. "

"I thoroughly agree with you, " replied Dyce, absently. "You came downyesterday?"

"In the evening. --You know that Miss Tomalin is at my house?"

"I had no idea of it. "

"Yes. She arrived the day before yesterday. She left Rivenoak as soonas she knew about Lady Ogram's will. I'm very glad indeed that she cameto me; it was a great mark of confidence. Under the circumstances, shecould hardly remain here. "

"The circumstances--?"

"Lady Ogram's will does not mention her. "

Lashmar felt a spasm in his breast. The expression of his features wasso very significant that Mrs. Toplady's smile threatened to become alaugh. 

"It's rather startling, isn't it?" she continued. "The will was made tyear ago. Lady Ogram didn't mean it to stand. When she was in town, shetalked over her affairs with her solicitor; a new will was to be made, by which Miss Tomalin would have come into possession of Rivenoak, andof a great deal of money. You can probably guess why she put offexecuting it. She hoped her niece's marriage-settlement would comefirst. But the old will remains, and is valid. "

"Will you tell me its provisions?" asked Lashmar, deliberately. 

"In confidence. It won't be made public till the executors--Sir WilliamAmys and Mr. Kerchever--have proved it. I never knew a morepublic-spirited will. Hollingford gets a hospital, to be called theLady Ogram; very generously endowed. Rivenoak is to be sold, and theproceeds to form a fund for a lot of Lady Ogram Scholarships. Aworking-girl's home is to be founded in Camden Town (it seems she wasborn there), and to be called Lady Ogram House. A lady named Mrs. Gallantry, here at Hollingford, becomes trustee for a considerable sumto be used in founding a training school for domestic servants--to benamed the Lady Ogram. Then there's a long list of minor charitablebequests. All the servants are most liberally treated, and a fewfriends in humble circumstances receive annuities. There is not muchfear of Lady Ogram being forgotten just yet, is there?"

"No, indeed, " said Lashmar, with studious control of his voice. "And"--he paused a moment--"is that all?"

"Let me see--Oh, I was forgetting. Some money is left to Miss Bride;not to her absolutely, but in trust for certain purposes not specified. "

Mrs. Toplady's smile had never been more eloquent of mischievouspleasure. She was watching Lashmar as one watches a comedian on thestage, without the least disguise of her amusement. 

"I had heard something of that, " said Dyce, the tension of whosefeelings began to show itself in a flush under the eyes. "Can you tellme--"

"Oh, " broke in the other, "I've forgotten a detail that will interestyou. In the entrance hall of the Lady Ogram Hospital is to be preservedthat beautiful bust which you have seen at the Rivenoak. By the bye, there are odd stories about it. I hear that it was brought out ofconcealment only the day before her death. "

"Yes. I know nothing more about it. With regard to Miss Bride'strusteeship--"

"Oh, and I forgot that Hollingford is to have a fine market-hall, oncondition that the street leading to it is called Arabella Street--hername, you know. "

"Oh, indeed!" murmured Dyce, and became mute. 

Mrs. Toplady amused herself for a moment with observation of the playof his muscles. She finished her tea. 

"I'll have another cup, if you please. --Oh yes, we were speaking ofMiss Bride. Naturally, that interests you. An odd bequest, isn't it?She is spoken of as a trustee, but evidently the disposal of the moneyis quite at her own discretion. If I remember, there are words to theeffect that Lady Ogram wishes Miss Bride to use this money just as sheherself would have done, for the purposes in which they were bothparticularly interested. By the bye, it isn't money only; Miss Bridebecomes owner of the paper-mill at the village by Rivenoak. "

"I had heard of this, " said Lashmar, with a brusque movement as thoughhe felt cramp in his leg. He had begun to look cheerful. "I knew allabout Lady Ogram's intentions. You don't remember, " he addedcarelessly, "the amount of the bequest?"

"Mr. Kerchever tells me it represents about seventy thousand pounds. "

Lashmar involuntarily heaved a sigh. Mrs. Toplady watched him over therim of her teacup, the hand which held it shaking a little with subduedmirth. 

"As you say, " he observed, "it's a most remarkable will. But it seemsrather too bad that the poor lady's real wishes should be totallyneglected. "

"Indeed it does. I have been wondering what Miss Bride will think aboutit. Of course I couldn't speak to her on the subject. One almost feelsas if she ought at all events to give half that money to Miss Tomalin, considering the terms on which she receives it. "

"But, " objected Dyce, "that wouldn't be fulfilling the conditions ofthe bequest, which, I happen to know, were very specific. Really, it'sa most unfortunate thing that Lady Ogram died so suddenly, mostunfortunate. What a serious injustice is done to that poor girl!"

"After all, Mr. Lashmar, " fell sweetly from the other's lips, "herposition might be worse. "

"How? Has she an income of her own?"

"Oh, a trifling annuity, not worth mentioning. But I didn't speak ofthat. I meant that, happily, her future is in the hands of anhonourable man. It would have been sad indeed if she had owed thiscalamity to the intrigues of a mere fortune-hunter. As it is, a girl ofher spirit and intelligence will very soon forget the disappointment. Indeed, it is much more on another's account than on her own that shegrieves over what has happened. "

Lashmar was perusing the floor. Slowly he raised his eyes, until theymet Mrs. Toplady's. The two looked steadily at each other. 

"Are you speaking of me?" Dyce inquired, in a low voice. 

"Of whom else could I be speaking, Mr. Lashmar?"

"Then Miss Tomalin has taken you entirely into her confidence?"

"Entirely, I am happy to say. I am sure you won't be displeased. Itgoes without saying that she does not know I am having thisconversation with you. "

"I think, Mrs. Toplady, " said Dyce, with deliberation, "that you hadbetter tell me, if you will, exactly what you have heard from MissTomalin. We shall be more sure of understanding each other. "

"That's easily done. She told me of your railway journey together, ofyour subsequent meetings, of what happened with Lord Dymchurch, and, last of all, what happened with Lady Ogram. "

"Probably, " said Dyce, "not all that happened with Lady Ogram. Did shemention that, instead of remaining loyal to me, as I was all through toher, she did her best to injure me with Lady Ogram by betraying asecret I had entrusted to her?"

"I know what you refer to. Yes, she told me, of that unfortunateincident, and spoke of it with deep regret. The poor girl simply losther head; for a moment she could think of nothing butself-preservation. Put yourself in her place. She saw utter ruin beforeher, and was driven almost crazy. I can assure you that she was notresponsible for that piece of disloyalty. I am afraid not many girlswould have been more heroic in such a terrible situation. You, aphilosopher, must take account of human weakness. "

"I hope I can do that, " said Lashmar, with a liberal air. "Under othercircumstances, I should hardly have mentioned the thing. But itconvinced me at the time that Miss Tomalin had deceived herself as toher feeling for me, and now that everything is necessarily at an endbetween us, I prefer to see it still in the same light, for it assuresme that she has suffered no injury at _my_ hands. "

"But, pray, why should everything be necessarily at an end?"

"For two or three reasons, Mrs. Toplady. One will suffice. After MissTomalin had left the room, Lady Ogram insisted on my making offer ofimmediate marriage to Miss Bride. Being plainly released from the otherobligation, I did so--and Miss Bride gave her consent. "

Mrs. Toplady arched her eyebrows, and rippled a pleasant laugh. 

"Ah! That, of course, May could not know. I may presume that, _this_time, the engagement is serious?"

"Undoubtedly, " Lashmar replied, grave yet bland. 

"Then I can only ask you to pardon my interference. "

"Not at all. You have shown great kindness, and, under othercircumstances, we should not have differed for a moment as to thecourse it behooved me to follow. "

Dyce had never heard himself speak so magnanimously; he smiled withpleasure, and continued in a peculiarly suave voice. 

"I am sure Miss Tomalin will find in you a steadfast friend. "

"I shall do what I can for her, of course, " was the rather dry answer. "At the same time, I hold to my view of Miss Bride's responsibility. The girl has really nothing to live upon; a miserable hundred a year;all very well when she belonged to the family at Northampton, butuseless now she is adrift. To tell you the truth, I shall wait with nolittle curiosity for Miss Bride's--and your--decision. "

"Need I say that Miss Bride will be absolutely free to take any stepshe likes?"

"How could I doubt it?" exclaimed the lady, with her most expressivesmile. "Do you allow me to make known the--the renewal of yourengagement?"

"Certainly, " Dyce answered, beaming upon her. 

Mrs. Toplady rose. 

"I am so happy to have been the first to bring you the news. But it alittle surprises me that you had not learnt it already from Miss Bride, who knew all about the will two days ago. "

"Why should it surprise you?" said Lashmar, gently, as he took herhand. "Naturally I have kept away from Rivenoak, supposing Miss Tomalinto be still there; and Miss Bride was not likely to be in haste tocommunicate a piece of news which, strictly speaking, hardly concernsme at all. "

"Be sure you come to see me when you are in town, " were Mrs. Toplady'slast words. 

And her eyes twinkled with appreciation of Lashmar's demeanour. 

CHAPTER XXVI

Dyce walked about the room. Without knowing it, he sang softly tohimself. His countenance was radiant. 

So, after all, Constance would be his wife. One moment's glimpse of adread possibility that neither she nor May Tomalin benefited by LadyOgram's will had sufficed to make him more than contented with theactual issue of his late complications. He had seen himself overwhelmedwith disaster, reduced to the alternative of withdrawing intoignominious obscurity or of again seeking aid from Mrs. Woolstan, aidwhich might or not be granted, and in any case would only enable him togo through with the contest at Hollingford, a useless effort if he hadnothing henceforth to live upon. As it was, he saw Constance andseventy thousand pounds, with the prosperous little paper-mill to boot. He did not love Constance, but the feeling of dislike with which he hadrecently come to regard her had quite passed away. He did not loveConstance, but what a capable woman she was!--and what a help she wouldbe to him in his career! Her having detected his philosophic plagiarismseemed to him now rather a good thing than otherwise; it spared him theannoyance of intellectual dishonesty in his domestic life, and put themin a position to discuss freely the political and social views by whichhe was to stand. After all, Constance was the only woman he knew whoseintelligence he really respected. After all, remembering their intimacylong ago at Alverholme, he felt a fitness in this fated sequel. It gavehim the pleasant sense of honourable conduct. 

He smiled at the thought that he had fancied himself in love with MayTomalin. The girl was a half-educated simpleton, who would only havemade him ridiculous. Her anonymous letter pointed to a grave fault ofbreeding; it would always have been suggestive of disagreeablepossibilities. May was thoroughly plebeian in origin, and herresemblance to Lady Ogram might develop in a way it made him shudder tothink of. Constance Bride came of gentlefolk, and needed only thefavour of circumstances to show herself perfectly at ease in whateversocial surroundings. She had a natural dignity, which, now he came toreflect upon it, he had always observed with pleasure. What could havebeen more difficult than her relations with Lady Ogram? Yet she hadalways borne herself with graceful independence. 

Poor girl! She had gone through a hard time these last four weeks, andno wonder if she broke down under the strain of a situation such asthat which ended in Lady Ogram's death. He would make up to her for itall. She should understand him, and rest in perfect confidence. Yes, hewould reveal to her his whole heart and mind, so that no doubt of him, no slightest distrust, could ever disturb her peace. Not only did heowe her this complete sincerity; to him it would be no less delightful, no less tranquillising. 

He sat down to write a note. 

"Dear Constance--" yes, that sufficed. "When can I see you? Let it beas soon as possible. Of course you have understood my silence. Do youstay at Rivenoak a little longer? Let me come to-morrow, if possible. "

After a little reflection, he signed himself, "Ever yours, D. L. "

Having despatched this by private messenger, he went out and took awalk, choosing the direction away from Rivenoak. As he rambled along anuninteresting road, it occurred to him that he ought to write to Mrs. Woolstan. No need, of course, to say anything about the results of LadyOgram's decease, but he really owed Iris a letter, just to show that hewas not unmindful of her kindness. The foolish little woman had doneher best for him; indeed, without her help, where would he have beennow? He must pay his debt to her as soon as possible, and it would ofcourse be necessary to speak of the matter to Constance. Not, perhaps, till after their marriage. Well, he would see; he might possibly havean impulse. Happily this was the very last of the unpleasant details hewould have to dismiss. The luxury of living without concealment, unembarrassed, and unafraid!

