him to make haste. The vicar all but
silently pressed his hand, and with head bent, walked away.

He just caught the train. It would bring him to town by mid-day, in
comfortable time to lunch and adorn himself before the permissible hour
of calling in Pont Street. Rapid movement excited his imagination; he
clung now to the hypothesis which at first seemed untenable; he built
hopes upon it. Could he win a confession from May Tomalin, why should
it be hopeless to sway the mind of Lady Ogram? If that were deemed
impossible, they had but to wait. Lady Ogram would not live till the
autumn. To be sure, she looked better since her return to Rivenoak, but
she was frail, oh very frail, and sure to go off at a moment's notice.
As for Constance--oh, Constance!

At his lodgings he found unimportant letters. Every letter would have
seemed unimportant, compared with that he carried in his pocket. Roach,
M. P., invited him to dine. The man at the Home Office wanted him to go
to a smoking concert. Lady Susan Harrop sent a beggarly card for an
evening ten days hence. Like the woman's impudence! And yet, as it had
been posted since her receipt of his mother's recent letter, it proved
that Lady Susan had a sense of his growing dignity, which was good in
its way. He smiled at a recollection of the time when a seat at those
people's table had seemed a desirable and agitating thing.

Before half-past three he found himself walking in Sloane Street. After
consulting his watch several times in the course of a few minutes, he
decided that, early as it was, he would go on at once to Mrs.
Toplady's. Was he not privileged? Moreover, light rain began to fall,
with muttering of thunder: he must seek shelter.

At a door in Pont Street stood two vehicles, a brougham and a cab. Was
it at Mrs. Toplady's? Yes, so it proved; and, just as Dyce went up to
the house, the door opened. Out came a servant, carrying luggage;
behind the servant came Mrs. Toplady, and, behind her, Miss Tomalin.
Hat in hand, Lashmar faced the familiar smile, at this moment
undisguisedly mischievous.

"Mr. Lashmar!" exclaimed the lady, in high good humour. "We are just
going to St. Pancras. Miss Tomalin leaves me to-day.--Why, it is
raining! Can't we take you with us? Yes, yes, come into the carriage,
and we'll drop you where you like."

Lashmar's eye was on the heiress. She said nothing as she shook hands,
and, unless he mistook, there was a tremour about her lips, her
eyeli