Iris had coloured a little.  Her eyes involuntarily sought the slip of glass at her side of the seat, and the face she saw was assuredly not a flattering likeness.  With brow knitted, she stared out into the street, and presently asked: 

“Have you seen Lady Ogram?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you told me that she would have no one with her but her secretary?  Why did you say that?”

“Because I didn’t know that she bed a newly-discovered niece.  It seems that you have heard of it.  Perhaps you have met her?”

“Not yet; Mrs. Toplady told me.”

“And you take it for granted that I had deliberately concealed the niece from you?” said Lashmar, with an amused air.  “Pray, why should I have done so?”

“No, no, I thought nothing of the kind,” replied Mrs. Woolstan, in a conciliating tone.  “Indeed I didn’t!  It’s only that I felt vexed not to have heard the story from you first.  I thought you would have told it me as soon as possible—­such an interesting thing as that.”

Lashmar declared that he had only known of Miss Tomalin’s existence for a day or two, and had only heard the explanation of her appearance this very day.  His companion asked for a description of the young lady, and he gave one remarkable for splenetic exaggeration.

“You must have seen her in a hansom looking-glass,” said Iris, smiling askance at him.  “Mrs. Toplady’s picture is very different.  And the same applies to Miss Bride; I formed an idea of her from what you told me which doesn’t answer at all to that given me by Mrs. Toplady.”

“Mrs. Toplady,” replied Dyce, his lips reminiscent of Pont Street, “inclines to idealism, I have found.  It’s an amiable weakness, but one has to be on one’s guard against it.  Did she say anything about Lord Dymchurch?”

“Nothing.  Why?”

Dyce seemed to reflect; then spoke as if confidentially.

“I suspect there is a little conspiracy against the noble lord.  From certain things that I have observed and heard, I think it probable that Lady Ogram wants to capture Dymchurch for her niece.”

A light shone upon the listener’s countenance, and she panted eager exclamations.

“Really?  You think so?  But I understood that he was so poor.  How is it possible?”

“Yes.  Dymchurch is poor, I believe, but he is a lord.  Lady Ogram is not poor, and I fancy she would like above all things to end her life as aunt-in-law (if there be such a thing) of a peer.  Her weakness, as we know, has always been for the aristocracy.  She’s a strong-minded woman in most things.  I am quite sure she prides herself on belonging by birth to the lower class, and she knows that most aristocrats are imbeciles; for all that, she won’t rest till she has found her niece a titled husband.  This is my private conviction; take it for what it is worth.”

“But,” cried Iris, satisfaction still shining on her face, “do you think there’s the least chance that Lord Dymchurch will be caught?”