In the course of the afternoon, Lady Ogram had held private colloquy with her guest from the brilliant world, a conversation more intimate on her part than any that had ever passed between them.  Such expansion was absolutely necessary to the agitated old lady, and she deemed it good fortune that a confidante in whom she put so much trust chanced to be near her.  Speaking of Lashmar, she mentioned his acquaintance with Lord Dymchurch, and inquired whether Mrs. Toplady knew that modest peer.

“He is only a name to me,” was the reply, “and I should rather like to see him in the flesh.  Mr. Lashmar must bring him to Pont Street—­if he can.”

“That’s what I’m a little doubtful about,” said Lady Ogram.  “I have been thinking it might help us if a real live lord casually walked about Hollingford with our candidate.  We have to use means, you know.”

The old lady grimaced her scorn, and the leader of Society smiled.  One thing Mrs. Toplady had learnt which interested her, that her autocratic friend’s faith in Dyce Lashmar as a “coming man” was unaffected and sturdy.  She mused upon this.  Rivenoak had often supplied entertainment to her sportive mind; now, as shadows of night were gathering over it, there seemed to be preparing in this corner of the human stage a spectacle of unforeseen piquancy.

Also with Mr. Kerchever the old lady had had an afternoon’s talk.  Her emotion being now more under command, she could listen to the solicitor’s advice, which dissuaded from abrupt action with reference to Miss Tomalin.  Mr. Kerchever thought it would be unwise to reveal all the interest she felt in this late-discovered representative of her family.  Had he not better write to Mr. Rooke, saying that his client, a widowed lady living at her country house, hoped to have the pleasure of making her young relative’s acquaintance, and would shortly address a letter to Miss Tomalin?  This course finally met with Lady Ogram’s approval; she agreed to let a week pass before taking the next step.

Whatever the ultimate effect of her joyous agitation, for the present it seemed to do her nothing but good.  She walked with lighter step, bore herself as though she had thrown off years, and, all through the evening, was a marvel of untiring graciousness and cordiality.  The reaction came when she found herself at liberty to feel weary, but no eye save that of the confidential maid beheld her collapse.  Even whilst being undressed like a helpless infant, the old lady did not lose her temper.  Even whilst gulping an unpleasant draught, well aware that she was not likely to sleep until dawn, if then, she smiled at her thoughts.  The maid wondered what it all meant.

Dyce Lashmar was abundantly satisfied with himself.  “Am I doing it well?” he quietly asked of Constance, somewhere about ten o’clock, and on receiving the reply, “Very well,” he gave his friend a more benignant smile than he had bestowed upon her since the old days of semi-sentimental intimacy.  He would much have liked to talk over the evening with her before he went to bed; as that was impossible, he pressed her hand very warmly at leave-taking, looking her steadily in the eyes, and said in a low voice.