came forward with a
gentleman she wished to present to Miss Tomalin. Hearing the name--Mr.
Langtoft--Dymchurch regarded him with curiosity, and, moving aside with
Lady Honeybourne as she withdrew, he inquired whether this was _the_
Mr. Langtoft.

"It is," the hostess answered. "Do you take an interest in his work?
Would you like to know him?"

Dymchurch declined the introduction for the present, but he was glad to
have seen the man, just now frequently spoken of in newspapers, much
lauded, and vehemently attacked. A wealthy manufacturer, practically
lord of a swarming township in Lancashire, Mr. Langtoft was trying to
get into his own hands the education of all the lower-class children
growing up around his mill chimneys. He disapproved of the
board-school; he looked with still less favour on the schools of the
clergy; and, regardless of expense, was establishing schools of his
own, where what he called "civic instruction" was gratuitously
imparted. The idea closely resembled that which Dyce Lashmar had
borrowed from his French sociologist, and Dyce had lately been in
correspondence with Mr. Langtoft. Lashmar's name, indeed, was now
passing between the reformer and Miss Tomalin.

"His work," said Dymchurch to himself. "Yes, everybody has his
work--except me."

And the impulse to experiment in life grew so strong with him, that he
had to go apart under the trees, and pace nervously about; idle talk
being no longer endurable.

The gathering began to thin. He had noted the train by which he would
return to London, and a glance at his watch told him that he must start
if he would reach the station in time. Moving towards the group of
people about the hostess, he encountered Mrs. Toplady.

"Have you a cab?" she asked. "If not, there's plenty of room in ours."

Dymchurch would have liked to refuse, but hesitation undid him. Face to
face with Mrs. Toplady and May, he drove to the station, and, as was
inevitable, performed the rest of the journey in their company. The
afternoon had tired him; alone, he would have closed his eyes, and
tried to shut out the kaleidoscopic sensation which resulted from
theatrical costumes, brilliant illustrations of the feminine mode, blue
sky and sunny glades; but May Tomalin was as fresh as if new-risen, and
still talked, talked. Enthusiastic in admiration of Lady Honeybourne,
she heard with much interest that Dymchurch's acquaintance with the
Viscount went back to Harrow days.

"That'