After a little reflection, he signed himself, “Ever yours, D. L.”

Having despatched this by private messenger, he went out and took a walk, choosing the direction away from Rivenoak.  As he rambled along an uninteresting road, it occurred to him that he ought to write to Mrs. Woolstan.  No need, of course, to say anything about the results of Lady Ogram’s decease, but he really owed Iris a letter, just to show that he was not unmindful of her kindness.  The foolish little woman had done her best for him; indeed, without her help, where would he have been now?  He must pay his debt to her as soon as possible, and it would of course be necessary to speak of the matter to Constance.  Not, perhaps, till after their marriage.  Well, he would see; he might possibly have an impulse.  Happily this was the very last of the unpleasant details he would have to dismiss.  The luxury of living without concealment, unembarrassed, and unafraid!

By the bye, how would Constance understand the duties of her trusteeship?  What portion of her income would she feel at liberty to set apart for personal uses?  In all likelihood, she had spoken of that with Lady Ogram; at their coming interview, she would fully explain her position.

He returned to the hotel, and dined alone.  To his disappointment, there came no answer from Rivenoak.  Was it possible that Constance had already gone away?  Very unlikely, so soon after the funeral.  She would reply, no doubt, by post; indeed, there was no hurry, and a little reserve on her part would be quite natural.

Morning brought him the expected letter.  “Dear Mr. Lashmar—­” Oh, that was nothing; merely the reserve he had anticipated:  he liked her the better for it.  “I shall be at home all to-morrow, busy with many things.  Could you come about three o’clock?  Sincerely yours, Constance Bride.”  What could be in better taste?  How else could she write, under the circumstances?  His real wooing had not yet begun, and she merely reminded him of that, with all gentleness.

So, in the afternoon he once more presented himself at Rivenoak, and once more followed the servant into the drawing-room; Constance sat there; she rose as he approached, and silently gave her hand.  He thought she looked rather pale; that might be the effect of black attire, which made a noticeable change in her appearance.  But a certain dignity of which the visitor was very sensible, a grace of movement and of bearing which seemed new to her, could not be attributed to the dress she wore.  In a saddened voice, he hoped that she was well, that she had not suffered from the agitations of the past week; and, with courtesy such as she might have used to anyone, Constance replied that she felt a little tired, not quite herself.  They talked for some minutes in this way.  Lashmar learnt that the Amyses had returned to London.

“For the present, you stay here?” he said, the interrogative accent only just perceptible.