“I have been working out this thought,” he continued, with vigorous accent.  “I see it now as my guiding principle in the narrower sense—­the line along which I must pursue the greater ends.  The possession of money commonly says very little for a man’s moral and intellectual worth, but there is the minority of well-to-do people who have the will to use their means rightly, if only they knew how.  This minority must be organised.  It must attract intellect and moral force from every social rank.  Money must be used against money, and in this struggle it is not the big battalions which will prevail.  Personally I care very little for wealth, as I think you know.  I have no expensive tastes; I can live without luxuries.  Oh, I like to be comfortable, and to be free from anxiety; who doesn’t?  But I never felt the impulse to strive to enrich myself.  On the other hand, money as a civilising force has great value in my eyes.  Without it, one can. work indeed, but with what slow results?  It is time to be up and doing.  We must organise our party, get our new Liberalism to work.—­In this also, do you agree with me?”

“It is certain,” Constance replied, “that the right use of money is one of the great questions of our day.”

“I know how much you have thought of it,” said Dyce.  Then, after a short pause, he added in his frankest tone, “And it concerns you especially.”

“It does.”

“Do you feel,” he softened his voice to respectful intimacy, “that, in devoting yourself to this cause, you will be faithful to the trusts you have accepted?”

Constance answered deliberately.

“It depends upon what you understand by devoting myself.  Beyond a doubt, Lady Ogram would have approved the idea as you put it.”

“And would she not have given me her confidence as its representative?” asked Dyce, smiling.

“Up to a certain point.  Lady Ogram desired, for instance, to bear the expenses of your contest at Hollingford, and I should like to carry out her wish in the matter.”

A misgiving began to trouble Lashmar’s sanguine mood.  He searched his companion’s face; it seemed to him to have grown more emphatic in expression; there was a certain hardness about the lips which he had not yet observed.  Still, Constance looked friendly, and her eyes supported his glance.

“Thank you,” he murmured, with some feeling.  “And, if, by chance, I should be beaten?  You wouldn’t lose courage?  We must remember—­”

“You have asked me many questions,” Constance interrupted quietly.  “Let me use the privilege of frankness which we grant each other, and ask you one in turn.  Your private means are sufficient for the career upon which you are entering?”

“My private means?”

He gazed at her as if he did not understand, the smile fading from his lips.

“Forgive me if you think I am going too far—­”

“Not at all!” Dyce exclaimed, eagerly.  “It is a question you have a perfect right to ask.  But I thought you knew I had no private means.”