Good-naturedly nodding, he moved away, and was lost to sight.  Dyce, holding his place near the entrance, perceived at length another face that he knew—­that of a lady with whom he had recently dined at this house; in her company came Constance Bride and May Tomalin.  He all but bounded to meet them.  Constance looked well in a garb more ornate than Lashmar had yet seen her wearing; May, glowing with self-satisfaction, made a brilliant appearance.  Their chaperon spoke with him; he learned that Lady Ogram did not feel quite equal to an occasion such as this, and had stayed at home.  Miss Tomalin, eager to join in the talk, pressed before Constance.

“Have you got your speech ready, Mr. Lashmar?” she asked, with sprightly condescension.

“Quite.  How sorry I am that you won’t be able to enjoy that masterpiece of eloquence!”

“Oh, but it will be reported.  It must be reported, of course.”

The chaperon interposed, presenting to Miss Tomalin a gentleman who seemed very desirous of that honour, and Dyce stifled his annoyance in saying apart to Constance

“What barbarism this is!  One might as well try to converse in the middle of the street at Charing Cross.”

“Certainly.  But people don’t come to converse,” was the answer.

“You enjoy this kind of thing, I fancy?”

“I don’t find it disagreeable.”

The chaperon and Miss Tomalin were moving away; May cast a look at Lashmar, but he was unconscious of it.  Constance turned to follow her companions, and Dyce stood alone again.

Half an hour later, the circling currents to which he surrendered himself brought him before a row of chairs, where sat the three ladies and, by the side of Miss Tomalin, Lord Dymchurch.  May, flushed and bright-eyed, was talking at a great rate; she seemed to be laying down the law in some matter, and Dymchurch, respectfully bent towards her, listened with a thoughtful smile.  Dyce approached, and spoke to Constance.  A few moments afterwards, Lord Dymchurch rose, bowed, and withdrew; whereupon Lashmar asked Miss Tomalin’s permission to take the vacant chair.  It was granted rather absently; for the girl’s eyes had furtively followed her late companion as he moved away, and she seemed more disposed to reflect than to begin a new conversation.  This passed, however; soon she was talking politics with an air of omniscience which Lashmar could only envy.

“May I take you down to the supper-room?” he asked presently.

The chaperon and Miss Bride were engaged in conversation with a man who stood behind them.

“Yes, let us go,” said May, rising.  “I’m thirsty.”

She spoke a word to the lady responsible for her, and swept off with Lashmar.

“How delightful it is,”.  Dyce exclaimed, “to gather such a lot of interesting people!”

“Isn’t it!” May responded.  “One feels really alive here.  You would hardly believe—­” she gave him a confidential look—­“that this is my first season in London.”