The hostess was easily distinguished.  In a very high-backed chair, made rather throne-like by the embroidery and gilding upon it, sat a meagre lady clad in black silk, with a silvery grey shawl about her shoulders, and an other of the same kind across her knees.  She had the aspect of extreme age and of out-worn health; the skin of her face was like shrivelled parchment; her hands were mere skin and bone; she sat as though on the point of sinking across the arm of her chair for very feebleness.  But in the whitish-yellow visage shone a pair of eyes which had by no means lost their vitality; so keen were they, so darkly lustrous, that to meet them was to forget every other peculiarity of Lady Ogram’s person.  Regarding the eyes alone, one seemed to have the vision of a handsome countenance, with proud lips, and carelessly defiant smile.  The illusion was aided by a crown of hair such as no woman of Lady Ogram’s age ever did, or possibly could, possess in her own right; hair of magnificent abundance, of rich auburn hue, plaited and rolled into an elaborate coiffure.

Before this singular figure, Dyce Lashmar paused and bowed.  Pale, breathing uneasily, he supported the scrutiny of those dark eyes for what seemed to him a minute or two of most uncomfortable time.  Then, with the faintest of welcoming smiles, Lady Ogram—­who had slowly straightened herself—­spoke in a voice which startled the hearer, so much louder and firmer was it than he had expected.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Lashmar.  Pray sit down.”

Without paying any attention to the rest of the company, Dyce obeyed.  His feeling was that he had somehow been admitted to the presence of a sovereign, and that any initiative on his own part would be utterly out of place.  Never in his life had he felt so little and so subdued.

“You have come from town this morning?” pursued his hostess, still closely examining him.

“This morning, yes.”

Lady Ogram turned to the lady sitting near her right hand, and said abruptly: 

“I don’t agree with you at all.  I should like to see as many women doctors as men.  Doctoring is mostly humbug, and if women were attended by women there’d be a good deal less of that.  Miss Bride has studied medicine, and a very good doctor she would have made.”

Dyce turned towards Constance, of whose proximity he had been aware, though he had scarcely looked at her, and, as she bent her head smiling, he rose and bowed.  The lady whom their hostess had addressed—­she was middle-aged, very comely and good-humoured of countenance, and very plainly attired—­replied to the blunt remarks in an easy, pleasant tone.

“I should have no doubt whatever of Miss Bride’s competence.  But—­”

Lady Ogram interrupted her, seeming not to have heard what she said.

“Let me introduce to you Mr. Dyce Lashmar, who has thought a good deal more about this kind of thing than either you or me.  Mrs. Gallantry, Mr. Gallantry.”