After all, were not man and woman, disguise the fact as one might, condemned by nature to mutual hostility?  Useless to attempt rational methods with beings to whom reason was fundamentally repugnant.  Dyce fell from mortification into anger, and cursed the poverty which forbade him to act in full accordance with his ideal of conduct.

He had spent nearly a fortnight at Rivenoak, when Lady Ogram, now seemingly restored to her ordinary health, summoned him at eleven in the morning to the green drawing-room.

“I hope I didn’t disturb your work,” she began, kindly.  “As you are leaving so soon—­” Dyce had said nothing whatever about departure—­“I should like to have a quiet word with you, whilst Constance is in the town.  All goes well at Hollingford, doesn’t it?”

“Very well indeed, I think.  Breakspeare gets more hopeful every day.”

Lady Ogram nodded and smiled.  Then a fit of abstraction came upon her; she mused for several minutes, Dyce respectfully awaiting her next words.

“What are your own wishes about the date?”

Imagining that she referred to the election, and that this was merely another example of failing intelligence, Dyce answered that, for his own part, he was ready at any time; if a dissolution—­

“Pooh!” Lady Ogram interrupted, “I’m talking about your marriage.”

“Ah!  Yes—­yes.  I haven’t asked Constance—­”

“Suppose we say the end of October?  You could get away for a month or two.”

“One thing is troubling me, Lady Ogram,” said Dyce, in tone of graceful hesitancy.  “I feel that it will be a very ill return for all your kindness to rob you of Constance’s help and society, which you prize so.”

The keen old eyes were fixed upon him.

“Do you think I am going to live for ever?” sounded abruptly and harshly, though, it was evident, with no harsh intention.

“I’m sure I hope—­”

“Well, we won’t talk about it.  I must do without Constance, that’s all.  You’ll of course have a house in London, but both of you will often be down here.  It’s understood.  About the end of October.  Time enough to make arrangements.  I’ll settle it with Constance.  So to-morrow morning you leave us, on a visit to your parents.  I suppose you’ll spend a couple of days there?”

In his confused mind, Dyce could only fix the thought that Constance had evidently told Lady Ogram of his intention to go to Alverholme.  It was plain that those two held very intimate colloquies.

“A couple of days,” he murmured in reply.

“Good.  Of course you’ll write to me when you’re in town again.”

At luncheon, Lady Ogram talked of Lashmar’s departure.  Constance, he felt sure, already knew about it.  Really, he was treated with somewhat scant ceremony.  An obstinate mood fell upon him; he resolved that he would say not a word to Constance of what had passed this morning.  If she wished to speak of the proposed date of their marriage, let her broach the subject herself.  Through the meal he was taciturn.