As he spoke, he felt that he wore an expression new to his visage, a sort of smile which his lips had not the habit of framing.  Quite unconsciously, indeed, he had reproduced the smile of Mrs. Toplady; its ironic good-humour seemed to put him at ease, and to heighten his personal effectiveness.

“Hollingford?” Lord Dymchurch reflected.  “I know the place by name only.”

He looked at Lashmar with a new interest.  Constantly worrying about his own inactive life, and what he deemed his culpable supineness as a citizen, the pinched peer envied any man to whom the Lower House offered its large possibilities.

“The idea is quite novel to me,” Lashmar continued.  “You know something of my views—­my cast of mind; do you think I should do well to go in for practical politics?”

“I think any man does well who goes in for anything practical,” was Lord Dymchurch’s answer.  “Stand, by all means, and I wish you success.  Parliament isn’t overcrowded with men of original views.”

“That’s very kind of you.—­I don’t want to presume upon your good-nature, but I wonder whether I could persuade you to dine with me, to meet a few friends of mine who are so good as to interest themselves in this matter?  Quite an informal little dinner; one or two ladies—­the Member for Belper—­a Home Office man people who see things rather in my own way—­”

He added place and date; then, with Mrs. Toplady’s smile still on his lips, awaited the response.  That Lord Dymchurch would much have preferred to excuse himself was visible enough in the pleasant, open countenance, little apt for dissembling; but no less evident was the amiability which made it difficult for him to refuse a favour, and which, in this instance, allied itself with something like a sense of duty.  Lord Dymchurch had been considerably impressed by Lashmar’s talk; the bio-sociological theory and all its consequences applied alike to his reason and his imagination; he had mused over this new philosophy, and the opportunity of being ever so little helpful to such a man as its originator should, he felt, be regarded as a privilege.  That he could not altogether “take to” Lashmar was nothing to the point.  How often had he rebuked himself for his incrustation of prejudices, social and personal, which interfered between him and the living, progressing world!  Fie upon his finical spirit, which dwelt so vulgarly on a man’s trivial defects!

“With pleasure,” he replied; and, as if feeling it insufficient, he added, “with great pleasure!”

Dyce’s lips forgot Mrs. Toplady; he smiled his own smile of genial satisfaction, and, as his way was when pleased, broke into effusive talk.  He told of Lady Ogram, of the political situation at Hollingford, of editor Breakspeare, of the cantankerous Robb, and to all this Lord Dymchurch willingly lent ear.

“I should uncommonly like you to go down with me some day.  You might find it amusing.  Lady Ogram is, undeniably, a very remarkable woman.”