“Provided,” put in her companion, “that one belongs to nature’s aristocracy.”

“Well—­yes—­I suppose one must have the presumption to lay claim to that,” returned May, with a little laugh.

“Say, rather, the honesty, the simple courage.  Self-depreciation,” added Dyce, “I have always regarded as a proof of littleness.  People really called to do something never lose confidence in themselves, and have no false modesty about expressing it.”

“I’m sure that’s very true.  I heard once that someone at Northampton had called me conceited, and you can’t think what a shock it gave me.  I sat down, there and then, and asked myself whether I really was conceited, and my conscience assured me I was nothing of the kind.  I settled it with myself, once for all.  Since then, I have never cared what people said about me.”

“That’s admirable!” murmured Dyce.

“I am sure,” went on the girl, with a grave archness, “that you too have known such an experience.”

“To tell the truth, I have,” the philosopher admitted, bending his head a little.

“I felt certain that you could understand me, or I should never have ventured to tell you such a thing.—­There is Miss Bride!”

Constance had taken a seat not far from them, and the man who had been talking with her upstairs was offering her refreshments.  Presently, she caught Miss Tomalin’s eye, and smiled; a minute or two after, she and her companion came forward to join the other pair, and all re-ascended to the drawing-rooms together.  When he had restored his charge to her chaperon, Lashmar took the hint of discretion and retired into the throng.  There amid, he encountered Iris Woolstan, her eyes wide in search.

“So you are here!” she exclaimed, with immediate change of countenance.  “I despaired of ever seeing you.  What a crush!”

“Horrible, isn’t it.  I’ve had enough; I must breathe the air.”

“Oh, stay a few minutes.  I know so few people.  Are Lady Ogram and her niece here?”

“Lady Ogram, I think not.  I caught a glimpse of Miss Tomalin somewhere or other, sternly chaperoned.”

He lied gaily, for the talk with May had put him into a thoroughly blithe humour.

“I should so like to see her,” said Iris.  “Don’t you think you could point her out, if we went about a little.”

“Let us look for her by all means.  Have you been to the supper-room?  She may be there.”

They turned to move slowly towards the staircase.  Before reaching the door, they were met by Mrs. Toplady, at her side the gentleman who had been Miss Bride’s companion downstairs.

“How fortunate!” exclaimed the hostess to Mrs. Woolstan.  “I so want you to know Miss Tomalin, and Mr. Rossendale can take us to her.”

Iris voiced her delight, and looked at Lashmar, inviting him to come too.  But Dyce stood rigid, an unnatural smile on his features; then he drew back, turned, and was lost to view.