by the window, and looking straight into the girl's eyes.

"I will if you wish," she answered, meeting his look with hard
steadiness and a frown as of pain.

"Many thanks! Rivenoak, Hollingford, the address? Suppose I call in
a few days?"

"If you like."

The train moved. Dyce bared his head, and, as he turned away,
thought how contemptible was the practice.

Walking briskly against a cold wind, he busied his imagination about
Lady Ogram. The picture he made to himself of this wealthy and
original old lady was very fertile of suggestion; his sanguine
temper bore him to heights of brilliant possibility. Dyce Lashmar
had a genius for airy construction; much of his time was spent in
deducing imaginary results from some half presented opportunity. As
his fancy wrought, he walked faster and faster, and he reached the
vicarage in a physical glow which corresponded to his scintillating
state of mind.

Of Constance Bride he thought hardly at all. She did not interest
him; her proximity left him cold. She might be a useful instrument;
apart from his "method," that was the light in which he regarded all
the women he knew. Experience had taught him that he possessed a
certain power over women of a certain kind; it seemed probable that
Constance belonged to the class; but this was a fact which had no
emotional bearing. With a moment's idle wonder he remembered the