By the bye, how would Constance understand the duties of hertrusteeship? What portion of her income would she feel at liberty toset apart for personal uses? In all likelihood, she had spoken of thatwith Lady Ogram; at their coming interview, she would fully explain herposition. 

He returned to the hotel, and dined alone. To his disappointment, therecame no answer from Rivenoak. Was it possible that Constance hadalready gone away? Very unlikely, so soon after the funeral. She wouldreply, no doubt, by post; indeed, there was no hurry, and a littlereserve on her part would be quite natural. 

Morning brought him the expected letter. "Dear Mr. Lashmar--" Oh, thatwas nothing; merely the reserve he had anticipated: he liked her thebetter for it. "I shall be at home all to-morrow, busy with manythings. Could you come about three o'clock? Sincerely yours, ConstanceBride. " What could be in better taste? How else could she write, underthe circumstances? His real wooing had not yet begun, and she merelyreminded him of that, with all gentleness. 

So, in the afternoon he once more presented himself at Rivenoak, andonce more followed the servant into the drawing-room; Constance satthere; she rose as he approached, and silently gave her hand. Hethought she looked rather pale; that might be the effect of blackattire, which made a noticeable change in her appearance. But a certaindignity of which the visitor was very sensible, a grace of movement andof bearing which seemed new to her, could not be attributed to thedress she wore. In a saddened voice, he hoped that she was well, thatshe had not suffered from the agitations of the past week; and, withcourtesy such as she might have used to anyone, Constance replied thatshe felt a little tired, not quite herself. They talked for someminutes in this way. Lashmar learnt that the Amyses had returned toLondon. 

"For the present, you stay here?" he said, the interrogative accentonly just perceptible. 

"For a day or two. My secretaryship goes on, of course. I have a gooddeal of correspondence to see to. "

On his way hither, Lashmar had imagined quite a different meeting; heanticipated an emotional scene, beginning with forced calm onConstance's side, leading OR to reproaches, explanations, and masculinetriumph. But Constance was strangely self-possessed, and her mindseemed to be not at all occupied with agitating subjects. Lashmar waspuzzled; he felt it wise to imitate her example, to behave as quietlyand naturally as possible, taking for granted that she viewed thesituation even as he did. 

He turned his eyes to the marble bust on its pedestal behind Constance. The note of scorn in its fixed smile caught his attention. 

"So that is to stand in the Hospital, " he murmured. 

"Yes, I believe so, " replied Constance, absently, with a glance towardsthe white face. 

"What strange stories it will give rise to, in days to come! She willbecome a legendary figure. I can hardly believe that I saw and talkedwith her only a few days ago. Have you the same feeling at all? Doesn'tshe seem to you more like someone you have read of, than a person youreally knew?"

"I understand what you mean, " said Constance, smiling thoughtfully. "It's certain one will never again know anyone like her. "

"Are all the provisions of her will practicable?"

"Perfectly, I think. She took great trouble to make them so. By thebye, from whom did you get your information?"

It was asked in a disinterested voice, the speaker's look resting for amoment on Lashmar with unembarrassed directness. 

"Mrs. Toplady told me about the will. "

Dyce paused for a moment, then continued, with an obvious effortindeed, but in an even voice. 

"She came to see me, after the funeral. Mrs. Toplady has a perseveringcuriosity; she wanted to know what had happened, and, I have no doubt, had recourse to me after finding that you were not disposed to talk asfreely as she wished. I was able to enlighten her on one point. "

"May I ask what point?"

"She began by telling me that Miss Tomalin was at her house. She hadheard Miss Tomalin's story, with the result that she supposed me inhonour bound to marry that young lady. I explained that this was by nomeans the case. "

"How did you explain it?" asked Constance, still in her disinterestedtone. 

"By telling the simple truth, that Miss Tomalin had herself cancelledthe engagement existing between us. "

"I see. "

Constance leaned back in her chair. She looked like one who is sittingalone, occupied with tranquil reflection. Dyce allowed a moment toelapse before he again spoke; he was smiling to himself. 

"How strange it all is!" he at length resumed, as though starting froma reverie. "This past fortnight seems already as dim and vague to me asthe recollection of something that happened long years ago. I neverbelieved myself capable of such follies. Tell me frankly. " He leanedtowards Constance, gazing at her in an amused, confidential way. "Couldyou have imagined that I should ever lose my head like that, and runoff into such vagaries?"

Constance also smiled, but very faintly. Her eyebrows rose, ever solittle. Her lips just moved, but uttered no sound. 

"You know me better than anyone else ever did or ever will, " he wenton. "It is quite possible that you know me better than I know myself. Did you ever foresee such a possibility?"

"I can't say that it astonished me, " was the deliberate reply, withoutany ironic note. 

"Well, I am glad of that, " said Dyce, with a little sign of relief. "It's much better so. I like to think that you read me with so clear aneye. For years I have studied myself, and I thought I knew how I shouldact in any given circumstances; yet it was mere illusion. What I regretis that I hadn't talked more to you about such things; you would verylikely have put me on my guard. I always felt your power of readingcharacter, it seemed to me that I concealed nothing from you. We werealways so frank with each other--yet not frank enough, after all. "

"I'm afraid not, " assented the listener, absently. 

"Well, it's an experience; though, as I say, more like a bit ofdelirium than actual life. Happily, you know all about it; I shallnever have to tell you the absurd story. But I mustn't forget thatother thing which really did surprise and vex you--my bit of foolishplagiarism. I have so wanted to talk to you about it. You have read thewhole book?"

"Very carefully. "

"And what do you think of it?" he asked, with an air of keen interest. 

"Just what I thought of the large quotations I had heard from you. Thetheory seems plausible; I should think there is a good deal of truth init. In any case, it helps one to direct one's life. "

"Oh, you feel that? Now _there_, " exclaimed Lashmar, his eyebrightening, "is the explanation of what seemed to you verydishonourable behaviour in me. You know me, and you will understand assoon as I hint at the psychology of the thing. When that book fell intomy hands, I was seeking eagerly for a theory of the world by which tolive. I have had many glimpses of the truth about life--glimpses gainedby my own honest thought. This book completed the theory I had beenshaping for myself; it brought me mental rest, and a sense of fixedpurpose such as I had never known. Its reconciliation of thearistocratic principle with a true socialism was exactly what I hadbeen striving for; it put me at harmony with myself, for you know thatI am at the same time Aristocrat and Socialist. Well now, I spoke ofthe book to my father, and begged him to read it. It was when we met atAlverholme, in the spring, you remember? How long ago does that seem toyou? To me, several years. Yes, I had the volume with me, and showed itto my father; sufficient proof that I had no intention of using itdishonestly. But--follow me, I beg--I had so absorbed the theory, sothoroughly made it the directing principle of my mind, that I very soonceased to think of it as somebody else's work. I completed it with allsorts of new illustrations, confirmations, which had been hanging loosein my memory, and the result was that I one day found myself talkingabout it as if it had originated with me. If I'm not mistaken, I wastalking with Dymchurch--yes, it was Dymchurch. When I had time toreflect, I saw what I had unconsciously done quite unconsciously, believe me. I thought it over, Ought I to let Dymchurch know where Ihad got my central idea? And I decided at length that I would saynothing. "

Constance, leaning back in her chair, listened attentively, withimpartial countenance. 

"You see why, don't you?" His voice thrilled with earnestness; his eyesshone as if with the very light of truth. "To say calmly: By the bye, Icame across that bio-sociological theory in such and such a book, wouldhave been a flagrant injustice to myself. I couldn't ask Dymchurch tolisten whilst I elaborately expounded my mental and spiritual historyduring the past year or two, yet short of that there was no way ofmaking him understand the situation. The thing had become _mine_; Ithought by it, and lived by it; I couldn't bear to speak of it asmerely an interesting hypothesis discovered in the course of myreading. At once it would have seemed to me to carry less weight; Ishould have been thrown back again into uncertainty. This, too, just atthe moment when a principle, a conviction, had become no less apractical than a subjective need to me; for--thanks to you--I saw a newhope in life, the possibility of an active career which would givescope to all my energies. Do you follow me? Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, " replied Constance, with a slight inclination of her head. She seemed both to listen and to be absorbed in thought. 

"From that moment, I ceased to think of the book. I had as good asforgotten its existence. Though, on the whole, it had done me so greata service, there were many things in it I didn't like, and these wouldnow have annoyed me much more than at the first reading. I should havefelt as if the man had got hold of _my_ philosophy, and presented itimperfectly. You will understand now why I was so astonished at yourcharge of plagiarism. I really didn't know what to say; I couldn'tperceive your point of view: I don't remember how I replied, I'm afraidmy behaviour seemed only to confirm your suspicion. In very truth, itwas the result of genuine surprise. Of course I had only to reflect tosee how this discovery must have come upon you, but then it was toolate. We were in the thick of extraordinary complications: no hope ofquiet and reasonable talk. Since the tragic end, I have worriedconstantly about that misunderstanding. Is it quite cleared up? We mustbe frank with each other now or never. Speak your thought as honestlyas I have spoken mine. "

"I completely understand you, " was the meditative reply. 

"I was sure you would! To some people, such an explanation would beuseless; Mrs. Toplady, for instance. I should be sorry to have tojustify myself by psychological reasoning to Mrs. Toplady. And, remember, Mrs. Toplady represents the world. A wise man does not try toexplain himself to the world; enough if, by exceptional good luck, there is one person to whom he can confidently talk of his strugglesand his purposes. Don't suppose, however, that I lay claim to any greatwisdom; after the last fortnight, that would be rather laughable. But Iam capable of benefiting by experience, and very few men can truly sayas much. It is on the practical side that I have hitherto been mostdeficient. I see my way to correcting that fault. Nothing could bebetter for me, just now, than electioneering work. It will take me outof myself, and give a rest to the speculative side of my mind. Don'tyou agree with me?"

"Quite. "

"There's another thing I must make clear to you, " Dyce pursued, nowswimming delightedly on the flood of his own eloquence. "For a longtime I seriously doubted whether I was fit for a political career. Myambition always tended that way, but my conscience went against it. Iused to regard politics with a good deal of contempt. You remember ourold talks, at Alverholme?"

Constance nodded. 

"In one respect, I am still of the same opinion. Most men who go in fora parliamentary career regard it either as a business by which they andtheir friends are to profit, or as an easy way of gratifying theirpersonal vanity, and social ambitions. That, of course, is why we areso far from ideal government. I used to think that the man in earnestshould hold aloof from Parliament, and work in more hopeful ways--byliterature, for instance. But I see now that the fact of thedegradation of Parliament is the very reason why a man thinking as I doshould try to get into the House of Commons. If all serious minds holdaloof, what will the government of the country sink to? The House ofCommons is becoming in the worst sense democratic; it represents, aboveall, newly acquired wealth, and wealth which has no sense of itsresponsibilities. The representative system can only be restored todignity and usefulness by the growth of a new Liberalism. What Iunderstand by that, you already know. One of its principles--that whichfor the present must be most insisted upon--is the right use of money. Irresponsible riches threaten to ruin our civilisation. What we havefirst of all to do is to form the nucleus of a party which representsmoney as a civilising, instead of a corrupting, power. "

He looked into Constance's eyes, and she, smiling as if at a distantobject, met his look steadily. 

"I have been working out this thought, " he continued, with vigorousaccent. "I see it now as my guiding principle in the narrowersense--the line along which I must pursue the greater ends. Thepossession of money commonly says very little for a man's moral andintellectual worth, but there is the minority of well-to-do people whohave the will to use their means rightly, if only they knew how. Thisminority must be organised. It must attract intellect and moral forcefrom every social rank. Money must be used against money, and in thisstruggle it is not the big battalions which will prevail. Personally Icare very little for wealth, as I think you know. I have no expensivetastes; I can live without luxuries. Oh, I like to be comfortable, andto be free from anxiety; who doesn't? But I never felt the impulse tostrive to enrich myself. On the other hand, money as a civilising forcehas great value in my eyes. Without it, one can work indeed, but withwhat slow results? It is time to be up and doing. We must organise ourparty, get our new Liberalism to work. --In this also, do you agree withme?"

