herself to the
vicar, she spoke with more ease and friendliness than hitherto;
nevertheless, it was obvious that she counted the minutes dictated by
decency for the prolongation of her stay. Once or twice her look
wandered to a certain part of the wall where hung a framed
photograph--a portrait of Dyce Lashmar at the age of one and twenty;
she regarded it for an instant with cold fixity, as though it
interested her not at all. Just as she was on the point of rising,
there came a sound of wheels on the vicarage drive.

"Who's that, I wonder?" said Mrs. Lashmar. "Why--surely it isn't--?"

A voice from without had reached her ears; surprise and annoyance
darkened her countenance.

"It's certainly Dyce," said the vicar, who for his part, recognized the
voice with pleasure.

"Impossible! He said he was coming in a week's time."

Mr. Lashmar would not have cared to correct this statement, and remark
was rendered superfluous by the opening of the door and the appearance
of Dyce himself.

"Afraid I'm taking you rather at unawares," said the young man, in a
suave Oxford voice. "Unexpectedly I found myself free--"

His eyes fell upon Constance Bride, and for a moment he was mute; then
he stepped towards her, and, with an air of peculiar frankness, of
comrade-like understanding, extended his hand.

"How do you do, Miss Connie! Delighted to find you here--Mother, glad
to see you." Re touched Mrs. Lashmar's forehead with his lips. "Well,
father? Uncommonly pleasant to be at the vicarage again!"

Miss Bride had stood up, and was now advancing towards the hostess.

"You _must_ go?" said Mrs. Lashmar, with her most agreeable smile.

"What, going?" exclaimed Dyce. "Why? Are you staying in the village?"

"No. I must catch a train."

"What train?"

"'The six forty-five."

"Why, then you have plenty of time! Mother, bid Miss Connie be seated;
I haven't had a moment's talk with her; it's absurd. Six forty-five?
You needn't leave here for twenty minutes. What a lucky thing that I
came in just now."

For certain ticks of the clock it was a doubtful matter whether Miss
Bride would depart or remain. Glancing involuntarily at Mrs. Lashmar,
she saw the gloom of resentment and hostility hover upon that lady's
countenance, and this proved decisive.

"I'll have some tea, please," cried the young man, cheerfully, as
Constance with some abruptness resumed her seat. "How is your father,
Miss Connie? Well? That's right. And Mrs. B