and since then he had not only practised it
freely, but had often discussed it, with her. Iris gave the method her
entire approval, and hailed it as the beginning of a new era for her
sex. She imagined that her own demeanour was no less direct and
unconstrained than that of the philosopher himself; in reality, the
difference was considerable. Though several years older than Dyce--her
age being thirty-four--she showed nothing of the seniority in her
manner towards him, which, for all its impulsiveness, had a noticeable
deference, at moments something of subdued homage.

"You don't mean to say you have bad news?" she exclaimed, palpitating.
"You, too?"

"Why, then _you_ have something of the same kind to tell me?" said
Dyce, gazing at her anxiously.

"Tell me your's first--please do!"

"No. It's nothing very important. So say what you've got to say, and be
quick about it--come!"

Mrs. Woolstan's bosom rose and fell rapidly as she collected her
thoughts. Unconventional as were the terms in which Lashmar addressed
her, they carried no suggestion of an intimacy which passed the limits
of friendship. When his eyes turned to her, their look was unemotional,
purely speculative, and in general spoke without looking at her at all.

"It's something about Mr. Wrybolt," Iris began, with a face of
distress. "You know he is my trustee--I told you, didn't I? I see him
very seldom, and we don't take much interest in each other; he's
nothing but a man of business, the kind I detest; he can't talk of
anything but money and shares and wretched things of that sort. But you
know him you understand."

The name of Wrybolt set before Dyce's mind a middle-aged man,
red-necked, heavy of eyelid, with a rather punctilious hearing and
authoritative mode of speech. They had met only once, here at Mrs.
Woolstan's house.

"I'm sure I don't know why, but just lately he's begun to make
inquiries about Len, and to ask when I meant to send him to school. Of
course I told him that Len was doing very well indeed, and that I
didn't see the slightest necessity for making a change at all events
just yet. Well, yesterday he came, and said he wanted to see the boy.
Len was in bed--he's in bed still, though his cold's much better and
Mr. Wrybolt would go up to his room, and talk to him. When he came down
again, you know I'm going to tell you the whole truth, and of course
you won't mind it--he began talking in a very nasty way--he _has_ a
nasty way whe