"It is certain, " Constance replied, "that the right use of money is oneof the great questions of our day. "

"I know how much you have thought of it, " said Dyce. Then, after ashort pause, he added in his frankest tone, "And it concerns youespecially. "

"It does. "

"Do you feel, " he softened his voice to respectful intimacy, "that, indevoting yourself to this cause, you will be faithful to the trusts youhave accepted?"

Constance answered deliberately. 

"It depends upon what you understand by devoting myself. Beyond adoubt, Lady Ogram would have approved the idea as you put it. "

"And would she not have given me her confidence as its representative?"asked Dyce, smiling. 

"Up to a certain point. Lady Ogram desired, for instance, to bear theexpenses of your contest at Hollingford, and I should like to carry outher wish in the matter. "

A misgiving began to trouble Lashmar's sanguine mood. He searched hiscompanion's face; it seemed to him to have grown more emphatic inexpression; there was a certain hardness about the lips which he hadnot yet observed. Still, Constance looked friendly, and her eyessupported his glance. 

"Thank you, " he murmured, with some feeling. "And, if, by chance, Ishould be beaten? You wouldn't lose courage? We must remember--"

"You have asked me many questions, " Constance interrupted quietly. "Letme use the privilege of frankness which we grant each other, and askyou one in turn. Your private means are sufficient for the career uponwhich you are entering?"

"My private means?"

He gazed at her as if he did not understand, the smile fading from hislips. 

"Forgive me if you think I am going too far--"

"Not at all!" Dyce exclaimed, eagerly. "It is a question you have aperfect right to ask. But I thought you knew I had _no_ private means. "

"No, I wasn't aware of that, " Constance replied, in a voice of studiouscivility. "Then how do you propose--?"

Their eyes encountered. Constance did not for an instant lose herself-command; Lashmar's efforts to be calm only made his embarrassmentmore obvious. 

"I had a small allowance from my father till lately, " he said. "Butthat has come to an end. It never occurred to me that you misunderstoodmy position. Surely I have more than once hinted to you how poor I was?I had no intention of misleading you. Lady Ogram certainly knew----"

"She knew you were not wealthy, but she thought you had a competence. Itold her so, when she questioned me. It was a mistake, I see, but avery natural one. "

"Does it matter, now?" asked Dyce, his lips again curling amiably. 

"I should suppose it mattered much. How shall you live?"

"Let us understand each other. Do you withdraw your consent to LadyOgram's last wish?"

"That wish, as you see, was founded on a misunderstanding. "

"But, " exclaimed Lashmar, "you are not speaking seriously?"

"Quite. Lady Ogram certainly never intended the money she had left intrust to me to be used for your private needs. Reflect a moment, andyou will see how impossible it would be for me to apply the money insuch a way. "

"Reflection, " said Dyce, with unnatural quietness, "would only increasemy astonishment at your ingenuity. It would have been much simpler andbetter to say at once that you had changed your mind. Can you for amoment expect me to believe that this argument really justifies you inbreaking your promise?"

"I assure you, " replied Constance, also in a soft undertone, "it ismuch sounder reasoning than that by which you excuse your philosophicalplagiarism. "

Lashmar's eyes wandered. They fell upon the marble bust; its disdainfulsmile seemed to him more pronounced than ever. 

"Then, " he cried, on an impulse of desperation, "you really mean totake Lady Ogram's money, and to disregard the very condition on whichshe left it to you?"

"You forget that her will was made before she had heard your name. "

He sat in silence, a gloomy resentment lowering on his features. Aftera glance at him, Constance began to speak in a calm, reasonable voice. 

"It is my turn to confess. I, too, seem to myself to have been livingin a sort of dream, and my awaking is no less decisive than yours. Atyour instigation, I behaved dishonestly; I am very much ashamed of therecollection. Happily, I see my way to atone for the follies, andworse, that I committed. I can carry out Lady Ogram's wishes--thewishes she formed while still in her sound mind--and to that I shalldevote my life. "

"Do you intend, then, to apply none of this money to your personal use?Do you mean to earn your own living still?"

"That would defeat Lady Ogram's purpose, " was the calm answer. "I shalllive where and how it seems good to me, guided always by the intentionwhich I know was in her mind. "

Dyce sat with his head bent forward, his hands grasping his knees. After what seemed to be profound reflection, he said gravely:

"This is how you think to-day. I won't be so unjust to you as to takeit for your final reply. "

"Yet that's what it is, " answered Constance. 

"You think so. The sudden possession of wealth has disturbed your mind. If I took you at your word, " he spoke with measured accent, "I shouldbe guilty of behaviour much more dishonourable than that of which youaccuse me. I can wait. " He smiled with a certain severity. "It is myduty to wait until you have recovered your natural way of thinking. "

Constance was looking at him, her eyes full of wonder and amusement. 

"Thank you, " she said. "You are very kind, very considerate. Butsuppose you reflect for a moment on your theory of the equality of manand woman. Doesn't it suggest an explanation of what you call mydisordered state of mind?--Let us use plain words. You want money foryour career, and, as the need is pressing, you are willing to take theencumbrance of a wife. I am to feel myself honoured by your acceptanceof me, to subject myself entirely to your purposes, to think it aglorious reward if I can aid your ambition. Is there much equality inthis arrangement?"

"You put things in the meanest light, " protested Lashmar. "What I offeryou is a share in all my thoughts, a companionship in whatever I do orbecome. I have no exaggerated sense of my own powers, but this I know, that, with fair opportunity, I can attain distinction. If I thought ofyou as in any sense an encumbrance, I shouldn't dream of asking you tomarry me; it would defeat the object of my life. I have always seen inyou just the kind of woman who would understand me and help me. "

"My vanity will grant you that, " replied Constance. "But for the momentI want you to inquire whether you are the kind of man who wouldunderstand and help _me_. --You are surprised. That's quite a new way ofputting the matter, isn't it? You never saw _that_ as a result of yourtheory?"

"Stay!" Dyce raised his hand. "I know perfectly well that you areambitious. If you were not, we should never have become friends. Butyou must remember that, from my point of view, I am offering you such achance of gratifying your ambition as you will hardly find again. "

"That is to say, the reflection of _your_ glory. As a woman, what morecan I ask? You can't think how this amuses me, now that I have come tomy senses. Putting aside the question of whether you are likely to winglory at all, have you no suspicion of your delightful arrogance? Ishould like to know how far your contempt of women really goes. It wentfar enough, at all events, to make you think that I believed your talkabout equality of the sexes. But really, I am not quite such asimpleton. I always knew that you despised women, that you looked uponthem as creatures to be made use of. If you ask: why, then, did Iendure you for a moment? the answer must be, that I am a woman. Yousee, Mr. Lashmar, we females of the human species are complex. Some ofus think and act very foolishly, and all the time, somewhere in ourcurious minds, are dolefully aware of our foolishness. You knew that of_men_; let me assure you that women share the unhappy privilege. "

Lashmar was listening with knitted brows. No word came to his lips. 

"You interest me, " pursued Constance. "I think you are rather a typicalman of our time, and it isn't at all impossible that you may become, asyou say, distinguished. But, clothed and in my right mind, I don't feeldisposed to pay the needful price for the honour of helping you on. Youmustn't lose heart; I have little doubt that some other woman willgrasp at the opportunity you so kindly wish to reserve for me. But mayI venture a word of counsel? Don't let it be a woman who holds theequality theory. I say this in the interest of your peace andhappiness. There are plenty of women, still, who like to be despised, and some of them are very nice indeed. They are the only good wives; Ifeel sure of it. We others--women cursed with brains--are not meant formarriage. We grow in numbers, unfortunately. What will be the end ofit, I don't know. Some day you will thank your stars that you did notmarry a woman capable of understanding you. "

Dyce stood up and took a few steps about the floor, his eyes fixed onthe marble bust. 

"When can I see you again?" he asked abruptly. 

"I shall be going to London in a day or two; I don't think we will meetagain--until your circumstances are better. Can you give me any idea ofwhat the election expenses will be?"

"Not yet, " Dyce answered, in an undertone. "You are going to London?Will you tell me what you mean to do?"

"To pursue my career. "

"Your career?"

"That surprises you, of course. It never occurred to you that I alsomight have a career in view. Yet I have. Let us enter upon a friendlycompetition. Five years hence, which of us will be better known?"

"I see, " remarked Dyce, his lip curling. "You will use your money tomake yourself talked about?"

"Not primarily; but it is very likely that that will result from mywork. It offends your sense of what is becoming in a woman?"

"It throws light upon what you have been saying. "

"So I meant. You will see, when you think about it, that I am actingstrangely like a male creature. We females with minds have a way ofdoing that. I'll say more, for I really want you to understand me. 'Thesudden possession of wealth' has not, as you suppose, turned my head, but it has given my thoughts a most salutary shaking, and made me feeltwice the woman that I was. At this moment, I should as soon think oftaking a place as kitchen-maid as of becoming any man's wife. I amfree, and have power to assert myself--the first desire, let me assureyou, of modern woman no less than of modern man. That I shall assertmyself for the good of others is a peculiarity of mine, a result of myspecial abilities; I take no credit for it. Some day we shall meetagain, and talk over our experiences; for the present, let us becontent with corresponding now and then. You shall have my address assoon as I am settled. "

She rose, and Lashmar gazed at her. He saw that she was as little to bemoved by an appeal, by an argument, as the marble bust behind her. 

"I suppose, " he said, "you will appear on platforms?"

"Oh dear no!" Constance replied, with a laugh. "My ambition doesn'ttake that form. I leave that to you, who are much more eloquent. "

"How you have altered!" He kept gazing at her, with a certain awe. "Ihardly know you. "

"I doubt whether you know me at all. Never mind. " She held out herhand. "We may be friends yet when you have come to understand that youare not so very, very much my superior. "

CHAPTER XXVII

Lashmar walked hack to Hollingford, and reached the hotel without anyconsciousness of the road by which he had come. He felt as tired as ifhe had been walking all day. When he had dropped into an easy chair, helet his arms hang, and, with head drooping forward, stared at his feetstretched out before him: the posture suggested a man half overcomewith drink. 

He had a private meeting to attend to-night. Should he attend it ornot? His situation had become farcical. Was it not his plain duty towithdraw at once from the political contest, that a serious candidatemight as soon as possible take his place? Where could he discern eventhe glimmer of a hope in this sudden darkness? His heart was heavy andcold. 

He went through the business of the evening, talking automatically, seeing and hearing as in a dream. He had no longer the slightest faithin his electioneering prospects, and wondered how he could ever havebeen sanguine about them. Of course the Conservative would win. Breakspeare knew it; every member of the committee knew it; theypretended to hope because the contest amused and occupied them. NoLiberal had a chance at Hollingford. To-morrow he would throw the thingup, and disappear. Never in his life had he passed such a miserablenight. At each waking from hag-ridden slumbers, the blackestdespondency beset him; once or twice his tortured brain even glancedtowards suicide; temptation lurking in the assurance that, bydestroying himself, he would become, for a few days at all events, thesubject of universal interest. He found no encouragement even in thethought of Iris Woolstan. Not only had he deeply offended her by hisengagement to Constance Bride, but almost certainly she would hear fromher friend Mrs. Toplady the whole truth of his disaster, which put himbeyond hope of pardon. He owed her money; with what face, even if shedid not know the worst, could he go to her and ask for another loan? Invain did he remember the many proofs he had received of Mrs. Woolstan'sdevotion; since the interview with Constance, all belief in himself wasat an end. He had thought his eloquence, his personal magnetism, irresistible; Constance had shown him the extent of his delusion. If hesaw Iris, the result would be the same. 

At moments, so profound was his feeling of insignificance that he hidhis face even from the darkness, and groaned. 

Not only had he lost faith in himself; there remained to him noconviction, no trust, no hope of any kind. Intellectually, morally, hehad no support; shams, insincerities, downright dishonesties, hadclothed him about, and these were now all stripped away, leaving thething he called his soul to quiver in shamed nakedness. He knewnothing; he believed nothing. But death still made him fearful. 

