How many hours had they spent in what Iris deemed “serious” conversation?  When Dyce stayed to luncheon, as he did about once a week, the talk was often prolonged to tea-time.  Subjects of transcendent importance were discussed with the most hopeful amplitude.  Mrs. Woolstan could not be satisfied with personal culture; her conscience was uneasy about the destinies of mankind; she took to herself the sorrows of the race, and burned with zeal for the great causes of civilisation.  Vast theories were tossed about between them; they surveyed the universe from the origin to the end of all things.  Of course it was Dyce who led the way in speculation; Iris caught at everything he propounded with breathless fervour and a resolute liberality of mind, determined to be afraid of no hypothesis.  Oh, the afternoons of endless talk!  Iris felt that this was indeed to live the higher life.

“By the bye,” fell from Lashmar, musingly, “did you ever hear of a Lady Ogram?”

“I seem to know the name,” answered Mrs. Woolstan, keenly attentive.  “Ogram?—­Yes, of course; I have heard Mrs. Toplady speak of her; but I know nothing more.  Who is she?  What about her?”

A maidservant entered with the tea-tray.  Dyce lay back in his chair, gazing vacantly, until his hostess offered him a cup of tea.  As he bent forward to take it, his eyes for a moment dwelt with unusual intentness on the face and figure of Iris Woolstan.  Then, as he sipped, he again grew absent-minded.  Iris, too, was absorbed in thought.

“You were speaking of Lady Ogram,” she resumed, gently.

“Yes.  A friend of mine down at Alverholme knows her very well, and thought I might like to meet her.  I half think I should.  She lives at Hollingford; a rich old woman, going in a good deal for social questions.  A widow, no children.  Who knows?” he added, raising his, eyebrows and looking straight at Iris.  “She might interest herself in—­in my view of things.”

“She might,” replied the listener, as if overcoming a slight reluctance.  “Of course it all depends on her own views.”

“To be sure, I know very little about her.  It’s the vaguest suggestion.  But, you see, I’m at the moment, when any suggestion, however vague, has a possible value.  One point is certain; I shan’t take any more pupils.  Without meaning it, you have decided this question for me; it’s time I looked to other things.”

“I felt that!” exclaimed Mrs. Woolstan, her eyes brightening.  “That was what decided me; I see now that it was—­though perhaps.  I hardly understood myself at the time.  No more pupils!  It is time that your serious career began.”

Lashmar smiled, nodding in reflective approval.  His eyes wandered, with an upward tendency; his lips twitched.

“Opportunity, opportunity,” he murmured.  “Of course it will come.  I’m not afraid.”

“Oh it will come!” chanted his companion.  “Only make yourself known to people of influence, who can appreciate you.”