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But Constance was an exception, the best type of modern woman. After all, he liked her. Again they two breakfasted together. Dyce gave a mirthful description of his evening, and gaily reported Mr. Blaydes's eloquence on the subject of woman. "On the whole, I agree with him," said Constance. "And I know, of course, that you do." "Indeed? You agree with him?" "So does every sensible person.
Meanwhile, I dig the trenches!" Ale and strong tobacco, to both of which he was unaccustomed, wrought confusingly upon Dyce's brain as he was borne through the night. He found himself murmuring the name of Constance, and forming a resolve to win her to intimacy on the morrow. Yes, he liked Constance after all. Then came a memory of Martin Blaydes's diatribe, and he laughed approvingly.
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