With the first gleam of daylight, he flung himself out of his hot, uncomfortable bed, and hastened to be a clothed mortal once more. Hefelt better as soon as he had dressed himself and opened the window. The night with its terrible hauntings was a thing gone by. 

At breakfast he thought fixedly of Iris Woolstan. Perhaps Iris had notseen Mrs. Toplady yet. Perhaps, at heart, she was not so utterlyestranged from him as he feared; something of his old power over hermight even now be recovered. It was the resource of desperation; hemust try it. 

The waiter's usual respect seemed, this morning, covert mockery. Theviands had no savour; only the draught of coffee that soothed histhroat was good. He had a headache, and a tremor of the nerves. In anycase, it would have been impossible to get through the day in the usualmanner, and his relief when he found himself at the railway station wasalmost a return of good spirits. 

On reaching London, he made straight for West Hampstead. As heapproached Mrs. Woolstan's house, his heart beat violently. Withouteven a glance at the windows, he rang the visitor's bell. It soundeddistinctly, but there came no response. He rang again, and againlistened to the far-off tinkling. Only then did he perceive that theblinds at the lower windows were drawn. The house was vacant. 

Paralysed for a moment, he stared about, as if in search of someone whocould give him information. Then, with sweat on his forehead, hestepped up to the next door, and asked if anything was known of Mrs. Woolstan; he learnt only that she had been absent for about ten days;where she was, the servant with whom he spoke could not tell him. Werethe other neighbours likely to know?--he asked. Encouraged by a barepossibility, he inquired at the house beyond; but in vain. 

Fate was against him. He might as well go home and write a letter tohis committee at Hollingford. 

Stay, could he not remember the school to which Leonard Woolstan hadbeen sent? Yes it was noted in his pocket-book; for he had promised towrite to the boy. 

He sought the nearest post-office, and dispatched a telegram toLeonard; "Please let me know immediately your mother's presentaddress. " The reply was to be sent to his rooms in Devonshire Street, and thither he straightway betook himself, hoping that in an hour or sohe would have news. An extempore lunch was put before him; never had hesatisfied his hunger with less gusto. Time went on; the afternoonbrought him no telegram. At seven o'clock he lay on his sofa, exhaustedby nervous strain, anticipating a hideous night. Again his thoughts hadturned to suicide. It would be easier to obtain poison here than atHollingford. Laudanum? Death under laudanum must be very easy, merefalling asleep in a sort of intoxication. But he must leave behind himsomething in writing, something which would excite attention when itappeared in all the newspapers. Addressed to the coroner? No; to hiscommittee. He would hint to them of a tragic story, of noble powers andambitions frustrated by the sordid difficulties of life. The verytruth, let malice say what it would. At his age, with his brain andheart, to perish thus for want of a little money! As he dwelt on theinfinite pathos of the thing, tears welled to his eyes, trickled overhis cheek--

Of a sudden, he started up, and shouted "Come in!" Yes, it was atelegram; he took it from the servant's hand with an exclamation ofjoy. Leonard informed him that Mrs. Woolstan was staying at Gorleston, near Yarmouth, her address "Sunrise Terrace. " He clutched at a railwayguide. Too late to get to Yarmouth to-night, but that did not matter. "Sunrise Terrace!" In his sorry state of mind, a name of such good omenbrought him infinite comfort. He rushed out of the house, and walked ata great rate, impelled by the joy of feeling himself alive once more. Sunrise! Iris Woolstan would save him. Already he warmed with gratitudeto her: he thought of her with a tender kindness. She might be richerthan he supposed; at all events, she was in circumstances which wouldallow him to live independently. And was she not just the kind of womanConstance Bride had advised him to marry? Advice given in scorn, but, his conscience told him, thoroughly sound. A nice, gentle, sufficientlyintelligent little woman. Pity that there was the boy; but he wouldalways be at school. Suppose she had only four or five hundred a year?Oh, probably more than that, seeing that she could economise suchsubstantial sums. He was saved; the sun would rise for him, literallyand in metaphor. 

A rainy morning saw him at Liverpool Street. The squalid roofs ofnorth-east London dripped miserably under a leaden sky. Not till thetrain reached the borders of Suffolk did a glint of sun fall uponmeadow and stream; thence onwards the heavens brightened; the risenclouds gleamed above a shining shore. Lashmar did not love this part ofEngland, and he wondered why Mrs. Woolstan had chosen such a retreat, but in the lightness of his heart he saw only pleasant things. Arrivedat Yarmouth, he jumped into a cab, and was driven along the dull, flatroad which leads to Gorleston. Odour of the brine made amends for milesof lodgings, for breaks laden with boisterous trippers, for tram carsand piano-organs. Here at length was Sunrise Terrace, a little row ofplain houses on the top of the cliff, with sea-horizon vast before it, and soft green meadow-land far as one could see behind. Bidding hisdriver wait, Lashmar knocked at the door, and stood tremulous. It washalf-past twelve; Iris might or might not have returned from hermorning walk; he prepared for a brief disappointment. But worse awaitedhim. Mrs. Woolstan, he learnt, would not be at home for the mid-daymeal; she was with friends who had a house at Gorleston. 

"Where is the house?" he asked, impatiently, stamping as if his feetwere cold. 

The woman pointed his way. 

"Who are the people? What is their name?"

He heard it, but it conveyed nothing to him. After a moment'sreflection, he decided to go to the hotel, and there write a note. Whilst he was having lunch, the reply came, a dry missive, saying that, if he would call at three o'clock, Mrs. Woolstan would have muchpleasure in presenting him to her friends the Barkers, with whom shewas spending the day. 

Lashmar fumed, but obeyed the invitation. In a garden on the edge ofthe cliff, he found half a dozen persons; an elderly man who lookedlike a retired tradesman, his wife, of suitable appearance, their son, their two daughters, and Iris Woolstan. Loud and mirthful talk wasgoing on; his arrival interrupted it only for a moment. 

"So glad to see you!" was Mrs. Woolstan's friendly, but not cordial, greeting. "I didn't know you ever came to the east coast. "

Introductions were carelessly made; he seated himself on a camp-stoolby one of the young ladies, and dropped a few insignificant remarks. Noone paid much attention to him. 

"Seventy-five runs!" exclaimed Mrs. Woolstan, addressing herself asthough with keen interest to the son of the family, a high-coloured, large-limbed young man of about Lashmar's age. "That was splendid! Butyou did better still against East Croydon, didn't you?"

"Made my century, there, " answered Mr. Barker, jerking out a leg inself-satisfaction. 

"How conceited you're making him, Mrs. Woolstan!" cried one of hissisters, with a shrill laugh. "It's a rule in this house to put thestopper on Jim when he begins to talk about cricket. If we didn't, there'd be no living with him. "

"Are you a cricketer, Mr. --Mr. Lasher?" asked materfamilias, eyeing thevisitor curiously. 

"It's a long time since I played, " was the reply, uttered with scarcelyveiled contempt. 

Mrs. Woolstan talked on in the highest spirits, exhibiting her intimacywith the Barker household, and her sympathy with their concerns. Lashmar waited for her to question him about Hollingford, to give himan opportunity of revealing his importance; but her thoughts seemednever to turn in that direction. As soon as a movement in the companyenabled him to rise, he stepped up to her, and said in a voice audibleto those standing by:

"I want to speak to you about Leonard. Shall you be at home thisevening?"

Iris gave him a startled look. 

"You haven't bad news of Len?"

"Oh no; nothing of the kind. "

"Can you call at six o'clock?"

He looked into her eyes, and nodded. 

"What do you say to a boat, Mrs. Woolstan?" shouted Barker the son. 

This suggestion was acclaimed, and Lashmar was urged to join the party, but he gladly seized this chance of escape. Wandering along the grassyedge of the cliffs, he presently descried the Barkers and their friendputting forth in two little boats. The sight exasperated him. He strodegloomily on, ever and again turning his head to watch the boats, andstruggling against the fears that once more assailed him. 

In a hollow of dry sand, where the cliffs broke, he flung himself down, and lay still for an hour or two. Below him, on the edge of the tide, children were playing; he watched them sullenly. Lashmar dislikedchildren; the sound of their voices was disagreeable to him. Hewondered whether he would ever have children of his own, and heartilyhoped not. 

Six o'clock seemed very long in coming. But at length he found himselfat Sunrise Terrace again, and was admitted to an ordinary lodging-houseparlour, where, with tea on the table, Mrs. Woolstan awaited him. Thesea air had evidently done her good; she looked younger and prettierthan when Dyce last saw her, and the tea-gown she wore became her well. 

"How did you know where I was?" she began by asking, rather distantly. 

Lashmar told her in detail. 

"But why were you so anxious to see me?--Sugar, I think?"

"It's a long story, " he replied, looking t her from under his eyebrows, "and I don't much care or telling it in a place like' this, where allwe say can be heard by anyone on the other side of the door. "

Iris was watching his countenance. The cold politeness with which shehad received him had become a very transparent mask; beneath it showedeager curiosity and trembling hope. 

"We can go out, if you like, " she said. 

"And most likely meet those singular friends of yours. Who on earth arethey?"

"Very nice people, " replied Mrs. Woolstan, holding up her head. 

"They are intolerably vulgar, and you must be aware of it. I feltashamed to see you among them. What are you doing at a place like this?Why have you shut up your house?"

"Really, " exclaimed Iris, with a flutter, "that is my business. "

Lashmar's nervous irritation was at once subdued. He looked timidly atthe indignant face, let his eyes fall, and murmured an apology. 

"I've been going through strange things, and I'm not quite master ofmyself. The night before last"--his voice sunk to a hollow note--"Ivery nearly took poison. "

"What do you mean? Poison?"

Mrs. Woolstan's eyes widened in horror. Lashmar regarded her with asmile of intense melancholy. 

"One thing only kept me from it. I remembered that I was in your debt, and I felt it would be too cowardly. "

"What has happened?--Come and sit near the window; no one could hear ustalking here. I have been expecting to read of your election. Is itsomething to do with Lady Ogram's death? I have wanted so much to knowabout that, and how it affected you. "

A few questions gave Dyce the comfortable assurance that Iris had notseen Mrs. Toplady for a long time. Trouble with servants, she said, coming after a slight illness, had decided her to quit her house forthe rest of the summer, and the Barkers persuaded her to come toGorleston. When Leonard left school for his holidays, she meant to gowith him to some nice place. 

"But do tell me what you mean by those dreadful words? And why have youcome to see _me_?"

She was her old self, the Iris Woolstan on whom first of all Lashmarhad tried his "method, " who had so devoutly believed in him and givensuch substantial proof of her faith. The man felt his power, and beganto recover self-respect. 

"Tell me one thing, " he said, bending towards her. "May I remain yourdebtor for a little longer? Will it put you to inconvenience?"

"Not at all!" was the impulsive reply. "I told you I didn't want themoney. I have more than six hundred pounds a year, and never spendquite all of it. "

Lashmar durst not raise his eyes lest a gleam of joy should betray him. He knew now what he had so long desired to know. Six hundred a year; itwas enough. 

"You are very kind. That relieves me. For two or three days I have beenin despair. Yes, you shall hear all about it. I owe you the wholetruth, for no one ever understood me as you did, and no one ever gaveme such help--of every kind. First of all, about my engagement to MissBride. It's at an end. But more than that it wasn't a real engagementat all. We tried to play a comedy, and the end has been tragic. "

Iris drew a deep breath of wonder. Her little lips were parted, herlittle eyebrows made a high arch; she had the face of a child wholistens to a strange and half terrifying story. 

"Don't you see how it was?" he exclaimed, in a subdued voice ofmelodious sadness. "Lady Ogram discovered that her niece--you rememberMay Tomalin? thought rather too well of me. This did not suit herviews; she had planned a marriage between May and Lord Dymchurch. Youknow what her temper was. One day she gave me the choice: either Imarried Constance Bride, or I never entered her house again. Imagine myposition. Think of me, with my ambitions, my pride, and the debt I hadincurred to you. Can you blame me much if, seeing that Lady Ogram'slife might end any day, I met her tyranny by stratagem. How I longed totell you the truth! But I felt bound in honour to silence. ConstanceBride, my friend and never anything more, agreed to the pretence of anengagement. Wasn't it brave of her? And so things went on, until theday when Dymchurch came down to Rivenoak, and proposed to May. Thesilly girl refused him. There was a terrible scene, such as I hopenever to behold again. May was driven forth from the house, and LadyOgram, just as she was bidding me take steps for my immediate marriage, fell to the ground unconscious--dying. "

He paused impressively. The listener was panting as if she had run arace. 

