“You are well, I hope?” said Dyce, feeling uncomfortable, but affecting to see nothing unusual in the face before him.

Lady Ogram nodded, impatiently.  There was a moment’s silence; then, turning her gaze upon him, she said abruptly, in a harsh croak: 

“What are you waiting for?”

Lashmar felt a cold touch along his spine.  He thought the ghastly old woman had lost her senses, that she was either mad or delirious.  Yet her gaze had nothing wild; on the contrary, it searched him with all the wonted keenness.

“Waiting—?  I’m afraid I don’t understand—­”

“Why haven’t you done what you know I wish?” pursued the untuneful voice, now better controlled.  “I’m speaking of Constance Bride.”

Relieved on one side, Dyce fell into trouble on the other.

“To tell you the truth, Lady Ogram,” he answered, with his air of utmost candour, “I have found no encouragement to take the step of which you are thinking.  I’m afraid I know only too well what the result would be.”

“You know nothing about it.”

Lady Ogram moved.  As always, a hint of opposition increased her force.  She was suffering acute physical pain, which appeared in every line of her face, and in the rigid muscles of her arms as she supported herself on the arms of the chair.

“Answer me this,” she went on—­and her utterance had something which told of those far-off days before education and refined society had softened her tongue.  “Will you see Miss Bride this afternoon, and make her an offer of marriage?  Are you willing?  Just answer me yes or no.”

Dyce replied mechanically and smiled as he replied.

“I am quite willing, Lady Ogram.  I only wish I could feel assured that Miss Bride—­”

He was rudely interrupted.

“Don’t talk, but listen to me.”  For a moment the lips went on moving, yet gave no sound; then words came again.  “I’ve told you once already about Constance, what I think of her, and what I intend for her.  I needn’t go over all that again.  As for you, I think I’ve given proof that I wish you well.  I was led to it at first because I saw that Constance liked you; now I wish you well for your own sake, and you may trust me to do what I can to help you on.  But till a man a married, no one can say what he’ll make of his life.  You’ve plenty of brains, more than most men, but I don’t think you’ve got too much of what I call backbone.  If you make a fool of yourself—­as most men do—­in marriage, it’s all up with you.  I want to see you safe.  Go where you will, you’ll find no better wife, better in every way for you, than Constance Bride.  You want a woman with plenty of common sense as well as uncommon ability; the kind of woman that’ll keep you going steadily—­up—­up!  Do you understand me?”

The effort with which she spoke was terrible.  Her face began to shine with moisture, and her mouth seemed to be parched.  Lashmar must have been of much sterner stuff for these vehement and rough-cut sentences to make no impression upon him; he was held by the dark, fierce eye, and felt in his heart that he had heard truths.