He smiled at her with admiration.  That it was genuine, May easily perceived; how much, or how little, it implied, she did not care to ask.  These two, alike incapable of romantic passion, children of a time which subdues everything to interest, which fosters vanity and chills the heart, began to imagine that they were drawn to each other by all the ardours of youth.  Their minds remarkably lucid, reviewing the situation with coolest perspicuity, calculating each on the other’s recognised weaknesses, and holding themselves absolutely free if contingency demanded freedom, they indulged, up to a certain point, the primitive impulse, and would fain have discovered in it a motive of the soul.  May, who had formed her opinion as to Miss Bride’s real attitude regarding Lashmar, took a keen pleasure in the treacherous part she was playing; she remembered the conversation last evening in the carriage, and soothed her wounded self-esteem.  Dyce, gratified by yet another proof of his power over womankind, felt that in this case he had something to be really proud of; Miss Tomalin’s beauty and her prospects spoke to the world at large.  She was in love with him, and he detected in himself a reciprocal emotion.  Interesting and agreeable state of things!

May, instead of directly answering his last question, allowed her eyes to meet his for a second.  Then she said: 

“Some people are coming to us this afternoon.”

“To stay?  Who are they?”

“Sir William and Lady Amys—­and Lord Dymchurch—­”

“Dymchurch!  Lady Ogram has invited him?”

“He would hardly come to stay without being invited,” said May, archly.  “But I thought you most likely knew.  Didn’t Lady Ogram mention it to you?”

“Not a word,” answered Dyce.  “No doubt she had a reason for saying nothing.  You, possibly, could suggest it?”

His face had changed.  There was cold annoyance m his look and in his voice.

“It must have been mere accident,” said May.

“That it certainly wasn’t.  How long will Dymchurch stay?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Lashmar.—­I must leave you.  Many thanks for taking so much trouble to bring me the news.”

She held out her hand.  Dyce took and detained it.

“I am going to stay on at Hollingford,” he said, “at the hotel.  I shall run up to town this evening, but be back to-morrow.  At lunchtime to-day I shall see you, but of course that doesn’t count; we shan’t be able to talk, Wednesday, to-morrow; on Thursday morning meet me here again, will you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Lashmar,” she answered with self-possession; trying, unobtrusively, to withdraw her hand.

“I beg you to!  Indeed, you must.”

He tried the power of a smile meant to be at once virile and tender, but May was steadily drawing away her hand; he had not the courage to hold it forcibly.

“We shall find other opportunities of talking about the things that interest us,” she said, moving a step back.