"And the will?" she asked. 

"It dates from a year ago. May Tomalin is not mentioned in it. I, ofcourse, have nothing. "

Iris gazed at the floor. A little sound as of consternation had passedher lips, but she made no attempt to console the victim of destiny whosat with bowed head before her. After a brief silence, Lashmar told ofthe will as it concerned Constance Bride, insisting on the fact thatshe was a mere trustee of the wealth bequeathed to her. With ahumorously doleful smile, he spoke of Lady Ogram's promise to defrayhis election expenses, and added that Miss Bride, in virtue of hertrusteeship, would carry out this wish. Another exclamation soundedfrom the listener, this time one of joy. 

"Well, that's something! I suppose the expenses are heavy, aren't they?"

"Oh, not very. But what's the use? Of course I withdraw. "

He let his hand fall despondently. Again there was silence. 

"And that is why you thought of taking poison?" asked Iris, with aquick glance at his lowering visage. 

"Isn't it a good reason? All is over with me. If Lady Ogram had livedto make her new will, I should have been provided for. Now I ampenniless and hopeless. "

"But, if she had lived, you would have had to marry Miss Bride. "

Dyce made a sorrowful gesture. 

"No. She would never have consented, even if I could have broughtmyself to such a sacrifice. In any case, I was doomed. "

"But--"

Iris paused, biting her lip. 

"You were going to say?"

"Only--that I suppose you would have been willing to marry that girl, the niece. "

"I will answer you frankly. " He spoke in the softest tone and his lookhad a touching candour. "You, better than anyone, know the nature of myambition. You know it is not merely personal. One doesn't like to talkgrandiloquently, but, alone with you, there is no harm in saying that Ihave a message for our time. We have reached a point in social andpolitical evolution where all the advance of modern life seems to beimperilled by the growing preponderance of the multitude. Our need isof men who are born to guide and rule, and I feel myself one of these. But what can I do as long as I am penniless? And so I answer youfrankly: yes, if May Tomalin had inherited Lady Ogram's wealth, Ishould have _felt it my duly_ to marry her. "

Iris listened without a smile. Lashmar had never spoken with a moreconvincing show of earnestness. 

"What is she going to do?" asked the troubled little woman, her eyescast down. 

Dyce told all that he knew of May's position. He was then questioned asto the state of things political at Hollingford: his replies were atonce sanguine and disconsolate. 

"Well, " he said at length, "I have done my best, but fortune is againstme. In coming to see you, I discharged what I felt to be a duty. Let meagain thank you for your generous kindness. Now I must work, work--"

He stood an image of noble sadness, of magnanimity at issue with cruelfate. Iris glanced timidly at him; her panting showed that she wishedto speak, but could not. He offered his hand; Iris took it, but onlyfor an instant. 

"I want you to tell me something else, " broke from her lips. 

"I will tell you anything. "

"Are you in love with that girl--Miss Tomalin?"

With sorrowful dignity, he shook his head; with proudself-consciousness, he smiled. 

"Nor with Miss Bride?"

"I think of her exactly as if she were a man. "

"If I told you that I very much wished you to do something, would youcare to do it?"

"Your wish is for me a command, " Dyce answered gently. "If it were not, I should be grossly ungrateful. "

"Then promise to go through with the election. Your expenses areprovided for. If you win, I am _sure_ some way can be found ofproviding you with an income--I am _sure_ it can!"

"It shall be as you wish, " said Lashmar, seeming to speak with aresolute cheerfulness. "I will return to Hollingford by the first trainto-morrow. "

They talked for a few minutes more. Lashmar mentioned where he wasgoing to pass the night. He promised to resume their long-interruptedcorrespondence, and to let his friend have frequent reports fromHollingford. Then they shook hands, and parted silently. 

After dinner, Dyce strayed shorewards. He walked down to the littleharbour, and out on to the jetty. A clouded sky had brought night fastupon sunset; green and red lamps shone from the lighthouse at the jettyhead, and the wash of the rising tide sounded in darkness on eitherhand. Not many people had chosen this spot for their evening walk, but, as he drew near to the lighthouse, he saw the figure of a woman againstthe grey obscurity; she was watching a steamboat slowly making its waythrough the harbour mouth. He advanced, and at the sound of his nearingstep the figure faced to him. There was just light enough to enable himto recognise Iris. 

"You oughtn't to be here alone, " he said. 

"Oh, why not?" she replied with a laugh. "I'm old enough to take careof myself. "

The wind had begun to moan; waves tide-borne against the jetty made ahollow booming, and at moments scattered spray. 

"How black it is to-night!" Iris added. "It will rain. There! I felt aspot. "

"Only a splash of sea-water, I think, " replied Lashmar, standing closebeside her. 

Both gazed at the dark vast of sea and sky. A pair of ramblersapproached them; a young man and a girl, talking loudly the tongue oflower London. 

"I know a young lady, " sounded in the feminine voice, "as 'as a keeperset with a di'mond and a hamethys--lovely!"

"Come away, " said Dyce. "What a hateful place this is! How can you bearto be among such brutes?"

Iris moved on by him, but said nothing. 

"I felt ashamed, " he added, "to find you with people like the Barkers. Do you mean to say they don't disgust you?"

"They are not so bad as that, " Iris weakly protested. "But you mustn'tthink I regard them as intimate friends. It's only that--I've beenrather lonely lately. Len away at school--and several things--"

"Yes, yes, I understand. But they're no company for you. Do get away assoon as possible. "

Another couple went by them talking loudly the same vernacular. 

"If I put a book down for a day, " said the young woman, "I forget allI've read. I've a hawful bad memory for readin'. "

"How I loathe that class!" Lashmar exclaimed. "I never came to thispart of the coast, because I knew it was defiled by them. For heaven'ssake, get away t Go to some place where your ears won't be perpetuallyoutraged. I can't bear to think of leaving you here. "

"I'll go as soon as ever I can--I promise you, " murmured Iris. "There!It really is beginning to rain. We must walk quickly. "

"Will you take my arm?"

She did so, and they hurried on. 

"That's the democracy, " said Lashmar. "Those are the people for whom weare told that the world exists. They get money, and it gives thempower. Meanwhile, the true leaders of mankind, as often as not, struggle through their lives in poverty and neglect. "

Iris's voice sounded timidly. 

"You would feel it of no use to have just enough for independence?"

"For the present, " he replied, "it would be all I ask. But I might justas well ask for ten thousand a year. "

The rain was beating upon them. During the ascent to Sunrise Terrace, neither spoke a word. At the door of her lodgings, Iris looked into hercompanion's face, and said in a tremulous voice:

"I am sure you will be elected! I'm certain of it!"

Dyce laughed, pressed her hand, and, as the door opened, walked awaythrough the storm. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

Lord Dymchurch went down into Somerset. His younger sister was in aworse state of health than he had been led to suppose; there could beno thought of removing her from home. A day or two later, her maladytook a hopeless turn, and by the end of the week she was dead. 

A month after this, the surviving daughter of the house, seeking solacein the ancient faith to which she had long inclined, joined a religiouscommunity. Dymchurch was left alone. 

Since his abrupt departure from Rivenoak, he had lived a silent life, spending the greater part of every day in solitude. Grief was notsufficient to account for the heaviness and muteness which had fallenupon him, or for the sudden change by which his youthful-lookingcountenance had become that of a middle-aged man. He seemed to shrinkbefore eyes that regarded him, however kind their expression; one mighthave thought that some secret shame was harassing his mind. He himself, indeed, would have used no other word to describe the ill under whichhe suffered. Looking back on that strange episode of his life whichbegan with his introduction to Mrs. Toplady and ended in the park atRivenoak, he was stung almost beyond endurance by a sense ofignominious folly. On his lonely walks, and in the silence of sleeplessnights, he often gesticulated and groaned like a man in pain. Hisnerves became so shaken that at times he could hardly raise a glass orcup to his lips without spilling the contents. Poverty and lonelinesshe had known, and had learnt to bear them with equanimity; for thefirst time he was tasting humiliation. 

Incessantly be reviewed the stages of his foolishness and, as he deemedit, of his dishonour. But he had lost the power to understand thatphantasm of himself which pranked so grotesquely in the retrospect. Wasit true that he had reasoned and taken deliberate step after step inthe wooing of Lady Ogram's niece? Might he not urge in his excuse, tocloak him from his own and the world's contempt, some unsuspectedcalenture, for which, had he known, he ought to have taken medicaladvice? When, in self-chastisement, he tried to summon before hismind's eye the image of May Tomalin, he found it quite impossible; theface no longer existed for him; the voice was as utterly forgotten asany he might have chanced to hear for a few minutes on that fatalevening in Pont Street. And this was what he had seen as an object ofromantic tenderness--this vaporous nothing, this glimmer in a dazed eye!

Calm moments brought a saner self-reproach. "I simply yielded to thecommon man's common temptation. I am poor, and it was wealth thatdazzled and lured me. Pride would explain more subtly; that is but anew ground of shame. I felt a prey to the vulgarest and basest passion;better to burn that truth into my mind, and to make the brand alifelong warning. I shall the sooner lift up my head again. "

He seemed to palliate his act by remembering that he wished to benefithis sisters. Neither of them--the poor dead girl, and she who livedonly for self-forgetfulness--would have been happier at the cost of hisdisgrace. How well it was, indeed, that he had been saved from thatdebasement in their eyes. 

He lived on in the silent house, quite alone and desiring nocompanionship. Few letters came for him, and he rarely saw a newspaper. After a while he was able to forget himself in the reading of bookswhich tranquillised his thought, and held him far from the noises ofthe passing world. So sequestered was the grey old house that he couldgo forth when he chose into lanes and meadows without fear ofencountering anyone who would disturb his meditation and his enjoymentof nature's beauty. Through the mellow days of the declining summer, helived amid trees and flowers, slowly recovering health and peace inplaces where a bird's note, or the ripple of a stream, or the sighingof the wind, were the only sounds under the ever-changing sky. 

His thoughts were often of death, but not on that account gloomy. Reading in his Marcus Aurelius, he said to himself that the StoicEmperor must, after all, have regarded death with some fear: else, whyspeak of it so persistently, and with such marshalling of arguments toprove it no matter for dread? Dymchurch never wished to shorten hislife, yet, without other logic than that of a quiet heart, came tothink more than resignedly of the end towards which he moved. He wasthe last of his family, and no child would ever bear his name. Withoutbitterness, he approved this extinction of a line which seemed to haveoutlived its natural energies. He, at all events, would bear noresponsibility for suffering or wrongdoing in the days to come. 

The things which had so much occupied him during the last year or two, the state of the time, its perils and its needs, were now but seldom inhis mind: he felt himself ripening to that "wise passiveness, " which, through all his intellectual disquiet, he had regarded as theunattainable ideal. When, as a very young man, he exercised himself inversifying, the model he more or less consciously kept in view wasMatthew Arnold; it amused him now to recall certain of the compositionshe had once been rather proud of, and to recognise how closely he hadtrodden in Arnold's footprints; at the same time, he felt glad that theaspiration of his youth seemed likely to become the settled principleof his maturity. Nowadays he gave much of his thought to Wordsworth, content to study without the desire of imitating. Whether he could _do_anything, whether he could bear witness in any open way to what he heldthe truth, must still remain uncertain; sure it was that a profounddistrust of himself in every practical direction, a very humble senseof follies committed and dangers barely escaped, would for a long timemake him a silent and solitary man. He hoped that some way might beshown him, some modest yet clear way, by following which he would livenot wholly to himself; but he had done for ever with schemes of socialregeneration, with political theories, with all high-sounding words andphrases. It might well prove that the work appointed him was simply tolive as an honest man. Was that so easy, or such a little thing?

