est."

Not long ago, Miss Bride's opinion of Langtoft would have been quite
different. Now, she was disposed to say things that Dyce Lashmar liked
to hear. Dyce had remarked the change in her; it flattered him, but
caused him at the same time some uneasiness.

Inevitably, they passed much time together. On the journey from London,
Constance had asked him whether he would not like to begin cycling. He
received the suggestion with careless good-humour. At Rivenoak,
Constance returned to it, insisted upon it, and, as he had little to
do, Dyce went into Hollingford for lessons; in a week's time he could
ride, and, on a brand-new bicycle of the most approved make,
accompanied his nominally betrothed about the country ways. Constance
evidently enjoyed their rides together. She was much more amiable in
her demeanour, more cheerful in mind; she dropped the habit of irony,
and talked hopefully of Lashmar's prospects.

"What's the news from Breakspeare?" she inquired, as they were
pedalling softly along an easy road one afternoon, Dyce having spent
the morning in Hollingford.

"Oh, he's a prancing optimist," Dyce replied. "He sees everything
rose-colour--or pretends to, I'm not quite sure which. If Dobbin the
grocer meets him in the street, and says he's going to vote Liberal at
next election, Breakspeare sings the Paean."

"I notice that you seem rather doubtful, lately," said Constance, her
eyes upon him.

"Well, you know, there is a good deal of doubt. It depends so much on
what happens between now and the dissolution."

He entered into political detail, showing the forces arrayed against
him, dwelling on the in-grained Toryism of Hollingford, or, as he
called it, the burgesses' _Robbish_ mind.

"There's no use, is there, in blinking facts?"

"Of course not. It's what I never do, as I think you are aware. We must
remember that to contest the seat is something. It makes you known. If
you don't win, you will wait for the next chance--not necessarily here."

Dyce had observed that the pronoun "we" was rather frequently on
Constance's lips. She was identifying their interests.

"True," he admitted. "Look at that magnificent sycamore!"

"Yes; but I shouldn't have known it was a sycamore. How is it you know
trees so well?"

"That's my father's doing," replied Dyce. "He used to teach me them
when I was a youngster."

"Mine was thinking more about social statistics. I knew the number of
paupers in London before I had