s vanity might have found in her new manner towards him. That manner,
especially this morning, reminded him of six years ago. Was Constance
capable of exacting payment of a debt which she imagined him to have
incurred at Alverholme? Women think queerly, and are no less
unaccountable in their procedure.

His curiosity busied itself with the vaguely indicated compact between
Constance and Lady Ogram, but no word on the subject, not even a
distant allusion to it, ever fell from his nominally betrothed, and the
old lady herself, however amiable, spoke not at all of the things he
desired to know. Was it not grossly unjust to him? Until he clearly
understood Constance's future position, how could he decide upon his
course with regard to her? Conceivably, the proposed marriage might
carry advantages which it behooved him to examine with all care;
conceivably also, it might at a given moment be his sole rescue from
embarrassment or worse. Meanwhile, ignorance of the essential factors
of the problem put him at a grave disadvantage. Constance was playing a
game (so Dyce saw it) with all the cards visible before her, and, to
such a profound observer as he, it was not unnatural to suppose that
she played for something worth the while. Curiously enough, Dyce did
not presume to believe that he himself, his person, his mind, his
probable career, were gain sufficient. A singular modesty ruled his
meditations at this juncture.

Other things were happening which interfered with the confident calm
essential to his comfort. Since the vexatious little incident at Mrs.
Toplady's, he had not seen Iris Woolstan. On the eve of his departure
for Rivenoak, he wrote to her, a friendly letter in the usual strain,
just to acquaint her with his movements, and to this letter there came
no reply. It was unlikely that Iris's answer had somehow failed to
reach hi in; of course she would address to Rivenoak. No doubt she had
discovered his little deception, and took it ill. Iris was quite absurd
enough to feel jealousy, and to show it. Of all the women he knew, she
had the most essentially feminine character. Fortunately she was as
weak as foolish; at any time, he could get the upper hand of her in a
private interview. But his sensibility made him restless in the thought
that she was accusing him of ingratitude--perhaps of behaviour unworthy
a gentleman. Yes, there was the true sting. Dyce Lashmar prided himself
on his intellectual lucidity, but still mo