just like a man friend? You know how often you have promised to."

"I shall certainly ask your advice."

"Oh! that's kind, that's good of you! We'll talk it over _very_
seriously."

How many hours had they spent in what Iris deemed "serious"
conversation? When Dyce stayed to luncheon, as he did about once a
week, the talk was often prolonged to tea-time. Subjects of
transcendent importance were discussed with the most hopeful
amplitude. Mrs. Woolstan could not be satisfied with personal
culture; her conscience was uneasy about the destinies of mankind;
she took to herself the sorrows of the race, and burned with zeal
for the great causes of civilisation. Vast theories were tossed
about between them; they surveyed the universe from the origin to
the end of all things. Of course it was Dyce who led the way in
speculation; Iris caught at everything he propounded with breathless
fervour and a resolute liberality of mind, determined to be afraid
of no hypothesis. Oh, the afternoons of endless talk! Iris felt that
this was indeed to live the higher life.

"By the bye," fell from Lashmar, musingly, "did you ever hear of a
Lady Ogram?"

"I seem to know the name," answered Mrs. Woolstan, keenly attentive.
"Ogram?--Yes, of course; I have heard Mrs. Toplady speak of her;
but I know nothing more. Who is she? What about her?"

A maidservant entered with the tea-tray. Dyce lay back in his chair,