“I’ve been considering it.  How was it suggested to you?”

Constance asked the question so directly, and with so keen a look, that she all but disconcerted the philosopher.

“Oh, it grew out of my reading and observation grew bit by bit—­no armed Pallas leaping to sudden life—­”

“You have worked it out pretty thoroughly.”

“In outline, yes.”

Dyce read the newspapers, and walked a little in the garden.  Punctually at eleven, Lady Ogram descended.  The carriage was at the door.

This stately drive, alone with the autocrat of Rivenoak, animated the young man.  He felt that the days of his insignificance were over, that his career—­the career so often talked about—­had really begun.  A delightful surprise gave piquancy to his sensations; had he cared to tell himself the truth, he would have known that, whatever his self-esteem, he had never quite believed in the brilliant future of which he liked to dream.  It is one thing to merit advancement, quite another to secure it.  Yet here he was, driving with a great lady, his friend, his admirer; driving towards the excitement of political contest, perhaps towards a seat in Parliament, and who could say what subsequent distinctions.  Lady Ogram was not the woman to aid half-heartedly where her feelings were interested.  Pretty surely he could count upon large support, so long as he did not disappoint his benefactress.  For the present he had no anxieties—­thanks to another woman, of whom, in truth, he thought scarcely once in twenty-four hours.  He lived at ease; his faculties were expanding under this genial sunshine of prosperity.  Even in aspect he was a man of more importance than a few weeks ago; his cheeks had coloured, his eyes rested with a new dignity on all they saw.

They returned, and as Lady Ogram was entering the hall, a servant made a respectful announcement.

“Mr. Kerchever is here, my lady.”

“Mr. Kerchever?  Indeed?”

With an unusually quick step, the old lady moved towards the library.  There, occupied with a newspaper, sat a man whose fifty years still represented the prime of life, a tall, athletically-built man, his complexion that of a schoolboy after summer holidays, his brown hair abundant and crisp, spring and stay declared in every muscle of his limbs and frame.  Lightly he arose, gracefully he swung forward, with the bow and smile of one who knows not constraint.  Mr. Kerchever followed the law, but he also, whenever a chance offered, followed the hounds, and with more gusto.  At school and University he had won palms; that his place in academic lists was less glorious mattered little to one who had a comfortable seat awaiting him in the paternal office.

“And what brings you here?” asked Lady Ogram, unable to subdue an agitation which confused her utterance.

“I have made a discovery which will interest you,” replied Mr. Kerchever, in a voice which sounded very strong and melodious by contrast.