From that day—­she tells me—­the thought grew in her mind that, instead of devoting all her wealth, by will, to definite purposes, she would leave a certain portion of it to me, to be used by me for purposes of public good.  I, in short”—­Constance smiled nervously—­“was to be sole and uncontrolled trustee of a great fund, which would be used, after her death, just as it might have been had she gone on living.  The idea is rather fine, it seems to me; it could only have originated in a mind capable of very generous thought, generous in every sense of the word.  It implied remarkable confidence, such as few people, especially few women, are capable of.  It strikes me as rather pathetic, too—­the feeling that she would continue to live in another being, not a mere inheritor of her money, but a true representative of her mind, thinking and acting as she would do, always consulting her memory, desiring her approval.  Do you see what I mean?”

“Of course I do,” answered Dyce, meditatively.  “Yes, it’s fine.  It increases my respect for our friend.”

“I have always respected her,” said Constance, “and I am sorry now that I did not respect her more.  Often she has irritated me, and in bad temper I have spoken thoughtlessly.  I remember that letter I wrote you, before you first came to Rivenoak; it was silly, and, I’m afraid, rather vulgar.”

“Nothing of the kind,” interposed Lashmar.  “It was very clever.  You couldn’t be vulgar if you tried.”

“Have you the letter still?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then do me the kindness to destroy it—­will you?”

“If you wish.”

“I do, seriously.  Burn the thing, as soon as you get home.”

“Very well.”

They avoided each-other’s look, and there was a rather long pause.

“I’ll go on with my story,” said Constance, in a voice still under studious control.  “All this happened when Lady Ogram thought she had no living relative.  One fine day, Mr. Kerchever came down with news of Miss Tomalin, and straightway the world was altered.  Lady Ogram had a natural heiress, and one in whom she delighted.  Everything had to be reconsidered.  The great hospital became a dream.  She wanted May Tomalin to be rich, very rich, to marry brilliantly.  I have always suspected that Lady Ogram looked upon her life as a sort of revenge on the aristocratic class for the poverty and ignorance of her own people; did anything of the kind ever occur to you?”

“Was her family really mean?”

“Everyone says so.  Mrs. Gallantry tells me that our illustrious M. P. has made laborious searches, hoping to prove something scandalous.  Of course she tells it as a proof of Mr. Robb’s unscrupulous hatred of Lady Ogram.  I daresay the truth is that she came of a low class.  At all events, Miss Tomalin, who represents the family in a progressive stage, is to establish its glory for ever.  One understands.  It’s very human.”