very lofty type of woman indeed, a being superb in every attribute when dreaming of his future spouse.  But he enjoyed the sense of power, and was exasperated by a suggestion that any man could have a natural advantage over him.  To this characteristic he owed the influence with women which had carried him so far, for there is nothing that better stands a man in his relations with the other sex than settled egoism serving restless ambition.  This combination of qualities which all but every woman worship.  Mrs. Toplady herself, she of the ironic smile and cynic intelligence, felt it a magnetic property in Dyce Lashmar’s otherwise not very impressive person.  On that account did she watch his pranks with so indulgent an eye, and give herself trouble to enlarge the scope of his entertaining activity.  She knew, however, that the man was not cast in heroic mould; that he was capable of scruples, inclined to indolence; that he did not, after all, sufficiently believe in himself to go very far in the subjugation of others.  Therefore she had never entertained the thought of seriously devoting herself to his cause, but was content to play with it until something more piquant should claim her attention.

Mrs. Toplady had always wished for the coming of the very hero, the man without fear, without qualm, who should put our finicking civilisation under his feet.  Her god was a compound of the blood-reeking conqueror and the diplomatist supreme in guile.  For such a man she would have poured out her safe-invested treasure, enough rewarded with a nod of half-disdainful recognition.  It vexed her to think that she might pass away before the appearance of that new actor on the human stage; his entrance was all but due, she felt assured.  Ah! the world would be much more amusing presently, and she meanwhile was growing old.

Her drawing-rooms on the evening of June 13th were crowded with representatives of Society.  Lashmar arrived about ten o’clock, and his hostess had soon introduced him to two or three persons of political note, with each of whom be exchanged phrases of such appalling banality that he had much ado not to laugh in his interlocutor’s face.  The swelling current moved him along; he could only watch countenances and listen to dialogues as foolish as those in which he had taken part; a dizzying babblement filled the air, heavy with confusion of perfumes.  Presently, having circled his way back towards the stair-head, he caught sight of Lord Dymchurch, who had newly entered; their eyes met, but Dymchurch, who wore a very absent look, gave no sign of recognition.  Dyce pressed forward.

“I hoped I might meet you here,” he said.

The other started, smiled nervously, and spoke in a confused way.

“I thought it likely.  Of course you know a great many of these people?”

“Oh, a few.  I had rather meet them anywhere than in such a crowd, though.”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” murmured Dymchurch, with a comical distress in his eyebrows.  “Wonderful!”