Walking one day a mile or two from home, in one of those high-boweredSomerset lanes which are unsurpassed for rural loveliness, he camewithin sight of a little cottage, which stood apart from a hamlethidden beyond a near turning of the road. Before it moved a man, white-headed, back-bent, so crippled by some ailment that he totteredslowly and painfully with the aid of two sticks. Just as Dymchurch drewnear, the old fellow accidentally let fall his pipe, which he had beensmoking as he hobbled along. For him this incident was a disaster; hestared down helplessly at the pipe and the little curl of smoke whichrose from it, utterly unable to stoop for its recovery. Dymchurch, seeing the state of things, at once stepped to his assistance. 

"I thank you, sir, I thank you, " said the hobbler, with pleasantfrankness. "A man isn't much use when he can't even keep his pipe inhis mouth, to say nothing of picking it up when it drops; what do _you_think, sir?"

Dymchurch talked with him. The man had spent his life as a gardener, and now for a couple of years, invalided by age and rheumatism, hadlived in this cottage on a pension. His daughter, a widow, dwelt withhim, but was away working nearly the whole of the day. He got alongvery well, but one thing there was that grieved him, the state of hislittle garden. Through the early summer he had been able to look afterit as usual, pottering among the flowers and the vegetables for an houror two each day; but there came rainy weather, and with it one of hisattacks, and the garden was now so overgrown with weeds that it "hurthis eyes, " it really did, to look that way. The daughter dug potatoesand gathered beans as they were wanted, but she had neither time norstrength to do more. 

Interested in a difficulty such as he had never imagined, Dymchurchwent up to the garden-wall, and viewed the state of things. Indeed, itwas deplorable. Thistles, docks, nettles, wild growths innumerable, were choking the flowers in which the old man so delighted. But thegarden was such a small one that little trouble and time would beneeded to put it in order. 

"Will you let me do it for you?" he asked, good-naturedly. "It's justthe kind of job I should like. "

"You, sir!" cried the old fellow, all but again losing his pipe inastonishment. "Ho, ho! That's a joke indeed!"

Without another word, Dymchurch opened the wicket, flung off his coat, and got to work. He laboured for more than an hour, the old man leaningon the wall and regarding him with half-ashamed, half-amusedcountenance. They did not talk much, but, when he had begun to perspirefreely, Dymchurch looked at his companion, and said:

"Now here's a thing I never thought of. Neglect your garden for a fewweeks, and it becomes a wilderness; nature conquers it back again. Think what that means; how all the cultivated places of the earth arekept for men only by ceaseless fighting with nature, year in, year out. "

"And that's true, sir, that's true. I've thought of it sometimes, butthen I'm a gardener, you see, and it's my business, as you may say, tohave such thoughts. "

"It's every man's business, " returned Dymchurch, supporting himself onhis hoe, and viewing the uprooted weeds. "I never realised as in thishalf-hour at the cost of what incessant labour the earth is kept atman's service. If I have done you a good turn, you have done me abetter. "

And he hoed vigorously at a root of dandelion. 

Not for years had he felt so well in body and mind as during his walkhome. There, there was the thought for which he had been obscurelygroping! What were volumes of metaphysics and of sociology to the manwho had heard this one little truth whispered from the upturned mould?Henceforth he knew _why_ he was living, and _how_ it behooved him tolive. Let theories and poesies follow if they would: for him, the primeduty was that nearest to him, to strive his best that the little cornerof earth which he called his own should yield food for man. At thismoment there lay upon his table letters informing him of theunsatisfactory state of his Kentish farm; the tenant was doing badly inevery sense of the word, and would willingly escape from his lease ifopportunity were given. Very well; the man should go. 

"I will live there myself. I will get some practical man to live withme, until I understand farming. For profit, I don't care; all will bewell if I keep myself alive and furnish food for a certain number ofother mortals. This is the work ready to my hand. No preaching, notheorising, no trying to prove that the earth should be parcelled outand every man turn delver. I will cultivate this ground because it ismine, and because no other way offers of living as a man should--takingsome part, however humble, in the eternal strife with nature. "

The idea had before now suggested itself to him, but not as the resultof a living conviction. If he had then turned to farming, it would havebeen as an experiment in life; more or less vague reflections on theneeds of the time would have seemed to justify him. Now he wasindifferent to all "questions" save that prime solicitude of the humanrace, how to hold its own against the hostile forces everywhere leaguedagainst it. Life was a perpetual struggle, and, let dreamers say whatthey might, could never be anything else; he, for one, perceived noright that he had to claim exemption from the doom of labour. Had hefelt an impulse to any other kind of work, well and good, he would haveturned to it; but nothing whatever called to him with imperative voicesave this task of tilling his own acres. It might not always satisfyhim; he took no vow of one sole vocation; he had no desire to let hismind rust whilst his hands grew horny. Enough that for the present hehad an aim which he saw as a reality. 

On his return home, he found a London letter awaiting him. It was witha nervous shrug that he saw the writing of Mrs. Toplady. Addressing himat his club, she invited him to dine on an evening a fortnight hence, if he chanced to be in town. 

"You heard, of course, " she added, "of the defeat of Mr. Lashmar atHollingford. It seems to have been inevitable. "

So Lashmar had been defeated. The Hollingford election interestedDymchurch so little that he had never inquired as to its result; intruth, he had forgotten all about it. 

"I fear Mr. Lashmar is rather disappointing. Rumour says that thephilosophical theory of life and government which he put before us asoriginal was taken word for word from a French book which he took forgranted no one would have read. I hope this is not true; it has a veryunpleasant sound. "

Quite as unpleasant, thought Dymchurch, was Mrs. Toplady's zeal inspreading the rumour. He found no difficulty in crediting it. Thebio-sociological theory had occupied his thoughts for a time, and, inreflecting upon it now, he found it as plausible as any other; but ithad no more power to interest him. Lashmar, perhaps, was mere sophist, charlatan, an unscrupulous journalist who talked instead of writing. Words, words! How sick he was of the universal babble! The time hadtaken for its motto that counsel of Mephisto: _Vor allem haltet euch anWorte_! And how many of these loud talkers believed the words theyuttered, or had found them in their own minds?

And how many preachers of Socialism--in this, that or the other form, had in truth the socialistic spirit? Lashmar, with his emphasis on theobligation of social service--was he not simply an ambitious strugglerand intriguer, careless of everything but his own advancement? Probablyenough. And, on the whole, was there ever an age so rank withindividualism as this of ours, which chatters ceaselessly ofself-subdual to the common cause?

"I, too, " thus he thought, "am as much an individualist as the others. If I said that I cared a rap for mankind at large, I should bephrase-making. Only, thank heaven! I don't care to advertise myself, Idon't care to make money. I ask only to be left alone, and to satisfyin quiet my sense of self-respect. "

On the morrow, he was gone. 

CHAPTER XXIX

"When you receive this letter, you will have already seen the result. Iknew how it would be, but tried to hope because you were hoping. Mypoll is better than that of the last Liberal candidate, but Hollingfordremains a Tory stronghold. Shall I come to see you? I am worn out, utterly exhausted, and can scarcely hold the pen. Perhaps a few days atthe sea-side would do me good, but what right have I to idle? If youwould like me to come, please wire to Alverholme Rectory. Possibly youwould rather I didn't bring my gloom, now you have Len with you and areenjoying yourself. Above all, be quite frank. If you are toodisappointed to care to see me, in heaven's name, say so! You needn'tfear its effect upon me. I should be glad to have done with the world, but I have duties to discharge. I wish you could have heard my lastspeech, there were good things in it. You shall see my address ofthanks to those who voted for me; I must try to get it widelycirculated, for, as you know, it has more than local importance. Breakspeare, good fellow, says that I have a great career before me; Igrin, and can't tell him the squalid truth. There are many things Ishould like to speak about; my brain is feverishly active. I must tryto rest; another twenty-four hours of this strain, and the resultswould be serious. In any case, wire to me--yes or no. If it is _no_, Ishall say 'so be it, ' and begin at once to look out for some way ofearning bread and cheese. We shall be friends all the same. "

Mrs. Woolstan was at Eastbourne. Having read Lashmar's letter, shebrooded for a few minutes, then betook herself to the post-office, andtelegraphed "Come at once. " A few hours later she received a telegraminforming her that Lashmar would reach Eastbourne at eleven o'clock onthe next morning. At that hour, she waited in her lodgings on thesea-front. A cab drove up; Lashmar was shown into the room. 

He looked, indeed, much the worse for his agitations. His hand was hot;he moved languidly, and seemed to be too tired to utter more than a fewwords. 

"Are you alone?"

"Quite. Len is down on the shore, and won't be back till half-past one. "

"Would you--mind--if I lay down--on the sofa?"

"Of course not, " replied Iris, regarding him anxiously. "You're notill, I hope?"

He took her hand, and pressed it against his forehead, with the mostmelancholy of smiles. Having dropped onto the couch, he beckoned Iristo take a chair beside him. 

"What can I get for you?" she asked. "You must have some refreshment--"

"Sleep, sleep!" he moaned musically. "If I could but sleep alittle!--But I have so much to say. Don't fuss; you know how I hatefuss. No, no, I don't want anything, I assure you. But I haven't sleptfor a week Give me your hand. How glad I am to see you again! So youstill have faith in me? You don't despise me?"

"What nonsense!" said Iris, allowing him to hold her hand against hisbreast as he lay motionless, his eyes turned to the ceiling. "You musttry again, that's all. At Hollingford, it was evidently hopeless. "

"Yes. I made a mistake. If I could have stood as a Conservative, Ishould have carried all before me. It was Lady Ogram's quarrel withRobb which committed me to the other side. "

Iris was silent, panting a little as if she suppressed words which hadrisen to her lips. He turned his head to look at her. 

"Of course you understand that party names haven't the least meaningfor me. By necessity, I wear a ticket, but it's a matter of totalindifference to me what name it bears. My object has nothing to do withparty politics. But for Lady Ogram's squabbles, I should at this momentbe Member for Hollingford. "

"But would it be possible?" asked Iris, with a flutter, "to callyourself a Conservative next time?"

"I have been thinking about that. " He spoke absently, his eyes stillupwards. "It is pretty certain that the Conservative side gives me morechance. It enrages me to think how I should have triumphed atHollingford! I could have roused the place to such enthusiasm as itnever knew! The great mistake of my life--but what choice had I? LadyOgram was fatal to me. "

He groaned, and let his eyelids droop. 

"It is possible that, at the general election, a Liberal constituencymay invite me. In that case, of course--" He broke off with a wearywave of the band. "But what's the use of thinking about it? I must lookfor work. Do you know, I have thoughts of going to New Zealand. "

"Oh! That's nonsense!"

"Try to realise my position. " He raised himself on his elbow. "After mylife of the last few months, will it be very enjoyable to become asubordinate, to work for wages, to sink into obscurity? Does it seem toyou natural? Do you think I shall be able to bear it?"

He had begun to quiver with excitement. As Iris kept silence, he roseto a sitting position, and continued more vehemently. 

"Don't you understand that death would be preferable, a thousand times?Imagine me--_me_ at the beck and call of paltry every-day people! Doesit seem to you fitting that I should pay by such degradation for one ortwo trivial errors? How I shall bear it, I don't know; but bear it Imust. I keep reminding myself that I am not a free man. If once I couldpay my debt--"

"Oh, _don't_ talk about that!" exclaimed Iris, on a note of distress. "What do I care about the money?"

"No, but _I_ care about my honour!" cried Lashmar. "If I had won theelection, all would have been different; my career would have begun. Doyou know what I should have done in that case? I should have come toyou, and have said: 'I am a Member of Parliament. It is to you that Iowe this, more than to anyone else. Will you do yet more for me? Willyou be my companion in the life upon which I am entering--share all myhopes--help me to conquer?'--_That_ is what I meant to do. But I ambeaten, and I can only ask you to have patience with your miserabledebtor. "

He let his face fall onto the head of the sofa, and shook with emotion. There was a short silence, then Iris, her cheeks flushing, lightlytouched his hair. At once he looked up, gazed into her face. 

"What! You still believe in me? Enough for _that_?"

