different everything would have been with them but for their narrow
means, and, after each visit to the silent meadow-circled house, he
came away reproaching himself for his inertness.

The invitation to Lashmar's restaurant-dinner annoyed him a little, for
casual company was by no means to his taste; when it was over, he felt
glad that he had come, and more than ever fretted in spirit about his
personal insignificance, his uselessness in the scheme of things. He
was growing to hate the meaningless symbol which distinguished him from
ordinary men; the sight of an envelope addressed to him stirred his
spleen, for it looked like deliberate mockery. How if he cast away this
empty lordship? Might it not be the breaking down of a barrier between
him and real life? In doing so, what duty would he renounce? Who cared
a snap of the fingers whether he signed himself "Dymchurch" or "Walter
Fallowfield?" It was long enough since the barony of Dymchurch had
justified its existence by any public service, and, as most people
knew, its private record had small dignity. The likelihood was that he
would never marry, and, unless either of his sisters did so, every day
a more improbable thing, the title might fall into happy oblivion.
What, in deed, did such titles mean nowadays? They were a silly
anachronism, absurdly in contradiction with that scientific teaching
which rules our lives. Lashmar, of course, was right in his demand for
a new aristocracy to oust the old, an aristocracy of nature, of the
born leaders of men. It might be that he had some claim to a humble
position in that spiritual hierarchy, and perhaps the one manifest way
to make proof of it was by flinging aside his tinsel privilege--an
example, a precedent, to the like-minded of his caste.

Mrs. Toplady had begged him to come and see her. Mrs. Toplady, vaguely
known to him by name, would, but a short time ago, have turned him to
flight; having talked with her at the restaurant, he inclined to think
her a very intelligent and bright-witted woman, the kind of woman who
did a service to Society by keeping it in touch with modern ideas.
After a little uneasy hesitation, he betook himself to Pont Street.
Next, he accepted an invitation to dine there, and found himself in the
company of an old Lady Ogram, of whom he had never heard, and a girl
with an odd name, her niece, who rather amused him. Calling presently
in Pont Street, to discharge his obligation of ceremony, he foun