"Thank you, very much."
"Miss Bride, give Mr. Lashmar your Report. He might like to look over it."
Mr. and Mrs. Gallantry were rising to take leave, and the hostess did not seek to detain them; she stood up, with some difficulty, exhibiting a figure unexpectedly tall.
"We'll talk over your idea," she said, as she offered her hand to the lady. "There's something in it, but you mustn't worry me about it, you know. 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 an impatient adieu as Mr. Gallantry's long, loose figure bowed before her.
Constance Bride had left the room for a moment; she returned with a thin 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 turning towards his hostess, about to utter some complimentary remark, he saw that Lady Ogram was sitting with her head bent forward and her eyes closed; but for the position of her hands, each grasping an arm of the chair, one would have imagined that she had fallen asleep. Dyce glanced at 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 less distinct, 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 his education, which Dyce answered succinctly.
"Would you like to see something of Rivenoak? If so, Miss Bride will show you about."
"With pleasure," replied the young man.
"Very well. You lunch with us to-morrow. Be at the mill at eleven o'clock."
She held out her skeleton hand, and Dyce took it respectfully. Then Constance and he withdrew.
"This, as you see, is the library," said his companion, when they had passed into the adjoining room. "The books were mostly collected by Sir Spencer Ogram, father of the late baronet; he bought Rivenoak, and laid out the grounds. That is his portraitthe painter has been forgotten."
Dyce let his eyes wander, but paid Tittle attention to what he saw. His guide was speaking in a dry, uninterested voice, she, too, seeming to have her thoughts elsewhere. They went out into the hall, looked into one or two other rooms, and began to ascend the stairs.
"There's nothing of interest above," said Constance, "except the view from 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 new dignity in her bearing. Notwithstanding her subordinate position at Rivenoak, and the unceremonious way in which Lady Ogram exercised authority over her, Constance showed to more advantage here than on her recent visit to Alverholme; she was more naturally self-possessed, and seemed a freer, happier person. The house garb, though decorous rather than ornamental, became her better than her walking-costume. Her well-shaped head and thoughtful, sensitive, controlled features, had a new value against this background of handsome furniture and all the appointments of wealth. She moved as if breathing the air that suited her.
From the terrace on the roof, their eyes commanded a wide and beautiful prospect, seen at this moment of the year in its brightest array of infinitely varied verdure. Constance, still in an absent tone, pointed out the features of the landscape, naming villages, hills, and great estates. Hollingford, partly under a canopy of smoke, lay low by its winding river, and in that direction Dyce most frequently turned his eyes.
"I felt very much obliged to you," he said, "for your carefully written letter. 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, on the whole, truethough such an obvious improvisation."
"Improvisation? In one sense, yes; I had to take in the facts of the case 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 sounds childishand 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 my position. I have come here, not in the first place with a hope of personal advantage, but to see if I can interest Lady Ogram in certain views which I hold and am trying to get accepted by people of influence. It happened that this affair of the mill gave me a good illustration of the theory I generally have to put in an abstract way. Your word 'improvisation' seems to hint that I shaped my views to the purpose of pleasing Lady Ograma plain injustice, as you will see if you 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 accent of penitence, for in truth she seemed quietly amused. "All I meant was that you were admirably quick in seizing an opportunity of beginning your propaganda."
"I don't think you meant only that," remarked Dyce, coolly, looking her in the eyes.
"Is it your habit to contradict so grossly?" asked Constance, with a cold air of surprise.
"I try to make my talkespecially with women as honest as I can. It seems mere justice to them, as well as to myself. And please observe that I did not grossly contradict you. I said that you seemed to me to have another thought in your mind beyond the one you admitted.Tell me, please; do you exact courtiership from men? I imagined you would rather dislike it."
"You are right; I do."
"Then it's clear that you mustn't be annoyed when I speak in my natural way. I see no reason in the world why one shouldn't talk to a womanabout things in generalexactly as one does to a man. What is called chivalry is simply disguised contempt. If a man bows and honeys to a woman, he does so because he thinks she has such a poor understanding that this kind of thing will flatter and please her. For my own part, I shall never try to please a woman by any other methods than 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 man worth knowing."
"I'm very glad to hear you say so. Now that we've cleared the air, we shall get on better together. Let me tell you that, whatever else I may fall short in, I have the virtue of sincerity. You know well enough that I am naturally ambitious, but my ambition has never made me unprincipled. I aim at distinction, because I believe that nature has put it within my reach. I don't regard myself as an average man, because I can't; it would be practising hypocrisy with myself. There isif you likethe possibility of self-deception. Perhaps I am misled by egregious conceit. Well, it is honest conceit, and, as it tends to my happiness, I don't pray to be delivered from it."