"Why, then you have plenty of time! Mother, bid Miss Connie be
seated; I haven't had a moment's talk with her; it's absurd. Six
forty-five? You needn't leave here for twenty minutes. What a lucky
thing that I came in just now."

For certain ticks of the clock it was a doubtful matter whether Miss
Bride would depart or remain. Glancing involuntarily at Mrs.
Lashmar, she saw the gloom of resentment and hostility hover upon
that lady's countenance, and this proved decisive.

"I'll have some tea, please," cried the young man, cheerfully, as
Constance with some abruptness resumed her seat. "How is your
father, Miss Connie? Well? That's right. And Mrs. Bride?"

"My mother is dead," replied the girl, quite simply, looking away.

A soft murmur of pain escaped Dyce's lips; he leaned forward,
uttered gently a "Pray forgive me!" and was silent. The vicar
interposed with a harmless remark about the flight of years.





CHAPTER II




In the moments when Dyce Lashmar was neither aware of being observed