level voice, not as one who addresses a thing afraid of sound.  To a girl or matron whom he liked, he said, in tone if not in phrase, “Let us be comrades.”  In his opinion this tended notably to the purifying of the social atmosphere.  It was the introduction of simple honesty into relations commonly marked—­and corrupted—­by every form of disingenuousness.  Moreover, it was the great first step to that reconstruction of society at large which every thinker saw to be imperative and imminent.

But Constance Bride knew nothing of this, and in her ignorance could not but misinterpret the young man’s demeanor.  She felt it to be brusque; she imagined it to imply a purposed oblivion of things in the past.  Taken together with Mrs. Lashmar’s way of receiving her at the vicarage, it stirred in her heart and mind (already prone to bitterness) a resentment which, of all things, she shrank from betraying.

“Is Lady Ogram approachable?” Dyce asked, when his companion had walked a few paces without speaking.  “Does she care to make new acquaintances?”

“It depends.  She likes to know interesting people.”

“Well”—­Dyce murmured a laugh—­“perhaps she might think me interesting, in a way.  Her subject is mine.  I’m working at sociology; have been for a long time.  I’m getting my ideas into shape, and I like to talk about them.”

“Do you write?” asked the girl, without raising her eyes to his.

“No.  People write too much; we’re flooded with print.  I’ve grown out of my old ambitions that way.  The Greek philosophers taught by word of mouth, and it was better.  I want to learn how to talk—­to talk well—­to communicate what I have to say in a few plain words.  It saves time and money; I’m convinced, too, that it carries more weight.  Everyone nowadays can write a book, and most people do; but how many can talk?  The art is being utterly forgotten.  Chatter and gabble and mumble—­an abuse of language.  What’s your view?”

“I think perhaps you are right.”

“Come, now, I’m glad to hear you say that.  If I had time, I would tell you more; but here’s the station, and there’s the smoke of the train.  We’ve cut it rather close.  Across the line; you’ll have to run—­sharp!”

They did so, reaching the platform as the train drew up.  Dyce allowed his companion to open a carriage-door for herself.  That was quite in accord with his principles, but perhaps he would for once have neglected them had he been sure by which class Miss Bride would travel.  She entered the third.

“You wouldn’t care to introduce me to Lady Ogram?” he said, standing by the window, and looking straight into the girl’s eyes.

“I will if you wish,” she answered, meeting his look with hard steadiness and a frown as of pain.

“Many thanks!  Rivenoak, Hollingford, the address?  Suppose I call in a few days?”

“If you like.”

The train moved.  Dyce bared his head, and, as he turned away, thought how contemptible was the practice.