. He began to be aware that he had
not breakfasted,--a physical uneasiness added to the various forms of
disquiet from which his mind was suffering. When Constance re-entered,
he saw she had a book in her hand, a book which by its outward
appearance he at once recognised.

"Do you know this?" she asked, holding the volume to him. "I received
it yesterday, and have already gone through most of it. I find it very
interesting."

"Ah, I know it quite well," Dyce answered, fingering the pages. "A most
suggestive book. But--what has it to do with our present conversation?"

Constance viewed him wonderingly. If he felt at all disconcerted,
nothing of the kind appeared in his face, which wore, indeed, a look of
genuine puzzlement.

"Have you so poor an opinion of my intelligence?" she asked, with
subdued anger. "Do you suppose me incapable of perceiving that all the
political and social views you have been living upon were taken
directly from this book? I admire your audacity. Few educated men,
nowadays, would have ventured on so bold a--we call it plagiarism."

Dyce stared at her.

"You are very severe," he exclaimed, on the note of deprecation. "Views
I have been 'living upon?' It's quite possible that now and then
something I had read there chanced to come into my talk; but who gives
chapter and verse for every conversational allusion? You astound me. I
see that, so far from wishing me well, you have somehow come to regard
me with positive ill-feeling. How has it come about, Constance?"

"You dare to talk to me in this way!" cried Constance, passionately.
"You dare to treat me as an imbecile! This is going too far! If you had
shown ever so little shame I would have thrown the book aside, and
never again have spoken of it. But to insult me by supposing that force
of impudence can overcome the testimony of my own reason! Very well.
The question shall be decided by others. All who have heard you
expatiate on your--_your_ 'bio-sociological' theory shall be made
acquainted with this French writer, and form their own opinion as to
your originality."

Lashmar drew himself up.

"By all means." His voice was perfectly controlled. "I have my doubts
whether you will persuade anyone to read it--people don't take very
eagerly to philosophical works in a foreign language--and I think it
very unlikely that anyone but yourself has troubled to keep in mind the
theories and arguments which you are so kind as to say I stole. What's