Her discovery, her contempt and menaces, had deeply offended him; the indeterminate and shifting sentiments with which he had regarded her crystallised into dislike—­that hard dislike which commonly results, whether in man or woman, from trifling with sacred relations.  That Constance had been—­perhaps still was tenderly disposed to him, served merely to heighten his repugnance.  To stand in fear of this woman was a more humiliating and exasperating sensation than he had ever known.

“Do as you think fit,” he added in a stern voice, pausing at a little distance.  “It is indifferent to me.  In any case, Lady Ogram will soon know how things stand, and the result must be what it will.  I have chosen my course.”

Constance was regarding him steadily.  Her wrath had Leased to flare, but it glowed through her countenance.

“You mean,” she said, “that just at the critical moment of your career you are bent on doing the rashest thing you possibly could?  And you ask me to believe that you are acting in this way before you even know whether you have a chance of gaining anything by it?”

“It had occurred to me,” Lashmar replied, “that, when you understood the state of things, you might be willing to exert yourself to help me.  But that was before I learnt that you regarded me with contempt, if not with hatred.  How the change has come about in you, I am unable to understand.  I have behaved to you with perfect frankness—­”

“When, for instance, you wished me to admire you as a sociologist?”

“It’s incredible,” cried Dyce, “that you should harp on that paltry matter!  Who, in our time, is an original thinker?  Ideas are in the air.  Every man uses his mind—­if he has any—­on any suggestion which recommends itself to him.  If it were worth while, I could point out most important differences between the bio-sociological theory as matured by me and its crude presentment in that book you have got hold of.—­By the bye, how did it come into your hands?”

After an instant’s reflection, Constance told him of Mrs. Toplady’s letter and the American magazine.

“And,” he asked, “does Mrs. Toplady regard me as a contemptible plagiarist?”

“It is probable that she has formed conclusions.”

Lashmar’s eyes fell.  He saw that Constance was watching him.  In the turmoil of his feelings all he could do was to jerk out an impatient laugh.

“It’s no use,” he exclaimed.  “You and I have come to a deadlock.  We no longer understand each other.  I thought you were the kind of woman whom a man can treat as his equal, without fear of ridiculous misconceptions and hysterical scenes.  One more disillusion!”

“Don’t you think?” asked Constance, with a bitter smile, “that you are preparing a good many others for yourself?”

“Of course I know what you mean.  There are certain things it wouldn’t be easy to discuss with you at any time; you can’t expect me to speak of them at present.  Suppose it an illusion.  I came to you, in all honesty, to tell you what had happened.  I thought of you as my friend, as one who cared about my happiness.”