Lashmar occasionally had a fine discretion.  He knew when to cheek the flood of his eloquence:  a glance at this face and that, and he said within himself:  Sat prata biberunt.  Soon after this, Lady Ogram rose, and led the company into her verdurous drawing-room.  She was beginning to show signs of fatigue; seated in her throne-like chair, she let her head lie back, and was silent.  Constance Bride, ever tactful, began to take a more prominent part in the conversation, and Breakspeare was delighted to talk with her about ordinary things.  Presently, Lashmar, in reply to some remark, mentioned that he was returning to London this evening whereupon his hostess asked: 

“When are you coming back again?”

“Before long, I hope, Lady Ogram.  The pleasure of these two days—­”

She interrupted him.

“Could you come down in a fortnight?”

“Easily, and gladly.”

“Then do so.  Don’t go to Hollingford; your room will be ready for you here.  Just write and let me know when you will arrive.”

In a few minutes, both men took their leave, and went back to Hollingford together, driving in a fly which Breakspeare had ordered.  For the first minutes they hardly talked; they avoided each other’s look, and exchanged only insignificant words.  Then the editor, with his blandest smile, said in a note of sudden cordiality: 

“It has been a great pleasure to me to meet you, Mr. Lashmar.  May I, without indiscretion, take it for granted that we shall soon be fighting the good fight together?”

“Why, I think it likely,” answered Dyce, in a corresponding tone.  “I have not quite made up my mind—­”

“No, no.  I understand.  There’s just one point I should like to touch upon.  To-day we have enjoyed a veritable symposium—­for me, I assure you, a high intellectual treat.  But, speaking to you as to one who does not know Hollingford, I would suggest to you that our Liberal electors are perhaps hardly ripe for such a new and bracing political. philosophy—­”

Dyce broke into gay laughter.

“My dear sir, you don’t imagine that I thought of incorporating my philosophy in an electioneering address?  Of course one must use common sense in these matters.  Practical lessons come before theory.  If I stand for Hollingford—­” he rolled the words, and savoured them—­“I shall do so as a very practical politician indeed.  My philosophical creed will of course influence me, and I shall lose no opportunity of propagating it:  but have no fear of my expounding bio-sociology to Hollingford shopkeepers and artisans.”

Breakspeare echoed the speaker’s mirth, and they talked on about the practical aspects of the next election in the borough.

Meanwhile, Lady Ogram had sat in her great chair, dozing.  Constance, accustomed to this, read for half an hour, or let her thoughts wander.  At length overcoming her drowsiness, the old lady fixed a curious gaze upon Miss Bride, a gaze of benevolent meditation.