That afternoon, when an hour or two of sleep had somewhat restored her, Lady Ogram sketched several letters for her secretary to write. Pausing at length, she looked at Miss Bride, and, for the first time, addressed her by her personal name.
"Constance—"
The other responded with a pleased and gratified smile.
"From Mr. Lashmar's talk of him, what sort of idea have you formed of Lord Dymchurch?"
"Rather a vague one, I'm afraid. I have heard him only casually mentioned."
"But Mr. Lashmar has a high opinion of him? He thinks him a man of good principles?"
"Undoubtedly. A very honourable man."
"So I hear from other sources," said Lady Ogram. "It's probably true. I should rather like to know Lord Dymchurch. He would be an interesting man to know, don't you think?"
As not infrequently happened, their eyes met in a mute interchange of thought.
"Interesting—yes," replied Constance, slowly. And she added, pressing the nib of her pen on her finger-nail, "They say he doesn't marry just because he is poor and honourable."