"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, did
he care about the boy? Leonard was a rather precocious child,
inclined to work his brain more than was good for a body often
ailing. Now and then Dyce had been surprised into a feeling of
kindly interest, when Len showed himself peculiarly bright, but on