"Yes, " replied Iris, her eyes down, and her bosom fluttering. "Enoughfor that. "

"Ah! But be careful--think!" He looked at her with impressive sadness. "Your friends will tell you that you are marrying a pennilessadventurer. Have you the courage to face all that kind of thing?"

"I know you better than my friends do, " replied Iris, taking in bothher own the hand he held to her. "My fear, " she added, again droppingher eyes and fluttering, "is that you will some day repent. "

"Never! Never! It would be the blackest ingratitude!"

He spoke so fervently that the freckled face became rosy with joy. Itwas so near to his, that the man in him claimed warmer tribute, andIris grew rosier still. 

"Haven't you always loved me a little?" she whispered. 

"If I had only known it!" answered Lashmar, the victor's smile softenedwith self-reproach. "My ambition has much to answer for. Forgive me, Iris. "

"There's something else I must say, dear, " she murmured. "After all, Ihave so little--and there is Len, you know--"

"Why, of course. Do you imagine I should wish to rob him?"

"No, no, no!" she panted. "But it is such a small income, after all. I'm afraid we ought to--to be careful, at first--"

"Of course we must. We shall live as simply as possible. And then, youmustn't suppose that I shall never earn money. It's only waiting forone's opportunity. "

A silence fell between them. Lashmar's amorous countenance had anunder-note of thoughtfulness; Iris, smiling blissfully, none the lessreflected. 

"What are you thinking of?" he asked, gently. 

"Only how happy I am. I haven't the slightest fear. I know you havegreat things before you. Of course we must make use of our friends. MayI write to Mrs. Toplady, and tell her?"

She spoke without looking at him, and so was spared the interpretationof muscular twitches. 

"Certainly. Do you know whether she is still in London?"

"I don't know, but probably not. Don't you think she may be very usefulto us? I have always found her very nice and kind, and she knows suchhosts of people. "

Lashmar had his own thoughts about Mrs. Toplady, but the advantage ofher friendship was undeniable. Happily, he had put it out of her powerto injure him by any revelations she might make concerning May Tomalin;his avowal to Iris that May had been undisguisedly in love with himwould suffice to explain anything she might hear about the tragi-comedyat Rivenoak. Whether the lady of Pont Street could be depended upon forgenuine good will, was a question that must remain unsettled until hehad seen her again. She had bidden him to call upon her, at all events, and plainly it would be advisable to do so as soon as possible. 

"Yes, " he answered, reflectively. "She is a person to be reckoned with. It's possible her advice might be worth something in the difficultyabout Liberal or Conservative. She is intelligent enough, I think, tounderstand me on that point. Yes, you might write to her at once. If Iwere you, I would speak quite frankly. You know her well enough forthat, don't you?"

"Frankly? How?"

"Oh, I mean that you might say we have really been fond of each otherfor a long time--and that--well, that fate has brought us together inspite of everything that kind of thing, you know. "

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Iris. "That's just what I should like to say. "

Their talk grew calmly practical; the last half hour of it wasconcerned with pecuniary detail. Her eye on the clock--for Leonard wassure to enter very soon--Mrs. Woolstan gave a full account of herincome, enumerating the securities which were in the hands of hertrustee, Mr. Wrybolt, and those which she had under her own control. Inthe event of her re-marriage, Mr. Wrybolt's responsibility came to anend, a circumstance very pleasing to Lashmar. When the schoolboyinterrupted them, their conversation was by no means finished. After acheerful lunch, they resumed it on the sea-shore, Leonard being sentoff to amuse himself as he would. By tea-time, it had been agreed thatLashmar should at once give up his expensive London rooms, and comedown to Eastbourne, to recruit his health and enjoy Iris's society, until Leonard went back to school. The house at West Hampstead shouldbe their home for the first twelvemonth; by that time they would seehow things were going, and be able to make plans. Early in the evening, Lashmar took a train for town. 

At his lodgings he found several letters; two of them were important. Constance Bride's handwriting indicated the envelope to be first tornopen. She wrote concisely and with her usual clearness. The ill newsfrom Hollingford had been a grief to her, but it was very satisfactoryto see that Lashmar had reduced the Conservative majority. "You havegained some very useful experience, which I hope you may before longhave an opportunity of using. Please send me a statement of theelection expenses as soon as you can; you remember the understandingbetween us in that matter. I am soon leaving England for a few weeks, but a letter directed as above will always reach me. " The addressreferred to was that of a well-known Society for Social Reform in thewest of London. 

His hand tremulous with the anger which this curt epistle had excited, Lashmar broke an envelope on the flap of which was printed in redletters the Pont Street address so familiar to him. Mrs. Toplady wrotemore at length; she took the trouble to express her disappointment atthe result of the Hollingford election in courteously roundedterms--"Our dear old friend of Rivenoak would have found some aptphrase to describe such a man as Butterworth. Wasn't she good at thatkind of thing! How I have laughed to hear her talk of the late lamentedRobb! You have the satisfaction of knowing that you got more votes thanany Liberal has done at Hollingford for many years so the papers tellme. In fact, you have made a very good start indeed, and I am sure theeye of the party will be on you. "

Lashmar glowed. He had not expected such words from Mrs. Toplady. Afterall, Iris had given him good advice. Who knew but this woman might bemore useful to him than Lady Ogram had been?

"Do you care for news of Miss Tomalin?" the latter continued. "Afterspending two or three days with me, she grew restless, and took roomsfor herself. I am afraid, to tell you the truth, that she is a littledisappointing; it is perhaps quite as well that a certain romanticaffair which was confided to me came to nothing. A week after she leftmy house, I received a very stiff (not to say impertinent) letter, inwhich the young lady informed me that she was about to marry a Mr. Yabsley of Northampton, a man (to quote her words) 'of the highestpowers and with a brilliant future already assured to him. ' This seemedto me, I confess, a little sudden, but at least it had the merit ofbeing amusing. Perhaps I may venture to hope that you are already quiteconsoled? Remember me, I beg, to Miss Bride. Are you likely to be inthis part of the world during the holidays? If anywhere near, do comeand see me, and we will talk about that striking philosophical theoryof yours. "

Lashmar bit his lip. All at once he saw Mrs. Toplady's smile, and ittroubled him. None the less did he ponder her letter, re-reading itseveral times. Presently he mused with uneasiness on the fact that Irismight even now be writing to Mrs. Toplady. Would her interest inhim--she seemed indeed to be genuinely interested survive theannouncement that, after all, he was not going to marry ConstanceBride, but had declined upon an insignificant little widow with a fewhundreds a year? Was not this upshot of his adventures too beggarly?Had Mrs. Toplady been within easy reach, he would have gone to see her;but she wrote from the north of Scotland. He could only await theresult of Iris's letter. 

To the news concerning May Tomalin, he gave scarcely a thought. Mr. Yabsley, of Northampton!

Exceeding weariness sank him for a few hours in sleep; but before dawnhe was tossing again on the waves of miserable doubt. Why had he notwaited a little before going to see Iris? If only he had received thisletter of Mrs. Toplady in time, it would have checked him--or so hethought. Was it the malice of fate which had ordained that, on his wayto Eastbourne, he should not have troubled to look in at his lodgings?How many such wretched accidents he could recall! Was he, instead ofbeing fortune's favourite, simply a poor devil hunted by ill luck, doomed to lose every chance? Why not he as well as another? Such menabound. 

He had not yet taken the irretrievable step. Until he was actuallymarried, a hope remained to him. He might postpone the fatal day; hispurse was not yet empty. Why should he be too strict in the report ofhis election expenses to Constance? Every pound in his pocket meant aprolongation of liberty, a new horizon of the possible--

Two days later he was back again at Eastbourne. He had taken a cheaplittle lodging, and yielded himself to sea-side indolence. A weekpassed, then Iris heard from Mrs. Toplady. She did not at once showLashmar the letter; she awaited a moment when he was lulled by physicalcomfort into a facile and sanguine humour. 

"Mrs. Toplady must have been in a hurry when she wrote this, " was herremark, as, with seeming carelessness, she produced the letter. "Ofcourse she has an enormous correspondence. I shall hear again from her, no doubt, before long. "

One side only of the note-paper was covered. In formal phrase, thewriter said that she was glad to hear of her friend's engagement, andwished her all happiness. Not a word about their future meeting; not anallusion to Lashmar's prospects. If Iris had announced her comingmarriage with some poor clerk, Mrs. Toplady could not have writtenless effusively. 

"There's an end of her interest in _me_, " Dyce remarked, with a nervousshrug. 

Iris protested, and did her best to put another aspect on the matter, but without success. For twenty-four hours, Lashmar kept away from her;she, offended, tried to disregard his absence, but at length sped tomake inquiries, fearful lest he should be driven to despair. At themurky end of a wet evening, they paced the esplanade together. 

"You don't love me, " said Iris, on a sob. 

"It is because I love you, " he replied, glooming, "that I can't bear tothink of you married to such a luckless fellow as I am. "

"Dearest!" she whispered. "Am I ruining you? Do you wish to be freeagain? Tell me the truth; I think I can bear it. "

The next day saw them rambling in sunshine, Lashmar amorous andresigned, Iris flutteringly hopeful. And with such alternations did theholiday go by. When Leonard returned to school, their marriage wasfixed for ten days later. 

Shortly before leaving Eastbourne, Iris had written to Mr. Wrybolt. Already they had corresponded on the subject of her marriage; this lastletter, concerning a point of business which required immediateattention, remained without reply. Puzzled by her trustee's silence, Iris, soon after she reached home, went to see him at his City Office. She learnt that Mr. Wrybolt was out of town, but would certainly returnin a day or two. 

Again she wrote. Again she waited in vain for a reply. On a dullafternoon near the end of September, as she sat thinking of Lashmar andresolutely seeing him in the glorified aspect dear to her heart andmind, the servant announced Mr. Barker. This was the athletic young manin whose company she had spent some time at Gorleston before Lashmar'scoming. His business lay in the City; he knew Mr. Wrybolt, and throughhim had made Mrs. Woolstan's acquaintance. The face with which heentered the drawing-room portended something more than a friendly chat. Iris had at one time thought that this young man felt disposed to offerher marriage; was that his purpose now, and did it account for his oddlook?

"I want to ask you, " Mr. Barker began, abruptly, "whether you knowanything about Wrybolt? Have you heard from him lately?"

Iris replied that she herself wished to hear of that gentleman, who didnot answer her letters, and was said to be out of town. 

"That's so, is it?" exclaimed the young man, with a yet stranger lookon his face. "You really have no idea where he is?"

"None whatever. And I particularly want to see him. "

"So do I, " said Mr. Barker, smiling grimly. "So do several people. You'll excuse me, I hope, Mrs. Woolstan. I knew he was a friend ofyours, and thought you might perhaps know more about him than we did inthe City. I mustn't stay. "

Iris stared at him as he rose. A vague alarm began to tremble in hermind. 

"You don't mean that anything's wrong?" she panted. 

"We'll hope not, but it looks queer. "

"Oh!" cried Iris. "He has money of mine. He is my trustee. "

"I know that. Please excuse me; I really mustn't stay. "

"Oh, but tell me, Mr. Barker!" She clutched at his coat sleeve. "Is mymoney in danger?"

"I can't say, but you certainly ought to look after it. Get someone tomake inquiries at once; that's my advice. I really must go. "

He disappeared, leaving Iris motionless in amazement and terror. 

CHAPTER XXX

The wedding was to be a very quiet one. Lashmar would have preferredthe civil ceremony, at the table of the registrar, with musty casualsfor witnesses; but Iris shrank from this. It must be at a church, andwith a few friends looking on, or surely people would gossip. Had hebeen marrying an heiress, Dyce would have called for pomp andcircumstance, with portraits in the fashion papers, and every form ofadvertisement which society has contrived. As it was, he desired toslink through the inevitable. He was ashamed; he was confounded; andonly did not declare it. To the very eve of the wedding-day, his mindferreted elusive hopes. Had men and gods utterly forsaken him? Insolitude, he groaned and gnashed his teeth. And no deliverance came. 

Reaction made him at times the fervent lover, and these interludessupported Iris's courage. "Let it once be over!" she kept saying toherself. She trusted in her love and in her womanhood. 

