Immediately after this conversation, Lashmar wrote off to Mrs. Toplady, half-a-dozen exultant lines, announcing his success No more wavering, he said to himself.  Fate was on his side.  He had but to disregard all paltry obstacles, and go straight on.

Yet one obstacle, and that not altogether paltry, continually haunted his mind.  He could not forget Lady Ogram’s obvious intention that he should marry Constance Bride; and such a marriage was altogether out of harmony with his ambition.  If it brought him money—­that is to say, a substantial fortune—­he might be content to accept it, but it could not be more than a compromise; he aimed at a very different sort of alliance.  Moreover, he knew nothing of Lady Ogram’s real intentions with regard to Constance; her mysterious phrases merely perplexed and annoyed him as often as he thought of them.  To marry Constance without a substantial fortune—­that were disaster indeed!  And what if Lady Ogram’s favour depended upon it?

But he had his little dinner to think of.  He wrote to Mrs. Woolstan, who, by return of post, blithely accepted his invitation, begging him, at the same time, to come and see her before then, if he could possibly spare an hour.  Dyce threw the letter aside impatiently.  On Sunday he was in Pont Street, where he met the Parliamentary Mr. Roach, a young man fairly answering to Mrs. Toplady’s description; an idealist of a mild type, whose favourite talk was of “altruism,” and who, whilst affecting close attention to what other people said, was always absorbed in his own thoughts.  Before Lashmar had been many minutes in the drawing-room, there entered Mrs. Woolstan, and she soon found an occasion for brief exchange of words with him.

“Why haven’t you been to see me yet?”

“I’m so terribly busy.  Of course I ought to have come.  I thought of to-morrow—­but now that we’ve met here, and are going to dine on the 27th—­”

“Oh, I know you must be busy!” conceded Iris, with panting emphasis and gladness.  “How splendidly everything’s going!  But I want to hear about it all, you know.  Your letter about Rivenoak only made me eager to know more—­”

“We’ll have an afternoon presently.  Ask Mrs. Toplady to introduce Mr. Roach—­he dines with us on the 27th.”

To make sure of the M. P., Lashmar invited him verbally, and received a dreamy acceptance—­so dreamy that he resolved to send a note, to remind Mr. Roach of the engagement.

“So you are to be one of us, at Mr. Lashmar’s dinner,” said the hostess to Mrs. Woolstan.  “A delightful evening—­won’t it be!”

And she watched the eager little face with eyes which read its every line remorselessly:  her smile more pitiless in ironic mischief even than of wont.