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Updated: May 20, 2025
Woolstan's eyes widened in horror. Lashmar regarded her with a smile 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 us talking here. I have been expecting to read of your election. Is it something to do with Lady Ogram's death?
In a garden on the edge of the cliff, he found half a dozen persons; an elderly man who looked like a retired tradesman, his wife, of suitable appearance, their son, their two daughters, and Iris Woolstan. Loud and mirthful talk was going on; his arrival interrupted it only for a moment. "So glad to see you!" was Mrs. Woolstan's friendly, but not cordial, greeting.
Woolstan had made known the fact of his tutorship, which he did not care to publish, preferring to represent himself as having always held an independent position. With momentary awkwardness he explained that Mrs. Toplady's name had but once casually passed Mrs. Woolstan's Tips in his hearing, and that till now he had forgotten the circumstance.
The name of Wrybolt set before Dyce's mind a middle-aged man, red-necked, heavy of eyelid, with a rather punctilious hearing and authoritative 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 make inquiries about Len, and to ask when I meant to send him to school.
In any case, it would have been impossible to get through the day in the usual manner, and his relief when he found himself at the railway station was almost a return of good spirits. On reaching London, he made straight for West Hampstead. As he approached Mrs. Woolstan's house, his heart beat violently. Without even a glance at the windows, he rang the visitor's bell.
Well, well, we shall often see each other again, and who 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 reproached herself for not having stood out against Wrybolt. As he walked away from the house, Dyce wondered why he had told that lie about the friend at Alverholme.
"If you leave Euston by the newspaper train to-morrow morning," said Dyce, gravely, "you may be just in time to hear the declaration of the poll. Meanwhile," he added, "suppose we think for a moment of the trifling fact that my income is nothing a year. How does that affect my chances in a political career, I wonder?" Mrs. Woolstan's countenance fell.
In vain did he remember the many proofs he had received of Mrs. Woolstan's devotion; since the interview with Constance, all belief in himself was at an end. He had thought his eloquence, his personal magnetism, irresistible; Constance had shown him the extent of his delusion. If he saw Iris, the result would be the same.
Wrybolt, and through him had made Mrs. Woolstan's acquaintance. The face with which he entered the drawing-room portended something more than a friendly chat. Iris had at one time thought that this young man felt disposed to offer her marriage; was that his purpose now, and did it account for his odd look? "I want to ask you," Mr. Barker began, abruptly, "whether you know anything about Wrybolt?
"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?" said Dyce, 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 be quick about it come!" Mrs. Woolstan's bosom rose and fell rapidly as she collected her thoughts.
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