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"Then I think we had better get our little talk over and done with. We shan't keep the others waiting." Dyce accepted this as a good omen. "Our little talk!" He had not dreamt of such urbanity. Here was the result of courage and honesty. Evidently his bearing had made a good impression upon the old despot. He began to look cheerful. "Nothing could please me better."
Dyce turned towards Constance, of whose proximity he had been aware, though he had scarcely looked at her, and, as she bent her head smiling, he rose and bowed. The lady whom their hostess had addressed she was middle-aged, very comely and good-humoured of countenance, and very plainly attired replied to the blunt remarks in an easy, pleasant tone.
When Constance re-entered, he saw she had a book in her hand, a book which by its outward appearance he at once recognised. "Do you know this?" she asked, holding the volume to him. "I received it yesterday, and have already gone through most of it. I find it very interesting." "Ah, I know it quite well," Dyce answered, fingering the pages. "A most suggestive book.
Dyce, though he would have liked to say much, knew not how to express himself; it was plain, moreover, that his hostess had 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 than ever. Certainly her visage was more cadaverous in line and hue than he had yet seen it.
He took the volume, a philosophical work by a French writer, bearing recent date. Mr. Lashmar listlessly turned a few pages, whilst Dyce was filling and lighting his pipe. "It's uncommonly suggestive," said Dyce, between puffs. "The best social theory I know. He calls his system Bio-sociology; a theory of society founded on the facts of biology thoroughly scientific and convincing.
"If I don't, I shall deserve to fall into worse difficulties than ever," cried Lashmar. "As, for instance, to find yourself under the necessity of making your mock contract a real one which would be sufficiently tragic." Constance spoke with a laugh, and thereupon, before Dyce could make any rejoinder, walked from the room. The philosopher stood embarrassed.
Perfectly true, answered Dyce, in his discreet way; and he smiled as one who, if he would, could expatiate on the interesting topic. He saw Mrs. Gallantry, and from her learnt without betraying his own ignorance that callers at Rivenoak were received by Lady Amys, from whom only the barest information concerning Lady Ogram's illness was obtainable.
Her speech had become so palpitant that she was stopped by want of breath; a rosy shamefacedness subdued her; trying to brave it out, she achieved only an unconscious archness of eye and lip which made her for the moment oddly, unfamiliarly attractive. Dyce could not take his eyes from her; he experienced a singular emotion.
When that hour arrived, he had studied the local directory, carefully looked over the town and county newspapers, and held a little talk with his landlord, who happened to be a political malcontent, cautiously critical of Mr. Robb. Dyce accepted the fact as of good augury. It was long since he had felt so lighthearted and sanguine.
He was allowed to spend an hour in reposeful solitude ere being admitted to his hostess's presence. Conducted at length to the green drawing-room, he found Lady Ogram alone. She scrutinised him with friendly but searching eye, gave him her hand, and bade him be seated near her. "I have another visitor coming from London to-day; an old friend of mine, Mrs. Toplady." Where had Dyce heard that name?
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