On the morning of May the 28th, Lashmar wrote a full letter to Rivenoak.  It told of a dinner successful beyond his hopes.  Mrs. Toplady had surpassed herself in brilliant graciousness; Lord Dymchurch had broken through his reserve, and talked remarkably—­ most remarkably.  “As for the host, why, he did what in him lay, and Mrs. Toplady was good enough to remark, as he handed her into her carriage, ’A few more dinners such as this, and all London will want to know the—­’ I won’t finish her sentence.  Joking apart, I think my friends enjoyed themselves, and they were certainly very encouraging with regard to our project.”

At the same hour, Mrs. Toplady, propped with pillows, was also writing to Rivenoak.

“It came off very well indeed, and I see that we must take serious account of Mr. Lashmar.  You know that, of course, and I didn’t doubt your judgment, but intellectual distinction doesn’t always go together with the qualities necessary to a political career.  Beyond a doubt, he is our coming man!  And now let me know when to expect you in London.  I look forward to the delight of seeing you, and of making the acquaintance of your niece, who must be very interesting.  How lucky you are to have discovered at the same time two such brilliant young people!  By the bye, I have not mentioned Miss Tomalin to any one; it occurred to me that silence in this matter was perhaps discretion.  If I have been needlessly reticent, pray say so.  Of course at a word from you, I can speak to the right people, but possibly you had rather nothing at all were said until the young lady has been seen.  Myself, I see no reason whatever for explanations.”

As she closed this letter, Mrs. Toplady’s smile all but became a chuckle.  Nothing had so much amused her for a twelvemonth past.

Lashmar had no reply from Rivenoak.  This silence disappointed him.  Ten days having elapsed, he thought of writing again, but there arrived a letter addressed in Miss Bride’s hand, the contents a few lines in tremulous but bold character, signed “A.  Ogram.”  He was invited to lunch, on the next day but one, at Bunting’s Hotel, Albemarle Street.

This same afternoon, having nothing to do, he went to call upon Mrs. Woolstan.  It was his second visit since the restaurant dinner, and Iris showed herself very grateful for his condescension.  She regarded him anxiously; made inquiries about his health; was he not working too hard?  His eyes looked rather heavy, as if he studied too late at night.  Dyce, assuming the Toplady smile, admitted that he might have been rather over-zealous at his constitutional history of late; concession to practicality had led him to take up that subject.  In his thoughts, he reproached himself for a freak of the previous evening, a little outbreak of folly, of no grave importance, which had doubtless resulted from the exciting tenor of his life recently.  On the whole, it might serve a useful purpose, reminding him to be on guard against certain weaknesses of his temperament, likely to be fostered by ease and liberty.