will come. I'm
not afraid."

"Oh it will come!" chanted his companion. "Only make yourself known to
people of influence, who can appreciate you."

"That's it." Dyce nodded again. "I must move about. For the present, I
have read and thought enough; now I have to make myself felt as a
force."

Mrs. Woolstan gazed at him, in a rapture of faith. His countenance wore
its transforming light; he had passed into a dream of conquest. By
constitution very temperate in the matter of physical indulgence,
Lashmar found exciting stimulus even in a cup of tea. For the grosser
drinks he had no palate; wine easily overcame him; tea and coffee were
the chosen aids of his imagination.

"Yes, I think I shall go down to Hollingford."

"Who," asked Iris, "is the friend who promised to introduce you?"

There was a scarcely perceptible pause before his reply.

"A parson--once my father's curate," he added, vaguely. "A
liberal-minded man, as so many parsons are nowadays."

Iris was satisfied. She gave the project her full approval, and
launched into forecast of possible issues.

"But it's certain," she said presently, in a lower voice, "that after
this I shall see very little of you. You won't have time to come here."

"If you think you are going to get quite rid of me so easily," answered
Dyce, laughing--his laugh seldom sounded altogether natural--"you're
much mistaken. But come now, let us talk about Len. Where are you going
to send him? Has Wrybolt chosen a school?"

During the conversation that followed, Dyce was but half attentive.
Once and again his eyes fell upon Mrs. Woolstan with peculiar
observancy. Not for the first time, he was asking himself what might be
the actual nature and extent of her pecuniary resources, for he had
never been definitely informed on that subject. He did not face the
question crudely, but like a civilised man and a philosopher; there
were reasons why it should interest him just now. He mused, too, on the
question of Mrs. Woolstan's age, regarding which he could arrive at but
a vague conclusion; sometimes he had taken her for hardly more than
thirty, sometimes he suspected her of all but ten years more. But,
after all, what were these things to him? The future beckoned, and he
persuaded himself that its promise was such as is set only before
fortune's favourites.

Before leaving, he promised to come and lunch in a day or two, for the
purpose of saying good-bye to Leonard. Yet what, in truth, di