On the way home he saw how natural it was that such a man as Lashmar should woo Miss Tomalin.  He might be a little too good for her; yet there was no knowing.  That half grim, half grotesque Lady Ogram had evidently taken Lashmar under her wing, and probably would make no objection to the alliance; perhaps she had even projected it.  Utterly without idle self-consciousness, Dymchurch had perceived no special significance in Mrs. Toplady’s social advances to him.  The sense of poverty was so persistent in his mind that he had never seen himself as a possible object of matrimonial intrigue; nor had he ever come in contact with a social rank where such designs must have been forced on his notice.  Well, his “season” was over; he laughed as he looked back upon it.  When Lashmar and Miss Tomalin were married, he might or might not see something of them.  The man had ideas:  it remained to be proved whether his strength was equal to his ambitions.

A few days later, Dymchurch heard that one of his sisters was not very well.  She had caught a cold, and could not shake it off.  This decided him to plan a summer holiday.  He wrote and asked whether the girls would go with him to a certain quiet spot high in the Alps, and how soon they could leave home.  The answer came that they would prefer not to go away until the middle of July, as a friend was about to visit them, whom they hoped to keep for two or three weeks.  Disappointed at the delay, Dymchurch tried to settle down to his books; but books had lost their savour.  He was consumed by dreary indolence.

Then came a note from Mrs. Toplady.  He knew the writing, and opened the envelope with a petulant grimace, muttering “No, no, no!”

“Dear Lord Dymchurch,” wrote his correspondent, “I wonder whether you are going to the performance of ‘As You Like It’ at Lady Honeybourne’s on the 24th?  It promises to be very good.  If only they have fine weather, the play will be a real delight in that exquisite Surrey woodland.  I do so hope we may meet you there.  By we I mean Miss Tomalin and myself.  Lady Ogram has gone back into the country, her health being unequal to London strain, and her niece stays with me for a little.  You have heard, no doubt, of the engagement of Mr. Lashmar and Miss Bride.  I knew it was coming.  They are admirably suited to each other.  To-day Mr. Lashmar gives his address at Hollingford, and I hope for good news tomorrow—­”

The reader hung suspended at this point.  Miss Bride?  Who was Miss Bride?  Oh, the lady whom he had seen once or twice with Lady Ogram; her secretary, had he not heard?  Why, then he was altogether wrong in his conjecture about Lashmar and Miss Tomalin.  He smiled at the error, characteristic of such an acute observer of social life!

He had received a card of invitation to Lady Honeybourne’s, but had by no means thought of going down into Surrey to see an amateur open-air performance of “As You Like It.”  After all, was it not a way of passing an afternoon?  And would not Miss Tomalin’s running comment have a piquancy all its own?  She would have “got up” the play, would be prepared with various readings, with philological and archaeological illustrations.  Dymchurch smiled again as he thought of it, and already was half decided to go.