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 it very difficult.  Mrs. Toplady had so vast an advantage of him in manner, in social resources, and, for all her amiability, must needs regard him from a higher ground.

“It’s very nice of you to say that,” she resumed; “I was thinking of Mr. 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.  Come and meet him here at five o’clock on Sunday; have a talk and then send him your invitation.  He, too, is a thorough idealist; you’re sure to like him.”

Before Lashmar left the house, all the details of this little dinner were neatly settled, the only point necessarily left uncertain being whether Lord Dymchurch could be counted upon.  Of course Mrs. Toplady had dictated everything, even to the choice of restaurant and the very room that was to be engaged; Lashmar would have the pleasure of ordering the dinner, and of paying the bill.  He thanked his stars again for 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 doubtful advantage as to comfort, in Devonshire Street, Portland Place.  The address, he felt, sounded tolerably well.  Only in the vaguest way had he troubled to compute his annual outlay on this new basis.  He was become an adventurer, and in common self-respect must cultivate the true adventurous spirit.  Once or twice he half reproached himself for not striking out yet more boldly into the currents of ambition, for it was plain that a twelvemonth must see him either made or ruined, and probably everything depended on the quality of his courage.  Now, he began to wonder whether Mrs. Toplady’s favour would be likely to manifest itself in any still more practical way; but of this his reflection offered him no assurance.  The probability was that in Lady Ogram lay his only reasonable hope.  On the spur of such feeling, he addressed a letter to Rivenoak, giving an account of his luncheon in Pont Street, and thanking the old autocrat more fervently than he yet had done for all her good offices.

Since his return from Rivenoak, he had not met Lord Dymchurch.  He might of course write his invitation, but he fancied that it would have more chance of being accepted if he urged it orally, and, as he could not call upon the peer (whose private address, in books of reference, was merely the house in Somerset), he haunted the club with the hope of encountering him.  On the second day fortune was propitious.  Lord Dymchurch sat in his usual corner of the library, and, on Lashmar’s approach, smiled his wonted greeting.  After preliminary gossip, Dyce commanded himself to courageous utterance.

“I have been asked to come forward as Liberal candidate for a little borough in the Midlands—­Hollingford.  It’s a Tory seat, and I don’t know whether I shall stand any chance, but local people want to fight it, and they seem to think that I may be the man for them.”