"At all events, " cried the bridegroom, "we needn't go through thefoolery of running away to hide ourselves. It's only waste of money. "

But Iris pleaded for the honeymoon. People would think it so strange ifthey went straight from church to their home at West Hampstead. Andwould not a few autumn weeks of Devon be delightful? Again he yielded. 

The vicar of Alverholme and his wife, when satisfied that Dyce'sbetrothed was a respectable person, consented to be present at themarriage. Not easily did Mrs. Lashmar digest her bitter disappointment, which came so close upon that of Dyce's defeat at Hollingford; but shewas a practical woman, and, in the state of things at Alverholme, sixhundred a year seemed to her not altogether to be despised. 

"My fear was, " she remarked one day to her husband, "that Dyce would betempted to marry money. I respect him for the choice he has made; itshows character. "

The vicar just gave a glance of surprise, but said nothing. Every daymade him an older man in look and bearing. His head was turning white. He had begun to mutter to himself as he walked about the parish. Not aman in England who worried more about his own affairs and those of theworld. 

In an obscure lodging, Dyce awaited the day of destiny. One evening hewent to dine at West Hampstead; though he was rather late, Iris had notyet come home, and she had left no message to explain her absence. Hewaited a quarter of an hour. When at length his betrothed came hurryinginto the room, she wore so strange a countenance that Dyce could notbut ask what had happened. Nothing, nothing--she declared. It was onlythat she had been obliged to hurry so, and was out of breath, and--and--. Whereupon she tottered to a chair, death-pale, all butfainting. 

"What the _devil_ is the matter with you?" cried Lashmar, whoseover-strong nerves could not endure this kind of thing. 

His violence had an excellent effect. Iris recovered herself, and cametowards him with hands extended. 

"It's nothing at all, dearest. I couldn't bear to keep you waiting, andfretted myself into a fever when I saw what time it was. Don't be angrywith me, will you?"

Dyce was satisfied. It seemed to him a very natural explanation; acaress put him into his gracious mood. 

"After all, you know, " he said, "you're a very womanly woman. I thinkwe shall have to give up pretending that you're not. "

"But I've given it up long since!" Iris exclaimed, with large eyes. "Didn't you know that?"

"I'm not sure--" he laughed--"that I'm not glad of it. "

And they passed a much more tranquil evening than usual. Iris seemedtired; she sat with her head on Dyce's shoulder, thrilling when hislips touched her hair. He had assured her that her hair wasbeautiful--that he had always admired its hue of the autumn elm-leaf. Her face, too, he was beginning to find pretty, and seldom did hetrouble to reflect that she was seven years older than he. 

Already he regarded this house as his own. His books had beentransferred hither, and many of his other possessions. Very carefullyhad Iris put out of sight or got rid of, everything which could remindhim of her former marriage. Certain things (portraits and the like)which must be preserved for Leonard's sake were locked away in theboy's room. Of course Lashmar had given her no presents; she, on theother hand, had been very busy in furnishing a study which shouldplease him, buying the pictures and ornaments he liked, and manyexpensive books of which he said that he had need. Into this room Dycewas not allowed to peep; it waited as a surprise for him on the returnfrom the honeymoon. Drawing-room and dining-room he trod as master, andoften felt that, after all, a man could be very comfortable here for ayear or two. A box of good cigars invited him after dinner. A womanlywoman, the little mistress of the house; and, all things considered, hecouldn't be sure that he wasn't glad of it. 

One more day only before that of the wedding. Dyce had been on thepoint of asking whether all the business with Wrybolt wassatisfactorily settled; but delicacy withheld him. Really, there wasnothing to do; Iris's money simply passed into her own hands on theevent of her marriage. It would be time enough to talk of such thingspresently. 

They spent nearly all the last day together. Iris was in the extremityof nervousness; she looked as if she had not slept for two or threenights; often she hid her face against Dyce's shoulder, and shook as ifsobbing, but no tears followed. 

"Do you love me?" she asked, again and again. "Do you really, reallylove me?"

"But you know I do, " Dyce answered, at length irritably. "How manytimes must I tell you? It's all very well to be womanly, but don't bewomanish. "

"You're not sorry you're going to marry me?"

"You're getting hysterical, and I can't stand that. "

Hysterical she became as soon as Lashmar had left her. One of the twoservants, looking into the dressing-room before going to bed, saw herlying, half on the floor, half against the sofa, in a lamentable state. She wailed incoherent phrases. 

"I can't help it--too late--I can't, _can't_ help it oh! oh!"

Unobserved, the domestic drew back, and went to gossip with herfellow-servant of this strange incident. 

The hours drove on. Lashmar found himself at the church, accompanied byhis father, his mother, his old friend the Home Office clerk. Theywaited the bride's coming; she was five minutes late, ten minutes late;but came at last. With her were two ladies, kinsfolk of hers. Had Irisrisen from a sick bed to go through this ceremony, she could not haveshown a more disconcerting visage. But she held herself up before thealtar. The book was opened; the words of fate were uttered; the goldencirclet slipped onto her trembling hand; and Mrs. Dyce Lashmar passedforth upon her husband's arm to the carriage that awaited them. 

A week went by. They were staying at Dawlish, and Lashmar, who hadquite come round to his wife's opinion on the subject of the honeymoon, cared not how long these days of contented indolence lulled hisambitious soul; at times he was even touched by the devotion whichrepaid his sacrifice. A certain timidity which clung to Iris, atremulous solicitude which marked her behaviour to him, became her, hethought, very well indeed. Constance Bride was right; he could not havebeen thus at his ease with a woman capable of reading his thoughts, andof criticising them. He talked at large of his prospects, which took ahue from the halcyon sea and sky. 

One morning they had strolled along the cliffs, and in a sunny hollowthey sat down to rest. Dyce took from his pocket a newspaper he hadbought on coming forth. 

"Let us see what fools are doing, " he said genially. 

Iris watched him with uneasy eye. The sight of a newspaper was dreadfulto her: yet she always eagerly scanned those that came under hernotice. Lying now on the dry turf, she was able to read one page whilstDyce occupied himself with another. Of a sudden she began to shake;then a half-stifled cry escaped her. 

"What is it?" asked her husband, startled. 

"Oh, look, Dyce! Look at this!"

She pointed him to a paragraph headed: "Disappearance of a City Man. "When Lashmar had read it, he met his wife's anguished look withsurprise and misgiving. 

"You've had a precious narrow escape. Of course this is nothing to_you_, now?"

"Oh but I'm afraid it is--I'm afraid it is, Dyce--"

"What do you mean? Didn't you get everything out of his hands?"

"I thought it was safe--I left it till we were back at home--"

Lashmar started to his feet, pale as death. 

"What? Then all your money is lost?"

"Oh, surely not? How can it be? We must make inquiries at once--"

"Inquiries? Inquiries enough have been made, you may depend upon it, before this got into the papers. Why, read! The fellow has bolted; thepolice are after him; he has robbed and swindled right and left. Do youimagine _your_ money has escaped his clutches?"

They stood face to face. 

"Dear, don't be angry with me!" sounded from Iris in a choking voice. "I am not to blame--I couldn't help it--oh don't look at me like that, dear husband!"

"But you have been outrageously careless! What right had you to exposeus to this danger? Ass that I was ass, _ass_ that I was! I wanted tospeak of it, and my cursed delicacy prevented me. What right had you tobehave so idiotically?"

He set off at a great speed towards Dawlish. Iris ran after him, caughthis arm, clung to him. 

"Where are you going? You won't leave me?"

"I'm going to London, of course, " was his only reply, as he strode on. 

Running by his side, Iris told with broken breath of the offer ofmarriage she had received from Wrybolt not long ago. She understood nowwhy he wished to marry her; no doubt he already found himself in gravedifficulties, and saw this as a chance either of obtaining money, or ofconcealing a fraud he had already practised at her expense. 

"Why didn't you fell me that before?" cried Lashmar, savagely. "Whatright had you to keep it from me?"

"I ought to have told you. Oh, do forgive me! Don't walk so quickly, Dyce! I haven't the strength to keep up with you. --You know that hehadn't everything--most fortunately not everything--"

With an exclamation of wrathful contempt, the man pursued his way. Irisfell back; she tottered; she sank to her knee upon the grass, moaning, sobbing. Only when he was fifty yards ahead did Dyce pause and lookback. Already she was running after him again. He turned, and walkedless quickly. At length there was a touch upon his arm. 

"Dear--dear--don't you love me?" panted a scarce audible voice. 

"Don't be a greater idiot than you have been already, " was his fiercereply. "I have to get to London, and look after your business; that'senough to think about just now. "

In less than an hour they had taken train. By early evening theyreached Paddington Station, whence they set forth to call upon theperson whom Iris mentioned as most likely to be able to inform themconcerning Wrybolt. It was the athletic Mr. Barker, who dwelt with hisparents at Highgate. An interview with this gentleman, who was caughtat dinner, put an end to the faint hopes Lashmar had tried toentertain. Wrybolt, said Barker, was not a very interesting criminal;the frauds he had perpetrated were not great enough to make his casesensational; but there could be no shadow of doubt that he had turnedhis trusteeship to the best account. 

"He has nothing but his skin to pay with, " added the young City man, "and I wouldn't give much for that. Don't distress yourself, Mrs. Lashmar; I know a lady who is let in worse than you--considerablyworse. "

The newly-married couple made their way to West Hampstead. The servantwho had been left in charge of the house did not conceal her surpriseas she admitted them. It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening. 

"I suppose we must have something to eat, " said Dyce, sullenly. 

"You must be very hungry, " Iris answered, regarding him like afrightened but affectionate dog that eyes its master. "Jane shall getsomething at once. "

They sat down to such a supper as could be prepared at a moment'snotice. By good fortune, a bottle of claret had been found, and, excepting one glass, which his wife thankfully swallowed, Lashmar drankit all. At an ordinary time, this excess would have laid him prostrate;in the present state of his nerves, it did him nothing but good; ahealthier hue mantled on his cheeks, and he began to look furtively atIris with eyes which had lost their evil expression. She, so exhaustedthat she could scarce support herself on the chair, timidly met theseglances, but as yet no word was spoken. 

"Why haven't you eaten anything?" asked Dyce at length, breaking thesilence with a voice which was almost natural. 

"I have, dear. "

"Yes, a bit of bread. Come, eat! You'll be ill if you don't. "

She tried to obey. Tears began to trickle down her face. 

"What's the use of going on like that?" Lashmar exclaimed, petulantlyrather than in anger. "You're tired to death. If you really can't eatanything, better go to bed. We shall see how things look in themorning. "

Iris rose and came towards him. 

"Thank you, dear, for speaking so kindly. I don't deserve it. "

"Oh, we won't say anything about that, " he replied, with an air ofgenerosity. Then, laughing, "Aren't you going to show me the study?"

"Dyce! I haven't the heart. "

She began to weep in earnest. 

"Nonsense! Let us go and look at it. I'll carry the lamp. "

They left the room, and Iris, struggling with her tears, led the way tothe study door. As he entered Dyce gave an exclamation of pleasure. Thelittle room was furnished and adorned very tastefully; hook-shelves, with all Lashmar's own books carefully arranged, and many new volumesadded, made a pleasant show; a handsome writing-table and chair seemedto invite to penwork. 

"I could have done something here, " Dyce remarked, with a nodding ofthe head. 

Iris came nearer. Timidly she laid a hand upon his shoulder;appealingly she gazed into his face. 

"Dear"--it was a just audible whisper--"you are so clever--you are sofar above ordinary men--"

Lashmar smiled. His arm fell lightly about her waist. "We have stillnearly two hundred pounds a year, " the whisper continued. "There'sLen--but I must take him from school--"

"Pooh! We'll talk about that. "

A cry of gratitude escaped her. 

"Dyce! How good you are! How bravely you hear it, my own dear husband. I'll do anything, anything! We needn't have a servant. I'll work--Idon't care anything if you still love me. Say you still love me!"

He kissed her hair. 

"It's certain I don't hate you. --Well, we'll see how things lookto-morrow. Who knows? It may be the real beginning of my career!"